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|DE=<!--Kapitel IX - Einsamkeit-->

|DE=<!--Kapitel IX - Einsamkeit-->

<center><span style="color:purple;font-weight:bold"><big><big>'''Jena Year  2481'''</big></big></span></center>

<center><span style="color:purple;font-weight:bold"><big><big>'''Jena Year  2481'''</big></big></span></center>

Pü reopened his eyelids, mask against bark, mouth full of soot and blood. Despite the violence of the shock, the flow of life-saving Sap directed against the concussion had achieved its goal. He had regained consciousness. Awareness of his surroundings. Awareness of his left side, totally crushed under a colossal block of wood. What had happened? How many seconds had he been unconscious? Then, the image of Niï's body came back to him. In suspension. Above the ruins of the Ceremonial Square. The leg of one of the insectoid creatures stuck in the abdomen. And then this gigantic piece of bark, obscuring the sky and crushing him head-on. Totally stuck and unable to turn around, Pü tried to call his brother. Unfortunately, only a hoarse whistle came from his crushed throat, at once drowned in a pool of blood. No one heard him, yet he continued, chanting his brother's name like a mantra, hoping to summon him. Hoping that summoning would help him to ignore the immense pain that was bruising him. Partly compressed under several hundred pounds of wood, he was flooding his left side with Sap, even if it meant weakening the right side. The work of regeneration was inordinate, so much each movement that he carried out to extirpate himself from his tomb opened a little more his fractures, tore a little more his wounds, mixed a little more the splinters of his armor with his fluids. He had lost consciousness for only a few seconds. He couldn't have survived any longer, he was sure. There was still time. His brother had already freed himself from the creature's grasp, he was sure.

Pü reopened his eyelids, mask against bark, mouth full of soot and blood. Despite the violence of the shock, the flow of life-saving Sap directed against the concussion had achieved its goal. He had regained consciousness. Awareness of his surroundings. Awareness of his left side, totally crushed under a colossal block of wood. What had happened? How many seconds had he been unconscious? Then, the image of Niï's body came back to him. In suspension. Above the ruins of the Ceremonial Square. The leg of one of the insectoid creatures stuck in the abdomen. And then this gigantic piece of bark, obscuring the sky and crushing him head-on. Totally stuck and unable to turn around, Pü tried to call his brother. Unfortunately, only a hoarse whistle came from his crushed throat, at once drowned in a pool of blood. No one heard him, yet he continued, chanting his brother's name like a mantra, hoping to summon him. Hoping that summoning would help him to ignore the immense pain that was bruising him. Partly compressed under several hundred pounds of wood, he was flooding his left side with Sap, even if it meant weakening the right side. The work of regeneration was inordinate, so much each movement that he carried out to extirpate himself from his tomb opened a little more his fractures, tore a little more his wounds, mixed a little more the splinters of his armor with his fluids. He had lost consciousness for only a few seconds. He couldn't have survived any longer, he was sure. There was still time. His brother had already freed himself from the creature's grasp, he was sure.

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The young Zorai sobbed for a few seconds, waiting for maternal comfort. Instead, a rough hand was placed on his bare shoulder and a hoarse voice answered him:

The young Zorai sobbed for a few seconds, waiting for maternal comfort. Instead, a rough hand was placed on his bare shoulder and a hoarse voice answered him:

Pü screamed like he'd never screamed before. He cried like he had never cried before. He died ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times. If Grandmother Bä-Bä let his despair show, she never broke contact. She held his shoulder tightly and, without his knowing it, magically kept his mind from sinking for good. Minutes passed, and the screams gradually turned into moans. He had given everything. He had lost everything. He was an empty shell. Barely conscious. Barely alive.

Pü screamed like he'd never screamed before. He cried like he had never cried before. He died ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times. If Grandmother Bä-Bä let his despair show, she never broke contact. She held his shoulder tightly and, without his knowing it, magically kept his mind from sinking for good. Minutes passed, and the screams gradually turned into moans. He had given everything. He had lost everything. He was an empty shell. Barely conscious. Barely alive.

Pü turned his mask towards her mechanically, his gaze off. The witch, already very old, seemed to have gained several years at once.

Pü turned his mask towards her mechanically, his gaze off. The witch, already very old, seemed to have gained several years at once.

:''"But... why? I… I don't want, Grandmother. I never believed in it. I can't carry this burden…."

:''"But... why? I… I don't want, Grandmother. I never believed in it. I can't carry this burden…."

:''"To... to free myself? The… Happy Days? Everyone is dead, Grandmother… Happy Days don't exist… This world is so cruel… I want to die…."

:''"To... to free myself? The… Happy Days? Everyone is dead, Grandmother… Happy Days don't exist… This world is so cruel… I want to die…."

The flames in the grandmother's eyes flared up again, and she abruptly straightened her head. Her expression had changed dramatically. She seemed to be animated with a new vitality.

The flames in the grandmother's eyes flared up again, and she abruptly straightened her head. Her expression had changed dramatically. She seemed to be animated with a new vitality.

