Voidborn - A Sci-fi LitRPG

Tarai brushed a lock of flame coloured hair back beneath the hood of her plain grey robe, and scurried hurriedly after Muin’s long strides, heart still thumping. All nine Adepts had woken. All nine! And she was getting to be in the room whilst they discussed the latest Fallen. It was a privilege beyond measure, considering her complete inexperience and relatively short time as a Scribe.

And yet, somehow, the closer they came to the Adept Chamber, the more her exhilaration faded to dust. Instead, she found her hands wringing beneath the sleeves of her robes, and stomach twisting into ugly knots. Muin’s countenance hadn’t helped any. He normally moved swiftly, purposefully. Today, he practically flew through the corridors of the Archives, black robes sweeping bat-like behind him.

The few glimpses she’d caught of his face showed him to be growing more and more ashen and tightly wound the closer they came. She said nothing as they rushed through plain grey corridors and across richly carpeted floors. Soon, though, plain grey shifted. Wall trimmings became gradually more innate. More ostentatiously decorated. The carpets more plush. The Chamber was only a few minutes more away, and getting the answers to any questions would be now or never.

“Muin, sir?” she said, a little too close to noticeably out of breath.

Muin’s stride faltered, but didn’t slow, and he looked back as though he’d forgotten she was there. “Yes?”

She tried not to let his short, clipped tone put her off. “I was just wondering—what will be expected of me within the Chamber? Is there anything I should know to do—or not do—beforehand?”

This time he did slow, allowing himself to fall in line with her.

“Apologies. Today has been… Challenging. I had not considered this will be your first time attending me in one of these meetings. There will be almost nothing expected of you whilst you are inside. Simply sit with me, and listen to everything. Keep your silence. You are there to learn, not participate.”

She nodded slowly. Nothing she hadn’t expected, but it was always good to eliminate the potential for any unpleasant surprises.

“What are they like? The Adepts, I mean?”

Muin pursed his lips. “It is difficult to properly describe them. Especially whilst maintaining my vows. All I can say is remember they are….different from us. You will want to comment on it when you first see them. Perhaps even exclaim. Remember my words: Silence, Tarai. Keep your thoughts and questions until we are alone. I will answer what I can then.”

Tarai frowned. “I am perfectly capable of keeping quiet, Muin.”

Her master smiled wryly, the muscles in his face relaxing for the first time since he’d come to retrieve her.

“Naive. I still remember the first time I attended my own Master when the Fifth and the Eighth awoke and convened to welcome Uisge back to the fold. I nearly cried out right in the middle of the chamber. Just remember what I said, child.”

Tarai swallowed, but nodded and said no more.

As they reached the final set of ornate doors, Muin pushed them open with a reverence that made Tarai swallow thickly. She had not thought to lay her eyes on what lay beyond these doors until she’d completed decades of painstaking study. She walked through, mouth dry as she gazed around. A vast chamber spread out before her, a dizzying mix of gothic arches and sleek, metallic pillars. It was unsettlingly grand, and the air had a weight that set her very bones on edge. The circular design of the room drew her eyes towards the centre, where an eerie glow permeated the dim lighting, casting elongated shadows along the carved stone walls.

Tarai’s breath caught in her throat as she properly took in the towering, intricately carved pillars supporting the domed ceiling. They were covered in ancient glyphs and symbols that seemed to hum, alive with some hidden energy. Around the edges of the room, other Scribes were already kneeling, hunched over their tablets, fingers poised to record whatever was said and enact orders based on the words of the Adepts.

But what dominated the chamber were the nine alcoves that lined the far wall, each housing an enormous tank filled with bubbling violet liquid. The fluid shimmered in the low light, swirling and fizzing, yet, in the very centre. remaining ominously still.

Muin ushered her to their place at the perimeter. She knelt beside him on a simple mat, her knees sinking into the plush, fabric not unlike the carpets outside. Her nerves were taut, every fibre of her being on edge for no discernible reason. Her gaze wandered to the tanks, unable to resist the morbid curiosity rising inside her.

Muin rose to his feet, voice steady as he spoke to the room. “The Scribes are gathered. We are prepared to receive the Celestial Truth.”

The words sent a cold shiver down Tarai’s spine. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken. Slowly, the violet liquid in each tank began to brighten, glowing with an ethereal luminescence. A low pulse of power vibrated through the floor, and Tarai’s stomach twisted. She could feel them—the Adepts. Not just see them, but feel their presence like a weight pressing against her chest. It was overwhelming, and for a brief moment, her vision blurred.

