Dio - Experiments (2)

At first glance, Dio would have said he couldn’t detect anything unusual. He didn’t notice anything changing position, aside from the things people moved or rearranged themselves. Likewise, there were no unusual structural differences in the things he observed. Everything bore the ordinary marks of use and change, nothing unusual. The grass grew, the earthy ground was stirred up by gusts of wind, and their footprints stayed visible until weather gradually erased them again.

Dio had used a gnarled stick to poke holes in the soil beside a few stalks of grain, hoping to see if their positions or number changed. Yet even after leaving them overnight to meditate, nothing had shifted.

And still, if nothing visible had changed, maybe there were inconsistencies in how things worked. After all, he had experienced something strange firsthand when he baked those rolls—how flour and water had somehow turned into aromas that shouldn’t have existed, and into flavors no simple loaf should have contained.

There was something to uncover, something about when such phenomena happened and what triggered them.

With a sigh, Dio stepped a few paces into the forest, past a dense tangle of blackberry brambles, garn ferns, and mangroves, until he came upon a small hill. At its peak stood a lush tree with a long, branchless trunk and puffy pink leaves stretching high into the sky. As he approached, a faintly sweet scent drifted to his nose.

Dio studied the sloping ground with care. He had to circle partway around the hill before he found a suitable spot for what he had in mind: a patch of soil that was earthy and free of roots, a good place to begin his investigation.

He crouched down and let his hand glide over the ground. The soil felt dry, and only a few stomps were enough to pack it firmly. Once satisfied with the flatness, he sat on a patch of thick moss at the base of the hill and looked at the heavy stone tool he had brought with him.

The flint blade was smooth and sharp along its fracture line. Dio ran his finger along the edge and winced as it nicked him. A quick sting shot through his fingertip, and a small drop of blood welled up like a ruby bead, glistening in the morning sun.

This is me. The blood... is me… or is it?

Dio raised his finger to eye level. The dark red liquid shimmered for a moment before the first drop fell to the ground. A second formed, slower this time. He looked at the moss, though he couldn’t find the exact spot where the purplish drop had landed.

Am I really this blood? This body? Is a part of me now gone? Or is another part being formed where the wound is already starting to close? How much of me has to go? How much must vanish... before I fully awaken from the Dream?

Thoughts bubbled into Dio’s mind all on their own, drifting through him like intangible mist. There was something about them—something oppressive, uncanny, yet also strangely fascinating. What was in his blood? What was in him? What ideas were forming without his awareness? What was even possible, what could emerge from the—

A shmuttle’s mating call cut through the air, snapping him out of his thoughts. He quickly scanned the treetops, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bird.

The first time he had seen one was when visiting Ha at her shelter near the grain stores by the forest’s edge. A melodic call had interrupted their conversation, and after a few careful steps through the underbrush, they had spotted one perched high above them on a gnarled branch. Dio had immediately recognized the creature. It had a bright turquoise beak, long and slightly curved upward, from which a soft, wistful melody rang out. Its feathers shimmered with warmth and vibrant colors, ending in glowing blue rings at the tips of its tail. Its wingspan must have stretched at least three arm lengths, and though it sat high above them, it looked massive.

A large bird… colors of the rainbow… shimmering in the…

“…sunlight,” Dio finished Ray’s words aloud, ones that had surfaced from deep within his memory the moment he saw the creature.

Ha had looked at him with a puzzled frown...

It now comforted Dio that another of the species was nearby as he was about to begin his tests. For a brief moment, it felt as if a part of Ray were with him, even though he sat alone beneath the knotted tree, gazing out over the trampled slope, while she was far away.

He glanced again at his finger. The bleeding had stopped.

Could you have healed it, Ray? he wondered. Like Brela with her paste? Your Light heals now, doesn’t it?

He shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not here. I still have to wait…” he whispered so quietly that even if someone had been near, they wouldn’t have heard.

Once more, he stepped toward the dusty part of the hill and began carving two grooves into the soil, each about half the width of his arm. It took him nearly the entire morning before he was satisfied. His hands ached. While he had used a stick for the rough digging, the finer shaping had required his fingers. His nails were packed with dirt, and his hands trembled slightly.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Dio looked up through the gaps in the leafy canopy. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed. It was already past midday. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and he looked down at the two channels he had carved: identical in width, with a consistent slope, leading down the hill to a patch of moss.

Again… I had only pictured them, and then they were there. Perfect. How exactly did I gdo this? I wasn’t measuring anything…

Dio bit his lip. It had been like when he baked the bread. He had slipped into a kind of trance, completely immersed in the thought of what he wanted to do. With a sudden jolt, he stood up and began searching the area for thick branches.

Eventually, he found one that would work and set the flint blade against it. He cut off two pieces, each a bit thicker than three of his fingers put together.

Time to dig a little deeper… he thought with anticipation and dropped down onto the leafy forest floor.

He studied the blocky chunks he had shaped, picked one up with his left hand, and pressed the flint against it again with his right.

A sphere. I need a sphere... How am I supposed to make that? With this flint, and this uneven piece of birch? he wondered, and in the very next heartbeat swept the doubts from his mind.

arving two identical, straight grooves into an uneven slope had been just as difficult—and seemingly impossible—as shaping a sphere out of wood. And yet, somehow, it had worked, hadn’t it? He would do what he had done before: when he had baked the bread, when he had dug the channels. He would turn his ideas into reality, shaping the wood until it became exactly what he envisioned—a wooden sphere, smooth and heavy like two handfuls of water, ready to roll evenly.

He could already see the grain of the wood in his mind, could see it rolling, could see the circle in its shape. A smile crept across his lips as Ray came to mind again.

You’re out there able to burn people out of the Dream, and I’m here carving a ball. But hey… at least I’m not completely useless anymore?

The flint cut into the bark, sending little spirals spinning into the air as Dio moved his primitive tool. The wood changed slowly, painfully so, and Dio was only vaguely aware of the passage of time. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he knew he was making progress, cut by cut, stroke by stroke.

When he finally came to, gasping for air, heart pounding, his focus widened again. He was no longer only seeing the flint, the shavings, the image of the sphere within himself—he was fully present in the Dream. And there, resting in his palm, was the sphere itself. Wooden, perfectly round, just as he had imagined. The grain flowed across its bright, polished surface, and the weight was exactly what he had hoped for.

He wiped sweat from his forehead and rolled the wooden ball across his hand, weary but satisfied.

Halfway there, he thought.

He paused to catch his breath and let his body rest. He felt like he had spent two straight days working in the fields, even though all he had made was a single, ridiculous little ball. Still, it was more than nothing. It was something. Something personal.

After closing his eyes and taking two deep, refreshing breaths, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, he reached for the second block of wood still lying nearby.

With focus, he brought the flint blade to the surface, visualizing the sphere he intended to create: a ball like the first, identical in every way except the grain. As the sharp edge touched the bark and Dio pressed the chipped side lightly into it, he suddenly paused.

What if… he wondered, without finishing the thought.

Slowly, he set the flint aside, now holding only the piece of wood in his hands, its pale bark broken here and there by streaks of darker grain.

What… if…