A chill ran down Pü's spine. That voice. That voice, that voice that had spoken those words. It was not Grandmother Bä-Bä's. The witch began to convulse and chant incomprehensible words. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Pü held her wrist tightly and put his other hand behind her head to support her.

A chill ran down Pü's spine. That voice. That voice, that voice that had spoken those words. It was not Grandmother Bä-Bä's. The witch began to convulse and chant incomprehensible words. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Pü held her wrist tightly and put his other hand behind her head to support her.

Pü tried to calm the old woman, but the trance continued for a few seconds before finally stopping on its own. Silence fell, and the dying, lethargic, homina stared into Pü's eyes again. She was eying him,  dumbfounded. Drawing on her last bit of strength, she raised a skeletal arm and touched her throat. She whispered.

Pü tried to calm the old woman, but the trance continued for a few seconds before finally stopping on its own. Silence fell, and the dying, lethargic, homina stared into Pü's eyes again. She was eying him,  dumbfounded. Drawing on her last bit of strength, she raised a skeletal arm and touched her throat. She whispered.

:''"This name… Whose is it? And these memories… are they real?"

:''"This name… Whose is it? And these memories… are they real?"

:''"Oh… I see… I see, my child…. Everything repeats itself, for nothing is certain…. He is groping…. He is doubting, himself too…. Courage, Pü…. Courage…. You will find a way, I trust you…."

:''"Oh… I see… I see, my child…. Everything repeats itself, for nothing is certain…. He is groping…. He is doubting, himself too…. Courage, Pü…. Courage…. You will find a way, I trust you…."

No one. There was definitely no one. Pü gripped the horns of his mask.

No one. There was definitely no one. Pü gripped the horns of his mask.

   

   

:''"You're not insane, boy. Everyone hears voices. Every morning, when you wake up, when you are reluctant to leave your bed, a voice brings you motivation. When you set your jewelry, another helps you focus. Everyone hears voices. One's own voice, foreign voices, voices of gods… So what does it matter? What matters are advices the voice provides. And here I ardently advise you to stand up!"

:''"You're not insane, boy. Everyone hears voices. Every morning, when you wake up, when you are reluctant to leave your bed, a voice brings you motivation. When you set your jewelry, another helps you focus. Everyone hears voices. One's own voice, foreign voices, voices of gods… So what does it matter? What matters are advices the voice provides. And here I ardently advise you to stand up!"

:''"Who are you, if you are real?"

:''"Who are you, if you are real?"

And again, Pü obeyed. The days that followed were a strange and terrible time. At times, aware of the cruel reality, the young Zorai went through depressive episodes, accompanied by panic attacks. During these moments, the voice was of considerable help. It kept him from sinking. These difficult episodes were interspersed with phases where, as if outside himself, Pü would mechanically get on with the task. He found and embalmed the one hundred and fifty-eight bodies of the one hundred and fifty-eight members of the tribe. He collected the one hundred and fifty-eight seeds of life and froze them in a single cube of amber. He carefully removed the one hundred and thirty-one masks from the faces of the one hundred and thirty-one adults before covering them with a protective layer of amber. He cleaned the village's places of worship, including the Ceremonial Square. He restored and straightened the broken totem pole, on which only the masks of those who had respected the precepts of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk all their lives were fixed, and covered it with new masks. His father's, uncle's, brother's, Grandma Bä-Bä's and mother's masks were on top when he was done, but to him, they were all heroes now. Finally, he put the tiara he had made for his mother before the invasion on her mask and buried the amber cube at the base of the totem pole.

And again, Pü obeyed. The days that followed were a strange and terrible time. At times, aware of the cruel reality, the young Zorai went through depressive episodes, accompanied by panic attacks. During these moments, the voice was of considerable help. It kept him from sinking. These difficult episodes were interspersed with phases where, as if outside himself, Pü would mechanically get on with the task. He found and embalmed the one hundred and fifty-eight bodies of the one hundred and fifty-eight members of the tribe. He collected the one hundred and fifty-eight seeds of life and froze them in a single cube of amber. He carefully removed the one hundred and thirty-one masks from the faces of the one hundred and thirty-one adults before covering them with a protective layer of amber. He cleaned the village's places of worship, including the Ceremonial Square. He restored and straightened the broken totem pole, on which only the masks of those who had respected the precepts of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk all their lives were fixed, and covered it with new masks. His father's, uncle's, brother's, Grandma Bä-Bä's and mother's masks were on top when he was done, but to him, they were all heroes now. Finally, he put the tiara he had made for his mother before the invasion on her mask and buried the amber cube at the base of the totem pole.

When he regained consciousness, his senses still numb from the pain, Pü did not even bother to consult his reflection in the basin. He gathered his belongings and, without taking the time to meditate one last time in front of the memorial totem, sealed the entrances to the stump with explosives, so that no one could ever enter it again. For the first time in many days, and for the last time in his life, Pü was to leave his home. At this terrible thought, his heartbeat quickened.

