“Before creation, there was the Creator.” A white ring of light hung within featureless blackness.


    “It was flawless and unbound. All that could be known and could be done was already within it. Except the one thing it could not experience, limitation. It rejected the limitation of the limitless.” The ring flashed. Its light obscured the darkness entirely.


    “The Creator fractured itself. It divided the infinite into the finite.” The light gathered into several dozen alma shaped figures of white radiance against the black background.


    “The gods were born. Each containing a part of the Creator and its design.” The white figures spread out. The lines of radiance running from them fractured into prismatic colors.


    “They built the world to that design.” The multicolored lines twisted together in the space between them and resolved into the image of a planet.


    I had always known that the world was a sphere hanging amongst other celestial bodies. But I had never encountered that information before. I assumed it was one of the pieces of knowledge I inherited from G?ri The.


    “The gods looked upon their work and knew it to be perfect in its imperfection.” The figures encircling the planet began to dissolve into strands of white and vanish into the world below.


    “Each god acknowledged their duty fulfilled and descended to walk among their creations. But one remained.” The last few disappeared. Only a single radiant outline stayed.


    “Sheth looked upon the work and saw the final gift of the Creator. Within all things dwelled a path back to the Creator, an escape from the finite.” The faint outline of a frown was created by a few black lines on the white figure’s face.


    “Sheth knew death to be the Creator’s will. All things would end with time and mend the fractured infinity.” A speck of blackness appeared in the center of the white figure.


    “Even the gods would return once their creations came to an end. Sheth saw their own end, and in their limitation they knew fear of the limitless.” The speck spread out like cracks in the seamless white. The brightness was consumed. The figure was left only visible by a corona of light outlining its shape.


    “Sheth rejected the Creator’s will and dissented from its design.” Faint white lines showed a twisted smile spreading across the dark figure’s face. It stretched out its arms.


    “Sheth sought to destroy the path to the Creator.” Strands of darkness outlined in light spread from its body and wove into the world spinning below.


    “The Dissenter created undeath to defy the Creator.” The image shifted.


    The lines reformed into a stylized drawing of an elderly alma lying in bed. Younger alma stood beside him.


    The sadness on the caricatures of alma was apparent. The dying alma closed his eyes and the woman holding his hand slowly relaxed her grip.


    A strand of darkness spiraled from somewhere above and wove into the dead alma. The mourners seemed unaware of the shadowy miasma that began rising from the body.


    The elderly alma opened his eyes. His hand tightened around that of the crying woman.


    There was a moment of joy on the surrounding faces. Then the revived alma pulled her towards him and bit down on her throat.


    Yellow blood sprayed and she flew away with exaggerated force. A moment later the shadows rose from her body. She stood and attacked the other alma.


    “But the Dissenter was unable to truly end death.” The image changed to the bloody and violent alma bound to a wooden post surrounded by bundles of sticks.


    One of the alma from the previous scene threw a lit torch onto the pyre. Flame rose and the tied alma thrashed madly.


    “Sheth could only delay the return.” The undead alma burned to blackened outlines. And the shadows that rose from them burned away along with their bodies.


    “They turned to the gods for aid.” Now an androgynous alma stood in a palace of white stone. Before them sat a semicircle of equally genderless alma on ornate thrones.


    “Sheth promised a world without death, a kingdom that would last forever where the gods could rule at their side.” The standing alma smiled as they spoke. Grand gestures projecting a mad ferver.


    There was still no sound outside the narration. But the seated alma frowned at whatever was being said.


    “The gods denounced the Dissenter for their violation of the Creator’s will.” The central figure stood. Their face was twisted in rage.


    “Sheth was banished. But their words planted a seed.” The central figure yelled silently at their petitioner. Behind them a flicker of darkness appeared superimposed over the chests of a few seated figures.


    “Those seeds fed on fear and sprouted into tretchury.” The smiling petitioner turned and walked out of the scene. The smile never faded.


    “The traitors joined Sheth in his works and the dark gods were born.” The flickers grew into auras of shadow around them.


