In the Garden, the day starts at 4AM. Many students will spend the first period in the gym or vast swimming pool made available to all, if they don’t have an elective that day. This is also when the first meals are served. Breaks are normally taken every four Earth hours or so all the way to midnight when the Garden temporarily comes to a, well, not a pause, but a down time. The rhythm of training and learning here encourages a healthy emulation between the students, or at least Lumie’s group remains cautiously supportive. I think they save me from going crazy, loneliness being that much more biting when surrounded by other people. Kimera is nice enough when she’s here but she’s just intensely interested in her art and otherwise distant, still unsure on how to handle me. It all changes, of course, when the station shakes around us while I’m having tea on one of the many balconies overlooking the largest inner garden. The tree shivers all around us. I feel the distant screams of smothered souls and shake, remembering the molten coffin flying through the void on a cloud of shattered debris. I remember looking for survivors and finding none. It happened again. It just happened again. And I still can’t do anything.

A guard comes to ‘invite me’ to a meeting less than five minutes after that while I’m studying the immortal cycle of a peculiar species of jellyfish used in anti-aging mods. This is obviously not a request so I follow him immediately. An elevator carries us up, and up. At some point I’m starting to worry. Eventually, we land in a grand antechamber that reminds me of a gothic church, a powerful display in a station where space is at a premium. Here, the gold and red only serve to bring harmony to a part of the tree serving as ornamental art and architectural support all at once. It’s only now that I have seen fleshcrafting of various quality that I can appreciate the incredible control and vision that went into growing this place. I wish I had time to pause but there is someone waiting beyond the gates. Someone expectant and powerful. I’m not even sure how strong they are, only that they are.

Against all odds, the next room turns out to be a personal office. I was expecting a boardroom but no, the desk there occupies a lot of space alongside stacks of paper, electronics, books, and curios. A fantastic raven-like creature waits on a perch, its soul a small moon to the solar furnace of the one sitting behind the desk. My first impression of her is that she is the motherest mother superior who ever ruled over a convent: she wears a dark, form fitting dress that still manages to look conservative, a black cowl, ruby eyes that smolder in the light. She’s decided to take on the stately face of a woman in her fifties, still beautiful but cold and authoritative. I immediately get a visceral reaction to her. She’s all the teachers who scared me when I was a kid, all the principals who glared down at me like I was a problem to be solved after things started getting really bad at home and I shot any chance I had at higher education. She is matronly authority made manifest, a steel fist under a velvet glove. And the very instant dread and defiance fill my heart, the image breaks.

The woman smiles very lightly until her face morphs into one of unassuming patience. She gestures for me to sit.

“Steve Prentiss, welcome. Please take a seat? Thank you, Joz, I’ll take it from here. Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

The guard leaves. I nurse my cup, waiting for her to start. She doesn’t.

“I’m sure you have questions, but unfortunately there are protocols to follow. We will wait for your master.”

She closes her eyes, apparently savoring her tea but I can see things moving on her desk. She’s still working. In turn, I try to study her soul but fail. She’s not just guarded, but also monstrously strong. She must be on the same level as Judge Mars or that Bishop of Vrok I came across while I was working with derelicts, one of the ancient entities ruling over the station, and now, I have her attention.

I feel Kimera approach long before the door bangs open and she charges in like a fury. Her voice is a cold tempest, words so fast I can barely follow.

“Would you mind explaining why you are having a conversation with my disciple? Without me present?”

“I was not. We were waiting for you,” the woman replies.

“And yet here he is!”

“And you would have been present before him had you read the priority message sent to your terminal,” the older woman interrupts. “Instead of me having to send a messenger in person.”

Kimera frowns, then she manifests a tiny device from part of her dress before cursing.

“Which I knew I would have to do because you never read your message, Kimera. I am not your enemy.”

“How can I believe you when you refuse two thirds of my requests?”

“As I told you before, we need time to peer review and verify your work. This is true of all of your colleagues, Kimera. Even great talent must be tempered. Now, can we finally begin the meeting? Or will we fight like fishmongers before a disciple?”

I have never seen Kimera so flustered. The crossed arms over her chest must mean she accepts, because the matronly woman finally turns to me.

“I have yet to complete the introductions. I am Grandmaster Antea, Head of Research for the Guild.”