The top left tank and one on the right drew her gaze almost immediately. Tarai's gaze flickered between them, and as she stared into the first tank, her skin crawled with discomfort. There was something about it—something wrong. She pulled her eyes away, only to find a second tank on the opposite side even worse, the sense of wrongness deeper, gnawing at the edges of her consciousness.

She dared not look back at Muin. She had to maintain her composure. But it was hard, harder than she had expected. Instead her eyes frantically scanned the remaining tanks, only to find that she felt no such wrongness with any of the others.

The central tank suddenly fizzed violently, and Tarai’s breath hitched as the figure inside came into focus. It was grotesque, towering and hunched, half of its body rotting away, revealing glistening sinew and bone beneath its leathery, desiccated skin. The creature’s hollow eyes fixed on the centre of the room, though they seemed to pierce directly through Tarai’s very soul.

Her jaw hung open in silent shock, as her mind reeled. These were not human. Aliens. The Adept were alien. The nine creatures whose wisdom even the UGC heeded, who controlled access to the Celestial Nexus, were not actually human. Her jaw snapped shut as the creature shifted to speak.

“Which of our fallen kin has been awakened?” the creature rasped, its voice a horrible, wet croak that echoed through the chamber. “And touched by the Void?”

For a moment, there was only the sound of bubbling liquid, before the tank to its right lit up, its voice filled the chamber, higher pitched but no less disquieting.

“Tanwen.”

Tarai’s stomach lurched. The very name seemed to reverberate through the room, shaking her to the core. All nine tanks rumbled with discontent, the violet liquid churning violently. A surge of nausea washed through her, and she had to fight to keep from retching. The tension and unease of every being in the room seemed to fill it entirely with its suffocating presence. Whatever this Tanwen was, it was a source of immense concern to the Adepts.

One tank on the far left pulsed, and another voice joined the chorus. “Tanwen is too impetuous. Too reckless with his power.”

A different voice from another tank added, “He will be difficult to leash with the Void at his back.”

The central figure shifted slightly in its tank, the bubbling liquid swirling lightly around its decaying flesh. “Tanwen is central to everything,” it rasped, “but he must be hamstrung. Collared so that he may be properly guided to the path.”

Another voice chimed in, this one slower, more deliberate. “How? It is the nature of the Void to run wild, and it is the nature of a flame to burn. How does one constrain nature itself?”

The central figure seemed to hum with consideration. “We must keep it from the fuel it requires to burn out of control: knowledge. Feed it only what it requires to travel the path we set.”

The words hung in the air. The bubbling in the tanks slowed, and the Adepts’ collective attention turned, unsettlingly, toward the gathered Scribes. Tarai’s skin prickled under the weight of their gaze.

The central figure continued, “For centuries, Scribes of untold experience and wisdom have been appointed to the Fallen, to equip them as needed. This time must be different. Scribe and Fallen must grow together. Controlled. Safe.” It paused, and then its hollow eyes seemed to fix on Muin. “One of you has brought your apprentice. Are they of solid character?”

Muin froze, his normally carefully schooled face the very picture of shock. For a moment, he looked as if he might deny it outright, but after an agonizing pause, he stood. “She is, Adept. I vouch for her completely.”

Tarai’s confusion mounted, her heart racing. She had no idea what was happening. Why was Muin standing? Why were they talking about her?

The central tank let out a low, considering rumble. The glowing liquid swirled, thick and hypnotic.

“We are in agreement,” it rasped at last. “So be it.”

The light in the central tank dimmed, before the creature’s eyes turned directly toward Tarai, the full weight of its focus bearing down on her. She tried to breathe, and found her muscles entirely unable to move.

“Apprentice,” the creature rasped, ice flooding her veins now the sound was aimed directly at her. “You are hereby elevated to the position of Ananchra. Your task shall be to guide your assigned Fallen to victory against his enemies, and the enemies of the Celestial Light.”

It paused, as if giving extra weight to the moment before delivering its final words. “Do you accept?”

Tarai’s mouth worked silently. She looked at Muin, who gave her a firm, yet unreadable nod. Her mind whirled, her thoughts racing between shock, confusion, and a deep, gnawing unease. She was not ready for this. She did not possess the knowledge, or the experience to guide one of the Fallen—one of the Starbound—on their Path.

But, she thought wryly, judging by what she heard, that rather seemed to be the entire point. The words on the tip of her tongue bounced back and forth as her mind tried to weigh the potential consequences of both acceptance and refusal.

But in the end, there was only one answer she could give.

“I… I accept.”

The chamber fell deathly silent as the Adepts’ gazes lingered on her, before the light in the tanks dimmed and the bubbling began to slow, before the central tank spoke once more.

“Then it is done. I only hope we will be forgiven for it, before the end.”