    “They hid in the dark places of the world. And together they achieved what Sheth could not alone.” The art style returned to white and black contrast. Black figures outlined in light surrounded a single larger figure.


    A ball of swirling white rested between their hands. The figure smiled down at the ball as the dark shape of a curled up alma formed within.


    “Sheth learned to destroy a soul’s connection to the Creator. They made the first unclean spirit.” The more detailed and colorful art returned.


    “The gods could no longer allow the Dissenter to act freely.” A chaotic battle showed gruesomely drawn animate corpses fighting an army of alma.


    “A thousand legions of the unclean waged war with the world. And the gods battled at our side.” The androgynous alma from the white stone palace fought in the air above the armies.


    They now wore more exaggerated and distinctive clothing. Many used odd weapons. I spotted a green and brown one throwing bread they pulled from a large basket.


    A loaf hit another flying figure dead center. They were sent crashing into a mountainside. There was no visible damage. But they vomited out blue blood for some reason.


    The image moved from fight to fight for a few moments. Then it focused on seven flying alma fighting a single combatant.


    The lone alma was the petitioner turned away by the alma of the palace. Shadows surrounded them. The same penumbra rose from many of the flying alma.


    Ganging up on the petitioner was barely enough to hold them off. They dodged, deflected or outright ignored the attacks of their seven opponents.


    “The dark gods could not be killed.” A jagged crack formed in the space behind the solo fighter.


    “So the gods imprisoned them.” The crack pulled open to reveal darkness behind. All seven enemies landed different attacks at that moment.


    The shadowy alma was forced back. They fell into the void beyond the crack in space. And the entire battlefield froze.


    The alma inside the crack shifted to the crube black and white style. The change spread out to the paused battle. Everything became a sharp contrast of light and dark.


    All the animate corpses and shadow wreathed alma began to disolve into black specks and swirl away. It was like a powerful suction was drawing them towards the dark emptiness within the crack in space.


    The last disappeared beyond and the crack closed. The colorful art style returned. “Sheth and their army were locked away in Nis’elma, outside the world. They could no longer…”


    Iznana closed the ornately ingraved book. The narration was cut off. And the accompanying illusion hanging in the air above snapped out of existence.


    “That is the abridged story of the Divine Discord. It is also nearly three millennia out of date. But the contemporary versions are dramatized and all based on this.” The librarian leaned their puppet back.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    I scratched my chin in contemplation. “Why did symbols appear next to the gods’ faces when their expression changed strongly?” Iznana waved off the question.


    “That is just the animation of the time. The art of crafting illusion stories was very popular back then. This one borrows heavily from trends in Nalhe''ad, back when the church was on neutral terms.” They gestured at the yellow-bronze cover of the enchanted book.


    “It was tricky updating the language pack to dub it into contemporary Rojin. But they just don’t make animated books like this anymore.” I had no idea if they were correct.


    This was the first enchantment I had seen capable of displaying moving drawings and projecting sound to go along with them. It was a simple but useful spell.


    “I see why calling myself Sheth was so awkward.” Priest ?fron smirked at that.


    “You wouldn’t be our only associate using a dark god’s name. But naming yourself after the god of undeath and immortality would be questioned. A lot.” I did not bother to correct him about the naming yourself part.


    “Is it specifically the undead not being intended by the Creator that makes alma hate us so much?” I deliberately included myself in the undead. There was no telling how they would fit the gam and I into their cosmology.


    “That, and a lot of less polished undead are genuinely dangerous or disruptive to alma life. Necromancers are usually assholes like that.” The librarian stretched the puppets wrinkled face into a wide grin.


    My knowledge of Nith and his creations supported their words. Mages that used unlife animus that way would provide a valid basis to hate it.


    “Than why don’t you kill or drive out all the undead in your boarders?” The priest grimaced and Iznana laughed.


    “Oh, they tried. They got their asses kicked.” Priest ?fron waved the librarian off and turned to me.