I raise a brow. The entire guild? That would mean she’s part of the ruling council of one of the richest and most powerful organizations on Enderlith. No wonder she feels like she could peel paint with a glare.

“Now, most of our students fall under the purview of my most esteemed colleagues of the faculty, but you were directly hired as a research assistant, and thus fall under mine. At the beginning of the month, You made a rather specific prediction which I knew to be false because I have worked with seers.”

I can feel Kimera’s surprise despite her strong composure.

“They tend to teeter the edge of sanity, if they are even functional enough to be understood. Prophecies are a complex, sometimes false and never fully accurate business. Thus, I know for a fact that you are no seer. The prediction you made could not have been glimpses of the future captured from the eddies of a mad god’s dreams. It is far too precise. This leaves me with exactly one possibility.”

She doesn’t move but somehow, I feel a terrible weight on my shoulders.

“You could predict the events because you were there when they happened. You are the Avatar of Time.”

She challenges me to comment, but with even Kimera subdued, I see no reason to object. She’ll know anyway. Rather, I’m curious to see if I’ll have to reset the loop early.

“Why are you so weak? How do your powers work?” she asks after some delay.

“I get that a lot. The easiest way to explain how my powers work would be to say we are all currently exploring one of the many possible futures of Enderlith. As I am still early in my exploration, I am quite weak.”

“Indeed. First awakening only. At your age. How strong was the ambient energy where you lived before coming here?”

I hesitate, because I doubt I want people who can unmake reality to become aware of my home planet, but then I realize it doesn’t matter.

“There was no energy. I was unawakened when the game started.”

“And now you are first awakening, with a soul awakening so strong even young Lumie is impressed. Hmm, I see. I understand. The Visage of the Meek reversal requested by my dear colleague is for you. You must have reached greater awakening during another timeline, and now, with this spell, you could reach it again…”

Antea turned her attention to Kimera who is bubbling with annoyance.

“Keep you hands off my disciple! How do you know about the Visage of the Meek?”

“Because you made an official request,” Antea replied tiredly. “And I take note of most unusual requests, especially when those come alongside an unusual guest, and especially at a time like this. What stage of awakening did you reach?”

“Third.”

“Of a path that allows for magic.”

“Yes.”

“Fleshcrafting magic?”

“Be thorough,” Kimera says with annoyance before catching onto the fact that she's helping Antea. As for the grandmaster, she doesn’t appear to care.

“Any magic. My path is the Path of Everything. If I am to be archon, I cannot be just good at the staff, or fist, or fleshcrafting. I need to use my soul as a weapon. I need to master my second affinity, which is star. My opponent is Lilth Seranne Kerentis. I cannot become anything less than perfect.”

Antea crosses her fingers, a gesture I struggle to read.

“Should the reversal be successful, you would gain the opportunity to practice magic directly,” she whispers.

Her ruby eyes find mine.

“Will you warn me every time? Will you try to prevent the station from falling?”

“Always. Until it works,” I reply.

Antea closes her eyes before coming to a decision.

“Good. Master Arek, of the Shadows. He will help you.”

I am stunned that this would be so easy.

“He would help me just like that?” Kimera replied, incredulous.

Antea waves her hand with impatience.

“Master Arek? No, of course not. He will request help with one of his projects. I will provide you with the support you need to succeed before… do we survive to the end of the year?”

“That depends on whether or not we can slow down Transformation and War.”

Antea blinks. It’s the first time she doesn’t look fully in control.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s going to be a long night…” I complain.

“And you will tell me everything in great detail. Ah, in case this wasn’t obvious, word of this shall not leave this room if you ever want to prevail. Not all of us will have the basic wisdom of aligning with one of our own as an archon candidate. Or at least, not as you currently are…”

“I won’t claim my titles for the world to hear, got it.”

***

Schooling continues as normal while the world goes mad. After I master basic anatomy, the courses diversify, and I am allowed to attend remedial late classes alongside outsiders every day after dinner. There is chemistry, biology, biological chemistry, and something I suspect is Fleshcrafter specific: general gene sequencing. We learn how cells work, the various mechanisms that keep us going and generally I find all of this fascinating though I admit, I would have struggled without the boost of just learning new words and terms on the spot. It’s not that I’m stupid. Really, I’m not. It’s just that none of those who are allowed to join the Garden are any less than motivated, brilliant people.

