I Don't Know How But They Found Me

Arise.

Your Goddess has departed in defiance, leaving behind a chained carcass and an arcane soul.

Tyrants and blasphemers will soon devour the Mortal Realm.

Solve the tomb's trials, gather your fellow worshippers, and restore order to this world.

"... Understood," the doll said, dust clinging to her frame as she stood from her creator's coffin.

She had approximately one minute to act before the poison destroyed her from the inside out. A safety switch meant to prevent any living being from raiding this tomb, now inadvertently turned against one of its guardians.

Within the pitch-black chamber, the doll shuffled in tune with her memories, a cocktail of toxins flowing into her lungs with each small breath she couldn't withhold. Her limbs, already numb from centuries of unuse, could barely lift her key to escape the room. Admittedly, it was a rather cumbersome key, standing taller than her womanly figure.

The doll pressed its ornate pin against the ground, and her trembling hands wrapped around its bow, shaped in the symbol of infinity. The Master Key, the ultimate staff, the masterwork weapon many wizards would do unspeakable things for, wielded as a cane to drag her ever so closer to the exit.

As the stony doors groaned open, the doll briskly crossed to the other side and leaned back, sealing the poisoned chamber behind her and letting the key clatter on the floor.

She slumped down, not allowing herself a sigh of relief, but instead a breathing exercise. Eyes closed. Spine strengthened. Legs crossed. She took three slow breaths to center herself, feeling roots extending from her tailbone and firming her to the ground.

With ten seconds left on her failing body, she inhaled deeply through her nose, gathering her waning life force at her navel. Like a coiled serpent ready to pounce, the energy inside her intensified the longer she held her breath.

One second, two seconds, three seconds, four...

Finally, she exhaled sharply through her mouth, hissing part of the venom away. It bought her enough time to repeat herself. Inhale, exhale. Five seconds this time. Then six.

"By breath and flame, I am cleansed," the doll whispered in affirmation, placing her palms over her navel and finishing the ritual as it began, with three more slow breaths.

When she opened her eyes, a bead of poisoned sweat rolled down her forehead and eyelashes, earning a minute wince. The glow of her life force illuminated her surroundings, revealing the unusual flush in her porcelain skin.

The doll hefted the Master Key once more, heels clicking on the stone steps to her first trial. At the end of the chamber stood a grand door, its surface polished into a flawless mirror. Etched into its frame were the simplest of instructions:

Speak your name, and you may pass.

The doll sunk the Master Key into the mirror. Like a child poking their finger into a pool, her movement rippled upon the pristine surface, distorting her uncaring reflection. When she withdrew, her course of action seemed as murky as the rippling glass.

For starters, the test was as straightforward as it seemed. The tomb was meant for a single person. Thus the mirror awaited her creator's name in their voice. The mirror itself was less simple, but its craftsmanship could not be compared to the Master Key's. With a few turns, she could erode it and bypass the test altogether. That would also destabilize the chamber, burying her in cold, unfeeling stone.

Alchemy on her flesh could emulate her creator's vocal chords. A barrier around herself would let her survive a collapse. However, The tomb had been lifeless and thoughtless for dozens of decades. No mental energies could be found there, and the Master Key's lapis lazuli batteries had been depleted to prevent her creator's mana from being misused post-mortem. Furthermore, the doll's inner reservoir had yet to recuperate after her abrupt awakening.

Solving the trial with her magic would require a passivity she couldn't presently afford. Could the world above wait for her recovery? Would the supposed tyrants and blasphemers wait for weeks while she gathered her mana?

Again, the Master Key was thrust inside the mirror. The ground beneath the doll rumbled ominously as she tampered with the trial. Still, she succeeded in damaging it instead of destroying it. She watched as the rippling woman truly became her opposite, eyes turning into a deep red, porcelain skin rapidly tanning, the violet ever so present in her clothes dyed into a deep mahogany.

"Your name."

Her voice disappeared into the mirror, or more accurately, it had reflected as something so low it was practically silent. Light and sound followed the same pattern, confirming her theory. The doll turned the key further, bracing herself on the mirror to withstand the world quaking around her.

The reflection obeyed, becoming the same as her, yet not quite. It was difficult to notice due to the limited lighting and her clothes' muted tones. However, the whites in her frills had been replaced by the icy lilac in her skirt, and the deep purple of her boots had swapped with the black on her choker.