    “It was attempted about eight hundred years ago. The cost in life and resources, on both sides and civilian, was deemed to be too great. A truce was called, and Special Situations was formed to maintain the illusion that the church won.” Iznana clearly found this funnier than the priest.


    “Some undead are very hard to identify. The church spent over a century pouring resources into killing a population hidden amongst their own people. One that responded to being exterminated by forcibly converting more alma.” They explained.


    “Yes, it was an issue of gorilla warfare combined with an incentive to propagate as fast as possible. Neither side could win, and everyone was losing.” Priest ?fron agreed.


    “Now we spend far less helping the undead go unnoticed in exchange for obeying our laws. As adjusted for each species’ needs, of course.” The priest paused. It seemed like he was considering something.


    “Well, we also spend a lot of resources hunting down followers of the dark gods. But we limit that to the active and hostile ones.” That caught my interest.


    “Are there dark gods with churches in Rillan?” My impression had been that the Church of the Creator directly forbade their worship. Yet I had thought the same about working with the undead.


    “Officially, the worship of all dark gods is forbidden. In practice there are only a few with cults active enough to pose a threat.” That implied there were lone worshippers and small groups they did not care about.


    “Not to mention Cov’ah and Jaquun.” Iznana pointed out.


    “Who are Cov’ah and Jaquun?” I needed to get Priest ?fron to list all the alma’s gods at once. There kept being more I had never heard of.


    “Cov’ah advocates that her worshippers seek undeath for themselves and help others achieve undeath if they wish. So she is technically a dark god. Except she forbids her followers from making undead against the subject’s will. We are on good terms with her church, and a number of our staff worship her.” That did explain why Cov’ah would not be at odds with Special Situations.


    “Jaquun is similar. He doesn’t outright forbid unwilling conversion. But his teachings center around passiveism and free will. His followers rarely cause any problems. A lot of undead worship him as part of a whole seeking the perfect self thing.” The priest leaned back with a sigh.


    “This will all be in your lessons. Iznana?” He turned to the animated proxy.


    “Hold your horses. I’m working on it. History, politics, religion and our current operating procedure. Am I adding anything else.” I assumed their true body or another puppet was collecting the books.


    “I would be interested in anything on general animus weaving and on healing or revival magic specifically.” Both of them looked at me askance.


    “I can do that… but why?” The librarian seemed curious and a bit worried.


    “My people don’t know how to restore the dead to life. I left the Moors specifically to learn that.” They collectively relaxed.


    “Only a handful of mages in the country can resurrect someone fully dead. It is usually limited to 30-year-mages with a healing focus. Or master-mages with exceptional talent that dedicated their career to achieving revival magic.” I internalize the priests words and privately raised my opinion of Nith’s competence.


    “That is fine. I was planning to enroll in one of your arcane schools for the rest of my plausible lifespan as an alma.” Iznana frowned.


    “Were you intending to apply for a government service scholarship? They usually won’t grant one to those middle aged or beyond. The risk of you dying before performing the required years of service is too high.” I shook my head.


    “No. If maximum tuition and the amount of kaithsh I can reliably make as an unskilled worker match what I’ve been told, I can easily pay for my education by working during the hours an alma sleeps.” I had asked Alve, Ginger and most of the caravan about this at length.


    “I have spent decades on a single project before. I only require an hour of meditation every one to two days, as opposed to the 10 to 12 hours of downtime alma need. I also don’t require food or shelter, so I wouldn’t need to pay for either.” I had focused on perfecting essence patterns for a decade or two plenty of times.


    My biggest problem was preventing myself from getting absorbed in a task longer than I intended. The gam believed I was dead when I created the original version of my shapeshifting pattern.


    “I suppose not eating or sleeping and living on the street would fix the inflated cost of education pretty cleanly.” Priest ?fron pondered.


    “That probably would have worked, actually. Your existing abilities would let you test out of or spend minimal time on early courses. And you could make well above minimum wage even as an unlicensed mage.” The librarian added.


