A History of Violence

Years of working in black companies within Tokyo meant several negative things for Tomita. One of those negatives was he was never a specialist at anything. Japanese business culture was designed for grunts like him to formed into generalists, not specialists. For nearly every year of his career, he would be pivoted to a new role at the start of every fiscal year. New responsibilities. New systems. New software. New colleagues. New skills. Never mastering anything, just being competent at a little bit of everything.

Once, he had hated that system. Now, in this world, he found it quite useful in helping him adjust.

Arriving in this strange, violent world after he had died should have broken his mind. He should have gone mad from the insanity of his situation. But a life defined by change and letdowns had molded him into the sort of empty vessel that could be filled with whatever was needed at the time. So he poured Izhari’s quest into his mind and body until it became his only focus. Remnants of his past self remained within him, evident in traits such as a fastidious personality and a commitment to efficient processes, but now it was not about corporatism; it was about Izhari.

Thus, as they entered their second week in the mainland, still on the same island, still seeking a teleportation crystal, he mercifully was not becoming stressed or annoyed. He found purpose in navigating the harrowing realm for Izhari, who was learning more and more to lean on him for aid. His generalist skillsets allowed him to be her guide, her protector, her cook, her teacher, her carrier, and more. He was not excellent at any of those tasks, but he was good enough, and for now, that was enough.

That morning, Tomita awoke to more nonstop rain. It felt like being in Tokyo in August again, so he did not mind. Izhari was still balled up beside him, and he moved silently so as not to startle her. Their tent’s fabric was thin, but it kept the rain off of them while allowing them to see general silhouettes outside. Tomita glanced in all directions to confirm that no one and nothing was close, and slowly undid its bindings before stepping out into the wet world that awaited.

The path was not visible from their hiding spot. They had sought shelter in the rocky embrace of a simple cave the night before, and now, as Tomita looked out at the small waterfall nearby, he found the moment somewhat calming, even if they were hiding for their lives.

Izhari’s plan currently was to continue following the paths in the hope that it might lead to another teleportation crystal. Thus far, they had not had any luck, but both of them believed they would find it soon. Izhari’s theory from her wanderings so far was that none of the islands were extensive. At best, they could hold a small village. So, navigating even the largest islands should only take a few weeks at a time, even when hiding.

Today they would continue onward, letting her maji senses lead them towards the emanations of the crystal. Squatting onto his calves allowed Tomita’s back a moment of relief as he looked up at the hazy sky and wondered how long it would take to find the next crystal. If the entire journey were to be like this, it could take years just to find the Shores of Time. Still, he didn’t mind.

As he ruminated on the outlook of his future, something above him caught his eye.

In the sky, there was a streak of something enormous. It wasn’t a meteor, but it fell from the unseen haze beyond the fog and streaked through the sky in a burning rush downward. Behind it, streams of glowing light sparkled, leaving traces of gold and white. Tiny flecks of light hovered and bounced along the stream, which eventually started to fade. The falling light fell and fell until it disappeared behind the treeline and out of Tomita’s sight.

At that moment, he didn’t think much of it and simply chalked it up as another surreal aspect of this world. With that, he closed his eyes to feel the rain on his skin for a moment before returning to the tent.

Reentering the tent showed him Izhari had awoken and was lying on her side with her eyes open. He sensed she was waiting for me.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he reflected on the feeling in his chest that was coming from her.

“I guess I’m still expecting you to walk out of the tent one day and never return. Any time you leave, I wait until you return…” she admitted.

Tomita smiled to himself. He understood that someone who had experienced life the way she had so far would likely take some time to move past trust issues or fears of abandonment.

“I am still with you,” he said softly, deciding it was not necessary to tell her not to worry.

Izhari nodded and stretched her leg as her tail bent slightly over her waist. Tomita placed his mock memory crown onto his head and began to gather the supplies. They had settled into an effective rhythm at this point that both of them appreciated. Tomita handled the rare instances of cooking, with Izhari providing fire. Water was never scarce since it was almost always raining, so Tomita simply filled the pouches by hanging them outside. Tomita read aloud in the mornings, and so far, they had felt safe on two days, which had afforded some time training. The rest of the time, they walked.

This morning, Tomita decided to read some of their current history book as the two of them ate, allowing their minds to return fully. As he returned to the ground, he opened the tattered spine of the tome.

His eyes scanned the pages for passages of interest, and soon he found something.

“Another war,” he said to Izhari.

So far, the history books had primarily been full of conflict. It had helped Tomita understand the chaos of this world even more. Maji were able to bend reality to their will. Powerful maji could restructure entire segments of reality. Truly fearsome maji could alter, destroy, and rewrite all of reality.

Fights between maji and their followers were not about swords or arrows. It was about whose will was stronger, and whose vision of the new reality was more tangible and defined. Halfhearted imaginings would fail. Only conviction and clarity, combined with trained, present minds, could succeed.

Through the ages, hundreds of wars for reality-bending had occurred. Entire species and nations were wiped from existence. There was no way to know how many times the world had been remade.

Reading these histories, Tomita began to feel a sense of condemnation against these maji who had constantly torn the world apart for their own gain.

‘What was this war about?” Izhari asked.

Tomita sighed as he read the passage.

“Eh, more arrogant maji thinking their vision for reality was better than the others? I assume the victors documented their wins and continued adding to the previous histories? Like, how would you all even know what your history was if reality itself is continuously altered?”

“I don’t know. These maji sound like they created a great deal of trouble over time. And He was the final form of all of that. He shattered everything and altered all of existence. I don’t imagine anyone has ever done something of that scope or power,” said Izhari.

“No, it seems like most of these were regional, isolated conflicts. This war took place in one kingdom, between four maji. In the end, the kingdom was transformed into a massive library, where every citizen was expected to spend their life reading. The maji thought knowledge was the most important point of existence. That kingdom lasted for three generations before falling in another battle and becoming farmland. How strange. Life in this realm must have been horrifyingly chaotic for regular people…” said Tomita.

Indeed, in his history classes growing up, he had never worshipped the warriors and stories of the glorious samurai. An empathetic mind had led him to think of the poor civilians who were subjected to sieges, famines, torture, slavery, and firebombings across millennia, all for the ambitions of a handful of powerful and power-hungry men.

History books had a strange way of summarizing years of brutality and slaughtered corpses into a handful of names and locations. No one remembered the names of the screaming children and melted elders, or the starving animals. They remembered generals and weapons. That was how it was in his world.

This realm sounded even worse. Izhari seemed to be thinking about similar things.

“Maybe that’s why He created the memory crowns. I saw it in a memory orb once, that He offered the crowns as escape from all of the horror,” she explained.

“Interesting. Maybe… and I’m not defending… but do you think maybe He started off on a noble path? Trying to help?” asked Tomita.

Izhari sighed.

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve wondered the same thing. But how did He come to this point where the only solution was to break the entire world and wipe the truth from everyone’s mind?” she asked.

Tomita shrugged and shook his head.

“We’ll just have to ask Him when we find him.”

Izhari smiled to herself and chuckled.

“Well, we have to find this damned crystal first.”

Tomita chuckled in agreement and closed the book.

“Well, let’s continue our search then!” he said as he held out his hand to help Izhari rise and face the day’s journey.