When he regained consciousness, his senses still numb from the pain, Pü did not even bother to consult his reflection in the basin. He gathered his belongings and, without taking the time to meditate one last time in front of the memorial totem, sealed the entrances to the stump with explosives, so that no one could ever enter it again. For the first time in many days, and for the last time in his life, Pü was to leave his home. At this terrible thought, his heartbeat quickened.

:''"Your ancestor urged you to travel, so travel! Westward, over the Great Mountain, to Trykoth, the magnificent region of the Lakes, whose waters stretch as far as the eye can see! Then further north on the coast, to Karavia, the Holy City, built on the site of the meeting between Jena and Zachini, the first king of the Matis! Then to the east, on the high green plateaus of the Kingdom of Matia, where you have already had the opportunity to get lost! And finally to the northwest, beyond the Munshia, into the arid boreal regions and deep canyons of the Fyros desert… But if I were you, I would start by visiting Zoran in search of survivors."

:''"Your ancestor urged you to travel, so travel! Westward, over the Great Mountain, to Trykoth, the magnificent region of the Lakes, whose waters stretch as far as the eye can see! Then further north on the coast, to Karavia, the Holy City, built on the site of the meeting between Jena and Zachini, the first king of the Matis! Then to the east, on the high green plateaus of the Kingdom of Matia, where you have already had the opportunity to get lost! And finally to the northwest, beyond the Munshia, into the arid boreal regions and deep canyons of the Fyros desert… But if I were you, I would start by visiting Zoran in search of survivors."

:''"Why are you helping me?"

:''"Why are you helping me?"

:''"Still won't tell me who you are?"

:''"Still won't tell me who you are?"

:''"If you haven't figured it out, you still need me. All good things come to those who wait, my boy."

:''"If you haven't figured it out, you still need me. All good things come to those who wait, my boy."

''Hello dear readers. I am Belenor Nebius, Fyros of sap, author of ''The Sacred War'', scribe of the Disciples of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk and unfailing friend of Pü Fu-Tao. With this ninth chapter, the first part of our story ends. Opened when Pü was only a few months old, it ends with the cataclysmic event that ravaged the Old Lands in year 2481 of Jena., later known as the Great Swarming. I had to wait many years before Pü dared to tell me about his childhood. As you can imagine, this period revived painful memories in him. Indeed, while I have been able, during our discussions, to guess some happy, tender past moments, the violent events were the ones he was speking of with the most accuracy, hence the dark atmosphere of these early chapters.<br>The following part will tell the story of the journey of the Black Mask, which is just as dark, his encounters with those who will become his allies or his enemies, and ultimately, with me. I will never forget this moment, which transformed me irreversibly. At this point in your reading, Pü is looking for a Fyros and a Matissa. The more erudite among you will have noticed the names Damakian, Rory, and even Kalbatcha. If these names probably do not evoke anything to most of you, their mention may have puzzled some of you. Let them know that I understand their feelings completely. They were mine when, already old and finally arrived on the New Lands, I met by chance some of these homins, who in many points, reminded me of the group that Pü, me and so many others had formed once. Homins that we had never met, and whose names had been revealed to us, long before they were born. Was it a coincidence, a cruel joke, or the very embodiment of fate? Even today, as I write these few words, I cannot say. But as you will see later, this strangeness is only one of the many that punctuated our journey, and which in so many different ways link our past to your present. Ma-Duk watches over each fragment of matter of Atys, and beyond space and time, weaves between them the web of his Great Work.''</small>

''Hello dear readers. I am Belenor Nebius, Fyros of sap, author of ''The Sacred War'', scribe of the Disciples of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk and unfailing friend of Pü Fu-Tao. With this ninth chapter, the first part of our story ends. Opened when Pü was only a few months old, it ends with the cataclysmic event that ravaged the Old Lands in year 2481 of Jena., later known as the Great Swarming. I had to wait many years before Pü dared to tell me about his childhood. As you can imagine, this period revived painful memories in him. Indeed, while I have been able, during our discussions, to guess some happy, tender past moments, the violent events were the ones he was speking of with the most accuracy, hence the dark atmosphere of these early chapters.<br>The following part will tell the story of the journey of the Black Mask, which is just as dark, his encounters with those who will become his allies or his enemies, and ultimately, with me. I will never forget this moment, which transformed me irreversibly. At this point in your reading, Pü is looking for a Fyros and a Matissa. The more erudite among you will have noticed the names Damakian, Rory, and even Kalbatcha. If these names probably do not evoke anything to most of you, their mention may have puzzled some of you. Let them know that I understand their feelings completely. They were mine when, already old and finally arrived on the New Lands, I met by chance some of these homins, who in many points, reminded me of the group that Pü, me and so many others had formed once. Homins that we had never met, and whose names had been revealed to us, long before they were born. Was it a coincidence, a cruel joke, or the very embodiment of fate? Even today, as I write these few words, I cannot say. But as you will see later, this strangeness is only one of the many that punctuated our journey, and which in so many different ways link our past to your present. Ma-Duk watches over each fragment of matter of Atys, and beyond space and time, weaves between them the web of his Great Work.''</small>

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