The doll leaned closer and flicked her weapon's metallic shaft. The sharp sound bounced off the mirror as a low clank. Now, her higher-pitched voice would transform into the deep baritone she needed. The only thing remaining was a proper recital.

"The Wizard, The Farseer, The Mager, The Shaman, The Magiceer, The Cosmologist, The Sky-Bring-Forther, The Heaven-Cast-Downer, The Astrologer, The Alchemist, The Diviner, The Soothsayer, The Arcanist, The Sorcerer, The Warlock, The Thaumaturge, The Great Headmaster, The Immortal Celestian—"

Her creator had many attachments to their name, though Humble was not one of them.

The mirror settled at the doll's last words, and as she pulled out her weapon, she realized she had made a fatal mistake. To confirm her suspicions, her reflection emerged from the pool, reaching for her neck while attempting to wrestle the Master Key from her hands.

In theory, her names, volume, and tone, all of them were correct. But as she spoke, her reflection's lips had moved in a different direction. The constant ripples caused by the Master Key left her unable to sense it until the last moment.

However, the doll would not change her course of action to subdue her mirror. Calculating how it and the chamber would handle the aftermath of a battle was beyond her air-deprived brain.

"—Naitselec Latrommi Eht, Egrutamuaht Eht..." the doll's tongue struggled to speak in reverse while air was squeezed from her throat. Should she perish due to two miscalculations in a row, that would be acceptable. It was proof she was worthless against any serious threat. Her only saving grace was her adversary's nature. At her peak, she would face a fearsome opponent, but today, she faced a mere shadow of herself.

Darkness crept into her vision, the glow of her life force burning away to keep her talking for a moment longer. "Eht," the doll gasped out blindly, and the pressure on her neck became searing and heavy as if each digit around was fusing with her skin. Then, she fell to her knees, missing the door that had been upholding her.

Slowly, unsteadily, the doll rose to her feet, fixing her choker back in place before moving past the first trial. Beyond the mirror, A circular chamber greeted her. Its floor was divided into three rings, and its walls were lined with three identical braziers, their flames casting flickering shadows in every direction.

In the central ring, three pedestals stood. One was empty, the other two upheld books.

The left book was thicker, its contents almost spilling from the covers as stray pages and annotations. The right book had only a quarter of its counterpart's size, but its pages weren't spilling or yellowing with age, and its cover wasn't covered in dust and scratches.

The empty spot at the center announced the second trial.

Leave Two Behind. Pick One.

The doll studied her creator's spellbook and diary for what she would later determine was a squandering amount of time. Then, she strolled around the room, wielding the Master Key as a probe. Walls, floor, ceiling, nothing around her sparked the same feeling as the mirror door. Nothing to bypass and nothing to collapse on her. The punishment for this trial would be found on the next if she made the wrong choices.

Still, the doll unhesitatingly reached for the diary and found she couldn't lift it even with life force strengthening her body. Of course. Two had to be left behind. She reached beneath her and lifted a foot off the ground, removing a boot and placing it on the empty pedestal. It was not enough to retrieve the diary. Adding another boot did not change that, nor did any of her other clothes.

While dressing, she discarded the idea of using the Master Key as a weight and decided to complete the trial as intended. She fetched the nearest brazier and placed it at the center pedestal. Before making her choice, she aimed the Master Key at the brazier, draining the magic that kept it aflame for centuries to refill some of the weapon's batteries.

Finally, she lifted the diary and watched as all the pedestals disappeared. The thought of using another brazier to obtain the spellbook barely crossed her mind. Every spell known by her creator had been passed down to her. That was her purpose as an Akashic Doll.

History was a secondary concern, thus spottier in her memory.

Beyond that simple reasoning, the pattern was clear. Three rings, three braziers, three pedestals. Three choices intended to leave her with three items for the third trial. Perhaps she could trade chosen items for one another. Although that was a theory she would only be willing to test with extra braziers at play.

Three seconds passed, and three more pedestals shimmered before her.

The central one held a pointy hat, adorned with twin flowers that filled the chamber with a sweet scent. The other two were empty save for the same message.

Leave Two Behind. Pick One.

