Beryl fidgeted nervously with the piece of chalk worn down to a nub held between his fingertips. His eyes raced across the smooth stone wall of the basement where He'd sketched down an elaborate mural of diagrams, formulas and various notes to figure out the Glyph he was trying to create. It all looked correct to him. The last time he'd found and corrected an error in his work had been yesterday morning, and now the growing fear of having Enforcement find him was starting to rival his fear of going through with the ritual as he'd currently formulated it.
People had long joked about how he must bear the Moon's Crest, that he was far too feminine, or too delicate, or too pretty for a boy. But two days ago, one of his friends had seen it etched into his skin in the middle of his chest. His friend's eyes had gone wide with disbelief and horror, and she'd run off. Beryl hadn't waited around or pleaded with his friend, hadn't held out hope that maybe the girl wouldn't have told someone about it. He was positive that Enforcement knew about it now, and that they were looking for him. Kaaz wasn't a particularly large island, there were only so many places to search. They'd stumble upon his basement hideout eventually.
In his panic, Beryl hadn't found the time or energy to hate or blame them. It was very explicitly stated in Imperial law that anybody found to bear the Crest must be turned over to the military. If soldiers from Zeal found out that he bore the Crest on their own, they would undoubtedly assume the community had hidden him. The punishment for that transgression would be swift and brutal. The logic of their decisions was laid out in his mind, and he clung to that idea to stop himself from spiralling into rage and despair. The fact that his pursuers were the community who'd taken care of him and provided for him without demanding anything of him in return was a weight that he felt keenly. The girl who'd ran, Beryl had known her since before his parents' accident, he'd played with her and dozens of other kids, went to classes with them, learned almost everything he knew alongside them.
Almost everything. Sorcery he'd learned on his own.
The Crest of the Moon had not just physically manifested on his flesh and altered his development as he'd progressed through puberty, but also attuned him to Sorcery in a way that was profane for someone born on Kaaz to be. In all honesty, if all it had done was make his body more feminine, he probably wouldn't have minded much. The Sorcery too seemed useful in a purely practical sense. His drive to learn and understand it more fully was a persistent, immutable pull on his desires that he'd never been able to deny, but one that had never brought him any pleasure or emotional satisfaction. His problem was purely political; the Crest had made him into a pariah.
He squeezed a bit, and the nub of chalk in his hand crumbled under the pressure. Beryl yelped as the bit of limestone broke apart and he cupped his palm to catch the pieces and stop them from falling into the dirt. He stared at the fragments, broken and useless, just like his life. He felt a surge of terror and despair start to wash over him. That was his last piece, he couldn't write down his thoughts without it, couldn't make any further adjustments to the Glyph with the precision that this Sorcery would require. The Glyph that covered the entire back wall of his hideout would be fixed now; he'd ruin it if he tried to change it without a good writing tool. Beryl looked up at his calculations dejectedly, convinced that he'd find some obvious error within moments. He was convinced that he'd find the flawed bit of math or geometry that would cause his Glyph to misfire and end his life. He'd been double-checking and hoping to find that hidden error for hours now.
His eyes flickered across his scrawlings, but he didn't find any fault with the calculations. It didn't look like he needed to fix anything. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and let the broken pieces of chalk fall from his palm into the dirt floor of the cellar.
Maybe this is a sign? I need to take a leap of faith at some point, don't I?
Beryl had never believed in stories or doctrine of fiendish consciousness living under the ocean, benevolent beings watching from the stars, or unknowable forces slumbering on the Moon. Still, when he was about to trust his life to this bit of Sorcery, he couldn't help but long for the comfort of believing that some Goddess somewhere would forgive him a math error or two.
He walked over to the far wall, and placed his palm upon the center of the Glyph. It was an elaborate chalk outline carved into the rock consisting of hours of hand-drawn and meticulously adjusted Sorcerous expressions and sigils. He couldn't help but laugh a little as his eyes wandered over the result of days and days of work. It was such a simple thing he was doing, and yet doing so in the way he required was incredibly complicated.
Beryl exhaled slowly, and quietly murmured a few words to incite the Sorcery. Power flowed through his chest, down his arm, and into the lines of the Glyph. The Glyph itself was just chalk and stone, its true power was an expression of his intent, a way to shape the energy that came from him. Light slowly suffused through the chalk lines like glowing liquid flowing through lines in the dirt dug with a stick. The light, his Sorcery, reached the ends of the Glyph and there was a brief moment where Beryl became aware of every single detail of his surroundings. Every scuff in the wall, every plant root sticking out of the ceiling, every piece of his broken chalk lying in the dirt.
The next moment, he was weightless, falling, and his opened his mouth to scream in terror. He hit the ground before he could get it out, and received a mouthful of grass instead. He pushed himself up off the ground, spitting out grass and bits of dirt and trying to get a grasp of where he was. It was too dark to make out much detail of his surroundings, but the fact that he'd successfully teleported not over the ocean, and also not so far above land that he broke his spine, meant that he'd avoided his worst case scenario. Whether or not he'd actually successfully teleported to Zeal was another issue entirely. If he had just gotten himself to another section of Kaaz, or even if he'd teleported to another one of Zeal's colonies, his fate would ultimately not be much better than if he'd fallen thousands of kilometers into the Endless Ocean.
His eyes adjusted to the gloom quickly enough. The pitiful flickering light of the candle he'd been using in his basement wasn't much brighter than the spattering of stars that were out tonight. Laid out ahead of him was a series of slowly declining grassy hills that went on for perhaps two or three kilometers before they ended in a sheer drop to the Endless Ocean far far below. It was the same kind of terrain that could be found on many of the floating islands that humanity lived upon, he could be on Zeal just as easily as he could be on Kaaz. Beryl glanced to the left and right to try and judge the curvature of the outer end of the island which he could theoretically use to extrapolate the size of the landmass. He gave up after a few moments, it was too dark and while Beryl had been good at most academic subjects, geometry and geography had never been strong points of his. With a shake of his head, he turned around, resolving himself to climbing up the slope he found himself on so that he could get a better vantage point.
A massive expanse of intricate stone buildings, laboratories, complexes, and palaces spread out ahead of him not more than a few hundred meters away. The buildings were constructed with elaborate curving and twisting architecture, bending into shapes that tested the limits of both gravity and the creativity of the Sorcerers that formed them. Lights softly glittered everywhere, like dozens of constellations had descended out of the sky to adorn the outlines of the city. Even as far away as Beryl was, he could see flickers of motion along walkways, bridges, and in backlit windows as people moved about even at this late hour. Behind him was terrain that could be found of any of the twenty Floating Islands, but ahead of him was something that existed in only one place in the world.
The Grand City of Zeal, heart of the Empire.