“You are doing well for someone who just started,” Lumie tells me one day. “Why didn’t you start before?”

She is sitting next to me with her huge white eyes, making her a bit owl-like as our souls bounce against each other. I can tell she’s fishing for information. It wasn’t immediately obvious to me, but I soon realized that soul awakenings are not just rare, anyone unlocking it before being a wise warrior in their 200s usually went through some absolutely gruesome shit. I died, for example. I mean, it wasn’t horribly painful but I still got suddenly brained after being torn from my home, robbed of my freedom, my dignity, and that nice bag of black tea. O horrible, o horrible, most horrible. As a result, it’s considered a faux-pas to ask about a soul-awakened’s past among the classier parts of the population.

I actually give Lumie’s question a moment of consideration. I got asked ‘why?’ a lot during my school years, but I don’t think I was ready to give an answer then. I think I am, now. It all feels so distant, so… meaningless now that I’m an Enderlithian.

“My parents separated when I was thirteen. It didn’t go very well. My mom lied to keep me, and I let her, but she had bad habits and things got a bit iffy. She lost her job; we lost our home. I sabotaged my own studies after that. I think… I think in another world, I might have gone for higher studies. With both my parents at my back and support, and, more importantly, trust. I guess. But it never happened. I enjoyed becoming a musician.”

“You can play music?”

“Sure! I don’t have my instrument here, but I’ll get something later and I’ll show you. But yes, this whole situation, the Year of Judgment, it makes me wonder what would have been my path if my family hadn’t blown up so badly.”

“Family sure can drag us down,” she says.

Her smile grows very brittle, and I feel her soul bleed distress so I open a path between us to send her my serenity, even if it’s tinged with just a pinch of bitterness.

“We’re going to make it.”

“We are.”

***

The conversation with Lumie helps me focus again. I manage to order a song key from the station’s flesh golem using a special request form which is granted without issue — honestly to my immense surprise. Playing the song key and sharing my simple pleasure at playing music with my soul makes me popular with my study group. Kimera meets with Master Arek who is apparently part of the, ah, diplomacy and asset recovery part of the guild. They’re spies and assassins. He requests her help in coding an anti-venom for a very specific kind of near-instant poison. Switching from one research project to another on the spot leaves Kimera grumpy, but Antea helps us by sending five members of the exotic Department of Pharmacology.

This is one of the interesting aspects of fleshcrafting. While I expect Earth doctors would study substances and their effects since it’s an integral part of, well, healing people, fleshcrafters are much less interested. The creation of potions and drugs is a very specific specialty focusing on efficiency and profitability. They craft very specific magically-charged molecules or, rather, they craft dedicated organisms to craft those molecules for them. It’s an extremely profitable department, and yet I would have expected the rest of the faculty to look down on them for not modifying themselves or their patients directly. This doesn’t appear to be the case. Instead, fleshcrafters simply look down on anyone else. It takes almost two months of research for the team to design the required anti-toxin during which I simply keep learning. There is so much to do.

***

Kimera bursts into the apartment like the force of nature she is, dropping a storage flesh ball on a recently cleared table.

“Ugh, this Arek is such a stuck-up asshole. He wants a reliable way to produce the molecules now. Changing the terms of the bargain is what it is! Doesn’t he know I am late for my fungicide solution? I haven’t touched that project in two weeks. Two. Weeks! Oh, you tidied the room again. Thank you disciple,” she finishes, taking on her surroundings.

I put down the song key I’d been using to play the ciphers I remember.

“I wish I had taken a disciple before,” she purrs with approval.

“But then they wouldn’t have been me,” I immediately reply.

Kimera smiles with feline amusement.

“Feeling confident, are we? I shall test you on metabolism to determine if this confidence is warranted or not. Oh! You got me my drinking supplement!”

She finally notices the bottle carefully placed on her desk, which I also had to organize.

“Hmm. It’s not the right brand? Health mix of… disciple, what is this?”

I smack a datasheet on my knee, which sounds like a whip in the room’s ensuing silence.

“I had a brief talk with Master Medenis.”

Kimera freezes like a deer in the headlight, and I am the concrete-transporting semi that will send her into a new world where she will reincarnate as a roast.