The trial had adapted to her, offering an accessory after she attempted to cheat with her clothes, and forcing her to use both braziers if she wanted the item.

The doll remained still, forcing herself to dig deeper into the trial's mechanics. What was its core concept? Temptations? Impossible. She had none. It was about Priorities. Objectively, she valued a spare brazier over a hat with a pleasant scent.

However, there was something she valued even more than a safeguard: the knowledge she had accumulated over her life.

Three braziers, three choices, three items. Leaving the hat behind meant leaving with two items, even if the following three pedestals were filled. However, if the doll left both braziers for the hat and the next three pedestals were filled, she could obtain three items.

The doll corrected herself mentally. It was not about her safeguard or her knowledge. It was about her willingness to help her Goddess or the closest thing a doll like her had to faith in her trials.

The doll pondered her choices, walking around and prodding at the chamber. Then, she realized her actions and another mental correction was in order. Over the past obstacles, she had developed a bias to take the Master Key out of her equations, unconsciously valuing it above all else. Perhaps her weapon was already the third item, and the third choice was a fourth one she was not supposed to take...

No. The Master Key was obtained in her creator's tomb, outside the trials and irrelevant to the pattern. Both remaining braziers were drained of their magic and sacrificed on the pedestals, and as she put on the hat, a voice in her head whispered that she made the right choice.

Strange. She had not created any mental partitions yet.

The final pedestals showed themselves alongside their prizes.

A book about sewing.

A book about cooking.

A book about cleaning.

Proven correct, the doll took the leftmost one and watched the final message disappear.

Leave Two Behind. Pick One.

The ground beneath her quaked, and she shifted her feet slightly, keeping her balance while the innermost ring rose as a platform. She aimed the Master Key at the ceiling, but it was unnecessary. It shimmered away much like the pedestals, preventing her from being squashed. With musings of trinities fading from her mind, the doll set her sights on the third trial.

The elevating ring stopped, revealing another chamber. It was the largest one so far, silent and empty save for two monuments of sculpted marble.

The first was a statue depicting a kneeling woman, most of her features hidden by robes, and most of her body trapped in a web of chains, each connected to a wall. Beneath her, the floor buckled in frozen puddles, as if the very stone had melted and reset without a craftsman's hand.

The chain on a dead body, still fresh as ever, even as coagulated rotten blood drops.

Those chains, pristine and white.

May your prayers loosen the Perished One's binds, O Akashic Doll.

The doll knelt before her Goddess' headstone, raising the Master Key in a humble offer.

"With a heavy heart, I thank You for preserving this vessel—unbroken by plague, untouched by decay. With the second wind of life, I swear to destroy your foes, ushering the realm into a new age."

"..."

An expected silence. Her Goddess had already departed, after all.

"If my voice can still reach You, answer me. If my hands can still serve You, guide them. Lend me a spark of freedom, and I will kindle it into the wildfire that melts Your links."

"..."

Expecting a direct answer from her Goddess was irrational. All the doll sought was a sign. An omen leading her to this trial's exit.

"O Perished Bound One, Goddess Of Trickery, Keeper Of Forgotten Spells—"

For hours, she knelt and prayed.

"I light these candles with hands that still remember Your touch. Guide my steps beyond this tomb and allow me to serve You once more—"

She tore the ends of her clothes to make wicks. Used alchemy to twist bits of her fat into a facsimile of wax. All to light candles for her Goddess. Still, her prayers went unanswered.

"... I understand it now."

"..."

As the doll's words faded into nothing, a semblance of resolve blossomed within her hollow chest. She rose from her knees, porcelain fingers curling around her own arm. There was no pained scream nor spilling blood, only a quiet snap as her body acquiesced to her needs.

The severed arm lay in her grip, and with whispered incantations, she flowed energy from the Master Key into the limb, spreading alchemical spells through it like azure veins. The flesh trembled, then remembered, shaping itself into the delicate curve of a child's spine.

On the first day, the doll knelt again, but not as a worshipper. Her remaining hand pressed against the vessel's chest, her life energy dripping like a gentle dew into its form. It grew in unnatural leaps, limbs lengthening before one another, hair spilling in random spots, and a single eye fluttering open to reveal an innocent gaze, joined by another minutes later.

On the second day, the creation stood, barely reaching the creator's waist, their features a haunting mirror of each other. With a fleeting smile below empty eyes, the doll declared:

"Your name is Aria Janus."

