Archimedes/IC Cutscenes/2025.10.12: The Edge Of Breath
| The Edge of Breath | |
|---|---|
| Archimedes meets the judgement of the spirit of his prospective familiar. | |
| IC Date | Oct 12th, 2025 |
| IC Time | Afternoon |
| Players | Archimedes |
| Location | Archimedes' Sanctum |
| Spheres | Mage |
The Edge of Breath
Seated cross-legged on the hardwood floor of a ritual sanctuary tucked deep inside Prospect, California, Professor Archimedes Andrews sat awash in the fragrant incenses specially mixed to place his mind into the depths he knew he needed to be to accomplish that which he say out to do this evening. His eyes were closed and he drew in slow, deliberate breaths, tension melting away with each inhale and exhale.
He had been instructed by Grandfather Willow to "watch for the space at the edge of your breath, where thought begins to fray." What the Professor had initially regarded as wise and poetically delivered at the time now seemed impossible to decipher. He debated closing his eyes, meditating as deeply as he possibly could, and flinging his consciousness through the Astral Plane into the Monastery of Grandfather Willow, but he decided against that.
Equal parts resolute and curious about the challenge placed before, he closed his eyes and resolved to forsake knowledge in the pursuit of wisdom for the purpose of perfection on one's self. Professor Archimedes Andrews closed his eyes and inhaled deeply the whisps of burning incense, and Rewritten Sutra slowly exhaled and settled into his meditation, one hand wrapped in the hem of his t-shirt, the other hand open at the center of his chest. His head bowed, his mind stilled, and his mouth began a rapid chant of the sutras, fast beyond understanding.
As he reached the depths of his meditation, he noticed the sensation of a shift in the air floating on top of the errant thoughts of his mind. It was not temperature, or sound, but the feeling of someone or something watching him. It threatened to shake him from his trance, as his students were kindly ordered to leave him along in the ritual sanctuary today. This was something else entirely. Rewritten Sutra's mind projected out, his eyes opening behind closed lids and regarding the room he was in for any indication of what he had sensed. There, by the laboratory, the darkness seemed to pool different, coiling like smoke -- or scales.
Then a powerful mind touched his, unbidden unbridled fierceness that slowly tamed itself into sharpness, coolness, and precision the more their minds integrated. And judgement, realized Unwritten Sutra. Not cruel, and certainly not warm. Just observing.
"Contradiction," a voice not of air passing over vocal cords in the larynx, but of one mind touching another and communicating ideas in a language neither spoke natively, but both seemed to agree on at its inception, "You think stillness is yours to command, but old monk was wrong. You straddle three paths, diluting your essence."
"I..." Rewritten Sutra begins, using words without words, "I am listening."
The dragon's form materialized slowly in Rewritten Sutra's mind's eye, a long pale shape curling around the sensitive equipment of his laboratory, every fiber of the monk's being screaming to ask the dragon to float just a little bit further this way or that. Yet, he halted. The dragon weaved an almost hypnotic pattern, its scales luminous in a way that reminded him of the ocean waves on a clear, moonlit night, and it struct Rewritten Sutra into mental silence. He truly did listen now.
"Do you even understand?" it asked, voice sharper now, "You think your mind controls your body, and your logic controls your magic. You are... distracted. And untested."
The monk's response was slow in coming, thought out and collecting the extent of the wisdom he has garnered so far. "I understand enough," his breath evening as he commits to his response and settles on the completion of his thoughts, "to know I do not understand everything."
There was a long pause. Then the dragon shifted, coming closer in presence than the monk could have imagined possible. “You will falter. You will doubt. And yet, you have come this far. That counts for something.”
Rewritten Sutra's own judgement of the dragon rose in return, cautious, measured, and pedagogical, "And you?" His mind was softened in tone, meeting judgement with judgement of his own, but meeting coolness with warmth, "You are young. You are still learning to carry your power without letting it crush what you intend to protect. You too will falter and doubt yourself, at times. You will encounter the choice to give up or continue on in spite of the obstacles you have faced."
The dragon’s head tilted. For a moment, he glimpsed something almost like vulnerability, quickly hidden beneath scales of pride. “You speak well enough for a mortal,” it admitted. “Most stumble over words before they stumble over themselves.”
"I have stumbled," the monk's reply was measured, "and I will again. So shall you."
"And yet, you remain," the dragon spat incredulously, its voice less of a riddle now, and more of a test.
In the same measured voice of mental clarity, Rewritten Sutra bows his head as he responds, "So shall you."
The dragon exhaled, not in billowing smoke or fierce fire, but as if air expelled from a rock, cold and clear to the monk's astral senses. The presence shifted even closer, closer than Rewritten Sutra could have ever fathomed possible while still maintaining separate space in this plane of existence.
"I will fly beside you, Contradiction," it said finally, "The old monk in his wisdom has already created the body in which I am to inhabit. It will be fierce and majestic to suit my station as the vigilant dragon familiar of a Mage in such a need of one as yourself." The words dripped, evocative of contempt and resigned acceptance. "Do not think this is a comfort, or a gift. I will make sure you face your doubts and your limits. You cannot meet me here, at the edge of your breath where thoughts begin to fray, you will find no guidance from me at all."
Rewritten Sutra returned to where his body remained sat in the physical world, seated, one hand wrapped in the hem of his t-shirt, the other held open as his chest. The astral projection of Rewritten Sutra joined its physical form, fading as the the coiling form of the dragon begins to fade. One last moment of thought as his mind meets his body forms, "I understand."
Professor Archimedes Andrews opened his eyes, inhaling and exhaling one deep breath as his mind raced to comprehend what exactly he had just experienced. Unfamiliar pressure on his left forearm, within the hem of his shirt, shook him from his reverie. Lifting his arm, the foot long scaled form began to coil, the silver form of a Chinese dragon head emerging from behind his wrist.
For a moment, shocked brown eyes met shocked sapphire blue eyes.
That mental connection, which had ever truly left, rang out with ideas expressed as language neither of them spoke natively, but agreed to since its inception, "Contradiction!"
Archimedes' reply was vocal, but long in coming, "Xiaolong." Little Dragon.
The voice in Archimedes' brain, conveyed obviously from the diminutive Chinese dragon wrapped conspicuously around his forearm, suddenly coupled with a frantic telepathic rattling through Archimedes' brain as the being attempted to find the words to convey its incredulity.
"Contradiction," it's voice reverberated in fury, then reached a crescendo as it roared, "What the fuck?!"