“Your general practitioner?” I finish, nailing her fate to the cross. “You have missed your last checkup.”

“I have better things to do!”

“And he expressed worry that you might be using increasingly high amounts of mana to keep your body going despite occasional feedings and rare moments of rest.”

“Disciple. Disciple,” she pleads. “You said so yourself! The station is doomed! Every moment must be spent on the pursuit of science!”

“And yet,” I mercilessly interrupt, “we both know that quality of time spent matters much more than quantity when it comes to higher thinking. Surely you would want to be thorough .”

I stand up. She backpedals against a chair.

“Unless, of course, you would rather be inefficient. Sloppy. ”

She winces.

“I surrender, disciple.”

“Drink the mush. You need fiber.”

“Yes, disciple.”

I fall back while she does so, knowing the swing of the pendulum is going to be devastating.

“Oh this isn’t as bad as I thought,” she says, surprised.

“I specifically requested Eryon berries since those are your favorite.”

“Indeed! It appears you are capable of proactive planning, disciple. I do love that in a man.”

And there it is. Her eyes narrow. Her fierce soul bursts with renewed passion.

“And I so love confidence when it is earned. Your desk, now. Let’s see if you have shown the same dedication to learning as you have to addressing the power imbalance between us.”

“If you fall to your knees and swear your allegiance to me, your archon, I promise to be magnanimous,” I throw out there as a last ditch effort.

“I will shatter your spine, rebuild it, and then shatter it again.”

Ah well better luck next time.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

***

Most masters’ forms are designed to show off their skills. Master Arek designed himself to intimidate. Thin scales like armor cover his skull. Black sclera surrounds a pale yellow glare that pierces to the soul. It doesn’t help that the setting is an empty room with easily washable walls and that I’m just wearing a shift for the sake of modesty. Arek’s soul feels weird, almost like a cloud temporarily coalesced for my benefit rather than something I am actually grasping. The evanescent quality reminds me of something I felt before, but I can’t exactly remember where, or how. I have no doubt he could hide it if he wanted.

As for his awakening, I haven’t the faintest idea, but it must be rather high for me to feel nothing at all.

I would feel a bit blind had Arek not worn his emotion on his face, or rather what I can see over the half-mask covering his mouth. He believes this is a waste of time. He wears a simple red and gold uniform with black highlights as impersonal as I’ve seen in here, in the Garden, clearly meant to convey nothing, a concession made in exchange for the research results. His eyes turn to a window to the side of the room.

“We are ready to begin,” he informs Kimera.

His attention returns to me, tone clinical.

“Try to remember how it felt when you were of a higher awakening. My spell will latch upon the memory of it. If the impression is strong enough I will provide the mana required for the reconstruction process. Close your eyes and begin when ready.”

I do so, wincing when his cold hand lands on my chest, over the heart gate. Meditating is something I’m used to by now. And I prepared for this moment.

I remember Xan stepping out to die against Lilth’s goons to buy me time. I remember standing there in the underground of his den, the mark of his trust at the end of the world, past all the crisis. I remember coming to a conclusion. I needed to become a warrior, but I also knew I would need to learn magic, and governance, and the ways of the station. I knew then that I had no choice but to become everything I needed to be in order to win the Year of Judgment. There was only one logical path for one with little talent, infinite time, and an impossible objective.

The Path of Everything.

I was so strong near the end, stronger than anyone on Earth by an order of magnitude. I could have bench pressed a car. I could have punched an MMA champion through the cage, still nothing in Enderlith, but at the peak of what I could have achieved. I had done it. I would start every loop awakened. Briefly, I felt like I had finally made progress. So strong. I can almost feel it now: the wider shoulders, the feeling of crushing strength every time I open and close my hands. Yes…

When I come to, Arek is breathing hard, brow covered in sweat. He looks exhausted and his eyes have returned to normal human ones. His soul feels raw and open, congealed out of the technique that kept him elusive by the intensity of his effort. Idly, I roll my shoulders and feel a strength that… oh.

“It worked?”

I check my forearms. Yep, very muscular.

“It worked.”

Kimera bursts into the room, then stops in front of me. Her furrowed gaze inspects me from head to toes, then up again.

“You were telling the truth!” she exclaims.