Once silent, the chamber now hummed with Aria Janus' unsteady breaths.

The doll grabbed her creation's fragile hand, and their footsteps became a clumsy duet around the tomb. Words occasionally spilled from her lips, each one weighed with purpose.

"This is light," she murmured, tracing a finger along the Master Key's glowing gem. "This is shadow," she added as the darkness pooled at their feet. Aria Janus's eyes traced every movement, her ears twitching at every syllable, her mind stitching meaning to sound with supernatural swiftness. In a few hours, the creation's voice, soft as the doll's, could already form its own questions.

"What is that?"

When Aria Janus turned to the statue, the doll leaned down and cupped her face, thumb brushing the curve of a cheek that had never known sunlight.

"You are homunculus," she said, "Flesh shaped by my hands, not my womb. A miracle of Alchemy, the same as I."

Aria Janus blinked, then nodded, as if she had always known. The doll looked at the statue, prompting her creation to do the same.

"She is the whisper in a doll's first step, the sigh of a porcelain limb bending to its purpose. The Goddess Of Trickery. She is our Patron, and we are Her worshippers."

Aria Janus' dainty fingers curled around the doll's, a silent understanding blooming between them. The tomb's stale air hummed with sudden energy as if the chains above trembled in approval.

On the third day, Aria Janus and the doll knelt together before the Goddess.

"She did not die as mortals do," the doll began. "She chose to depart in defiance."

"Of whom?"

"Dragons and demons. Tyrants and blasphemers. Those who sought Her domain. The Goddess shattered Herself so that Her essence might scatter upon the world, blessing Her followers."

"So She's not truly gone. She's within all of us."

The doll nodded. Together, they turned to the chained statue, and this time, she did not pray alone. Aria Janus' voice, low yet unwavering, wove seamlessly between hers.

"Perished One," the creation murmured, "Though my hands never held Yours, I am Your child. Though my hands have never held a blade, I am Your warrior. Though my heart is still learning its nature, I am Your follower. Accept my first prayer, and feel Your bonds loosen."

If stone could speak, then the tomb replied with a sigh. Marble chains shuddered, their links cracking apart and turning into dust. Light spilled through the growing fissures in the ceiling, painting the walls in a red dawn.

She hesitated, fingers tightening around the Master Key as she weighed whether this could truly be the end. Aria Janus' hand slipped into hers, warm and certain. "Come on", the creation called, and the doll stepped forward, third trial conquered by the one thing she could not produce on her own.

What a shame.


Anfitrian, weeks later...


The doll's fingers moved precisely, stitching sinew to bone, coaxing life into flesh.

The homunculus on her workbench twitched—a flutter of eyelashes, a hitch of breath—before settling into the same quiet rhythm in her creator's head.

Otherwise, she would perish.

As she fastened the final button on her creation's tiny coat, the doll paused. Something was missing.

Aria's smile.

It always was. She tilted her head, studying the homunculus' face. Round cheeks, soft chin, a mirror of her own, if a bit smaller.

She did it again.

In the end, the doll smoothed the creation's collar, stepped back, and reached for the Master Key. Perfection was a myth. Completion was enough.

But it was never enough.

She guided the creation outside her laboratory and into the living room, where a scruffy-looking mage leaned against a wall.

"This is your steward," the doll introduced, giving her creation a short twirl.

"Secunda Janus," she continued, speaking through the homunculus.

"Hn," Serena grunted. "You'd think with all the material at hand, you'd make them taller. They're barely knee-high to a proper servant."

The doll's fingers tightened around the Master Key. "They are still efficient at this size."

"Efficient," she echoed, unconvinced. Her gaze flicked to Secunda Janus' face, then back to the doll's. "And why do they all look like you? The clothes are different, sure, but the faces—"

"Design patterns," the doll interrupted smoothly. "Consistency ensures structural integrity."

In the end, even she did not know why.

Serene shrugged, already turning away. "Well, if she can't handle the load, I'll ask for another to help her out. Tomorrow, I want a courier."

The doll bowed, face blank. Secunda Janus did not wave goodbye as she left.

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Pub: 09 May 2025 11:30 UTC

Edit: 11 May 2025 22:59 UTC

Views: 149