The Arkanist

The Divide

Visir stared at Arstain’s hand, light dancing across the flesh. What was he saying?

         “I have crossed The Divide many times before.” Arstain said, trying to convince Visir. “I know its secrets and its subtle mysteries.”

         Visir still couldn’t bring himself to speak. He simply stared at the hand. Was he joking? What was he doing?

         “Why?” Asked Visir plainly. “Why are you helping me? I was your prisoner just a minute ago.”

         “And you’re still my prisoner.” Said Arstain. “I never said you weren’t.”

         Visir didn’t respond.

         “I want Runir to be free of the Oppressive One and free of this heavy shadow.” Explained the Darkdweller. “That is what I want. To be truly free.”

         Visir nodded, “And you will aid me?”

         “If I can.” Said Arstain. “And I can start with The Divide.”

         Visir looked back into the flames, listening. He did not know if he could trust this man. He did not know anything right now. All he knew was that he had only two options: become captured or trust this man. He did not know what one was better. But he chose to trust.

         “The Divide is not what you think.” Arstain began. “It is not a wall, it is not a fence, it is not a chasm, it is not a tunnel and it is not guarded.”

         “Then why don’t people just walk right through?”

         “It is not that simple.” Said Arstain. “The Divide is a single black thing of mist and murk, created by the Oppressive One himself with the dark magic of Vvhen, the Forbidden Magic of the immortal Gods of Shadow. The Dividel, once inside, torments the mind with memories and thoughts of both future and past. It reveals all the darkest moments of your life and magnifies them ten fold, filling your head with nothing but grief and despair. It shows you the future in the worst ways imaginable, filled with death and tragedy and depression. The Divide is no physical wall, though is one that is mental and seductive.”

         “Then how does it kill? What are its secrets?”

         “It torments you from within, making one mad with grief and sorrow and despair. Everything bad crumbles down like the weight of the world and your mind is assailed with arrows of self-doubt and depression. The one who enters is usually killed as they pass, driven mad and deranged with the evil magic. Though also once outside, if one survives the mists, the thoughts take hold of them and they kill themselves afterward as the vision of the past and future still hunt them, inevitably to their deaths. The real battle commences when you are on the other side of the Divide, where you must be strong and resilient.”

         “And you have crossed through?” Asked Visir, still unconvinced by the man. “You have braved the torments?”

         “Many a time.” Said Arstain. “I have crossed over many times before and from it, I have seen many deaths caused by the dark magic infused into the mists. I have watched the gallant and valiant fall to the murk, and I have seen the wise and sagacious die in torment and sorrow. Though I have seen those who survive the Divide and I know the secrets in order to cross and live a while afterwards.”

         “And how can I trust that you are not leading me to my imminent death?” Asked Visir.

         “You can’t.” Said Arstain. “It is up to you, whether you want to trust me or not. But know only that it is not me who can pull you through, but yourself. Have hope, Visir, have your petty hope.”