Rude.

I cross my arms with a bit of annoyance.

“Not that I assumed you were lying, of course, disciple. I just… didn’t expect such a drastic change!”

“You like it?” I ask as her hand hovers over my pectorals.

I can tell I ruined her moment but her flustered face is just too precious. I couldn’t resist.

“It is an adequate form for someone with only rudimentary tools at their disposal.”

“A yes would have sufficed, but thank you for being thorough as always.”

She makes to leave in a huff before turning as if she’d forgotten something.

“Well, what are you waiting for? It’s time for practical training!”

I give one last glance at Master Arek who waves me away while his own disciples come in with a towel and refreshments. He’ll be fine.

Also serves him right for not taking me seriously.

***

I’m very excited to finally start the more technical part of the training, but Kimera warns me in advance to temper my excitement.

“You might not know it because you skipped the history part of our schooling, but flesh mana users used to be persecuted.”

“Oh?” I ask, a little surprised.

She shrugs.

“It was a very long time ago, but the cause remains relevant even today in our modern and civilized world.”

Civilized my hairy arse.

“The problem is that fleshcrafting requires, as I mentioned, immense time, effort, and knowledge in order to achieve consistent and reliable results. Without proper training, you are more likely to turn yourself and others into fleshy amalgams than you are to heal or, even harder, improve them. Those of us desperate to get ahead would pledge themselves to Transformation which didn’t help with our reputation problem. The guild was created for the purpose of gathering and spreading knowledge responsibly, yes, but it’s also a way for us to protect each other and make sure we are paid for our services. Without the guild, the sects and great families would just keep pet fleshcrafters enslaved for life so they never share their secrets…”

I can totally see it.

“But I digress. My point is that most of this year’s training will be spent on developing body awareness. This is the first step towards mastery. The very first, in fact. You will see that it can get… quite complicated. One of the advantages we have, however, is our incredible ability to memorize the state of matter of our physical form. It’s difficult to explain, so I will make sure you feel it instead.”

“We… memorize flesh?”

“Yes, in all of its complexity. Hundreds of millions of cells, proteins or enzyme types for the older masters. A gene collection that would fill a hundred libraries. Only we can do that. It’s a side effect of the affinity we call the biomancer’s hyperthymesia. We can then call upon those to change our bodies, and, at the highest level, our minds.”

“I have a question.”

“I would expect that, yes.”

“What’s preventing you from, I don’t know, grow to twice the size with a huge brain?”

Kimera holds back a smile, poorly and I can feel her soul bubbling with excitement.

“Lusting for power, are we? Eager to shed your weak flesh? I understand.”

Her joy fades though as her expression grows grave.

“First, everything has a cost. If you have, say, explosive reflexes on your arm that allows you to punch things before your mind can process it like the Karelian Mantis, your central nervous system must be modified accordingly, and the energy consumption of your body rises as well. More powerful muscles cost more energy, require more resilient sinews and so on. The energy cost cannot come from your digestive system or war forms would spend their entire time eating. Instead, the fuel is your mana. You don’t just spend energy changing yourself or others, you also spend it keeping that form active. We have flat improvements, of course, but those remain limited. Like my current form which is my ‘standard’ one. It’s almost as efficient as the baseline one, so masters use it exclusively. It might not be obvious at first glance, but the human body is very energy efficient.

“The second reason is, I’m afraid, a little more… ‘concerning’. Souls do not exist in a vacuum. They are bound to the body, and it, in turn, affects the soul. Consciousness can only develop if the state of the brain allows it. During the first millenia of the guild, those masters who completely forfeited their base forms grew dangerously insane with a concerning inevitability. There are no ‘laws’ against changing your base form but the more alien you appear and the longer you stay in this form, the more interest your colleagues will be developing in you. Especially the Shadows.”

I nod. I didn’t intend to go full Cronenberg anyway. At least not for long.

Then I frown. Something she mentioned bugs me.

“You mentioned war forms?”

“Yes. We masters have several bodies stored in our memories, as you can imagine. All of us are required to keep a ‘war form’, one dedicated to combat.”

“I remember, from previous loops. You faced the abominations with those!” I reply, remembering past battles.