    “The church can fund your education as long as you are working for ?fron, and I can train you in animancy. No official school will teach soul magic directly.” Priest ?fron glared at the librarian.


    “Don’t offer hundreds of thousands of kaithsh and forbidden knowledge that threatens the world as we know it without asking me.” He turned back to me.


    “We will fund your education as long as you are working for us, and Iznana will train you in animancy.” He continued.


    “Let’s catch you up first. I’m adding basic economics. I think you’ll enjoy that. Or at least abuse it.” The librarian seemed to be talking to themselves as much as me.


    “Will the illiteracy matter?” Priest ?fron asked.


    “I’m not illiterate. I know the alma alphabet and majority of spelling rules.” Iznana returned their focus to us.


    “The speed you showed and how you described it means you are only technically literate. Alma normally read automatically once they have learned. Most never fully learn phonetic reading.” I had not considered my limited use of written words important. But it clearly bothered the librarian.


    “There is a common developmental deviation that can make alma have trouble automating the process. But children usually manage it with enough effort. The fact you never progressed beyond manual reading makes me think it is a weakness of your species.” I shrugged.


    I had traded for lessons on the alma alphabet and how it was used from an expedition’s scribe over half a century ago. My attempts to master it probably equated to a few years of work by now.


    It ultimately felt like a useless skill. The gam used lorekeepers to preserve information. And I could encode information in spellwork if needed.


    “Literacy is a mark of status. Menial workers don’t need it. But nobles, artisans and anyone who works with bureaucracy or significant wealth is expected to read and write well.” Iznana waved off the priest’s concern.


    “It’s not actually a logistical problem. I’m just fascinated by an undead weakness related to the reflexive processing of symbol patterns.” An animus weaving came through the link connecting the puppet to wherever Iznana was controlling it.


    It looked like a part of the enchantment inside the puppet received the compressed spell and unfolded it. The spell was then effectively cast at the puppet’s location.


    “There have been plenty of nobles who couldn’t read fast enough to keep up with their duties and had the money to pay mages to do something about it.” The spell hung without a target to trigger on.


    “I have several spells that recognize letters and construct words phonetically from them. Most have irregular spellings coded in, at least for the common words.” I inspected the moderately complex spell.


    “If you set it up to provide telepathic output and give a convincing performance of reading the text, only particularly nosy mages will notice the difference.” I could probably do better than that.


    The same rough design would be easy to translate to an essence pattern. Alma mages would be unable to detect an essence version of the spell.


    “I should be able to cast this.” I released a bit of essence and created a copy of the spell.


    It was entirely nonfunctional. But it let me see the structure more clearly and adapt that structure.


    There was a long moment where I completely ignored the other two. “Are you trying to do that now?”


    I responded to the priest by picking up the first book Iznana gave me. It was supposedly the same story as the animated book. They had quickly retrieved the enchanted version after I tried to read the first paragraph.


    “In the beginning, all was the Creator.” A deep masculine voice emanated from the air above the book.


    It continued to narrate the story written within. After a few more sentences I paused the spell. The room was left in silence.


    “Was that the first time you saw that spell?” The priest finally asked.


    “Yes, but it is composed of the same pattern recognition and audio output structures most alma magic uses. The criteria for identifying a letter is really simple, so the data on word reference and tone adjustment was all I had to memorize to copy it.” There was really nothing novel in the spell. It was just a clever way to use common structures.


    “The reading problem is definitely an innate weakness of some kind.” The librarian murmured.


    “We may need to make certain adjustments to your education. A master-mage that doesn’t know arcane basics will be extremely suspicious.” Priest ?fron was also talking to himself.


    I leaned back and fiddled with the spell. The priest came out of his reflection first.


    “If it comes down to it, Iznana can teach you the general education stuff, and I’ll figure out something to get you a master-mage equivalency or the like. Enough to start you at a level where you stand out less.” That sounded like it would save time.


    I wanted to understand the foundations of alma magic. But spending the same amount of time on it as a complete novice would be wasteful.