Pruned Trees Re-Sprout!! ~ Ragazza Volpe Magica ~

Pink petals fluttered overhead as his eyes opened for the first time in his new body.

The former Incantatori lay among the blanket of flowers in that place, Avalon. Cievo had deposited him in the realm of his own creation; though, he returned to it no longer a creator.

His body felt heavier; he was roughly about four times larger give or take. Math was never a subject he claimed to care for.

He knew he wasn't a Natural, his face felt distinctly flat, and he lacked fur. He was not human though, as he felt the stub of what remained of his tail at his rear, and his distinctly cat shaped ears atop his head.

Time was already fake, and in a realm of eternal pink twilight, he lost more of it.

"Chath Chellwair," he spoke a new name for himself. Chell died to Sahji. He was reborn as a different being, and inherited the memories of a cat long departed.

His voice sounded foreign. Not the meow of a male cat, but that of deeper human speech. He flexed the digits of his new hands. These would be a great boon--he wouldn't need to use his mouth or magic to move things around.

Cievo even imparted clothes upon the newly created creature, though Chath Chellwair didn't waste the energy summoning a mirror. He was well covered with comfortable robes of some kind, blue in color. Outside of what his senses informed him against his will he cared not, his curiosity was dead.

"8000 years huh?"

That was the promised time. When they would hatch. His curselings. Of all the things he expected to create in his life, he never expected to create something capable of ending all life.

He closed his eyes. Avalon was warm. He was warm. So he went back to sleep, retreating into the world of memories to live blissfully with Harper once again.

Harper died again.

At least, that's how Chath Chellwair saw it.

Hundreds of years passed, and every time the Ethereal slept, his memories became foggier and foggier, as if being worn away from repeated use. Until one day, he could no longer dream of his beloved.

Harper died again.

Sleeping was too painful, so he wrote.

He documented every spell of the Incantatori. Every single one that lived on his his mental landscape. Why was his memory so sharp for such mundane tasks, yet faltered when he needed it most?

Now the cat Ethereal possessed a library of books, yet no library.

So then he built.

Brick by brick he constructed a tower. It was a gorgeous piece of architecture, fitting for the carrier of the Incantatori's legacy. It was taller than any construction the Naturals could ever hope to accomplish, surrounded in a sea of pink trees.

He was thankful for his never-ending grove of apples. They restored his magics with no adverse effects, so when he threw himself into a project he could go wild with it.

For thousands of years he worked, creating, building, theorizing.

All alone.

Forever alone.

He occasionally peeked at the outside world thanks to Incantatori magic. Yet, he only found Naturals. Terrible creatures, brutes really. They bickered and fought. They killed and pillaged. They ate and fornicated.

Like animals.

They were beneath animals, and beneath him. It was bad enough they sullied Harper's memory by using the magic he wove.

So he returned to more civilized pursuits, such as writing.

Two books in his library sat untouched though.

"Magia Suprema"

"Magia Iocus"

The former was a blank ledger. It's rules laid out on page one.