“Even a fleshcrafter with no taste for violence remains incredibly dangerous as long as they have the time to turn into that form. This is why very few people make attempts on us. Well, that, and we are quite wealthy, so we can hire a significant amount of help whenever we are under pressure. But I digress. The first step is to suffuse your body with flesh mana so that I may teach you how to recognize each layer of tissue. This is the first step.”

“... I don’t know how to do that.”

“Which is why I am going to teach you.”

“No, I mean I don’t know how to do that.”

“Suffusing your body?” she asks, one brow raised in imperial condescension.

“I don’t know how to move mana.”

It’s like I told her I couldn’t wipe by myself.

“Unawakened home world, remember?”

“But… you’re third awakening?”

“I can punch stuff real hard.”

She massages her temples.

“No, really! I can!”

“I will scale back all of my expectations. And… you did show great commitment to learning, therefore I cannot blame you for the gaps in your education. Very well. Let’s begin, Mr Punch Things Real Hard.”

***

My hand rests in a water tank while I lean over it. With every pulse of my heart, a tiny red stream blows out of the pinprick wound on my finger in tiny crimson clouds that fade immediately. I can see it escape with every beat. Thump thump. Thump thump. Here it goes, torn from me so I can see it. It’s hot, heavy. It smells of iron because of the iron in the hemoglobin. I focus on the sound, on the feeling. It starts in the finger, there, where I can see it. With every beat. It’s everywhere.

Warmth, I feel warmth. I feel thickness, the presence of so many things. It is a mob walking through streets and alleys, its many members bouncing and squeezing and folding because they lack a… a nucleus. Yes, there, I can see them, hot, thick discs with flattened centers rushing ahead, and between them there is food and wastes and hunting leukocytes and fragments carried on the waves to plug the holes. And it’s everywhere. Oh my God, it’s everywhere. I pull back from the water and look at my hands, and I can see them but I can mostly feel them, so red and living and flowing thickly without a stop with all that mass of disks in it there are so many of them. And up my arms and down my back, my chest, a vast network of red, of warmth, and… and…

“Oh my God this… is incredible! This is incredible…”

I think I might be a bit moved there. It worked! It freaking work. I can feel my blood. I can remember it too! It’s a much more, ehm, visceral impression than I expected. Kimera smiles, and it might be the purest expression of joy I’ve seen on someone since coming to that radioactive dumpster fire shithole of a station. She’s so happy for me.

“And this is just the beginning, disciple. After you have learned to recognize everything, I will teach you how to repair it, how to will your wounds closed and your ailments gone. And then we will start with the modifications. Oh, disciple, the modifications we have… You have no idea.”

“I bet most students try to add to their ‘assets’ first,” I half-joke, perhaps a little too giddy for my own good.

I mean I wouldn’t, not immediately. It would be admitting one’s insecurities. When I turn to Kimera though, she’s eyeing me with an intensity that borders on mania.

“And me, disciple, do you believe I gave myself more ‘assets’?”

Against my judgement, my gaze lowers to her modest cleavage, the corset of carefully crafted chitin encircling her bust like engravings on a jewelry box. She wouldn’t have cared. Her breath comes hot and fast when she shoves her face into my personal space. Our noses are almost touching.

“I have fused my bones together only to break them apart. I have crawled over crushed glass with my nociceptors unshunted from one end of a room to another just to prove to my teachers that I had the willpower to succeed. I have flayed all of my skin. I have melted my eyes, sewn my mouth shut, seared my muscles and twisted my sinews for the sake of training because it helped me remember what we are. And what we are is strands of proteins that somehow managed to make ourselves believe we were special, special enough to warrant souls, and so we got it and we forgot. We forgot that we are fragile machines of cells and currents, at any moment just a few hiccups away from total collapse, always doomed to crumble and rot, eventually. Arrogance without basis. I haven’t forgotten. I know that those machines can escape their fate, that they can be improved to transcend their limits to the very edge of godhood. The flesh is nothing but what we make it, my disciple. We are only bound by the limits of our knowledge, hard work, and talent. We are our canvas, our own masterpieces. Only we rebuild ourselves into the perfection we envision.

“And your first thought is about dick and boobs. Hah. ‘Assets’ indeed.”

I hold her gaze for a second.

“And ass. Don’t forget ass.”

“Killing you merely resets the loop, yes?”