There was a time when I was kinder.

Regarded as wholesome even. Not cruel or twisted, cold or wicked, not a perfectionist or some freak artist with a corrupted dream—I know what they say. but I wasn't always this... warped. There was a time when my heart still rested on her canvas, atop a puff of a colourless pillow.

I used to draw for her: my heart.

I used to depict all the sights she'd been too bedridden to see. It started with a few ugly scratches from a pencil on torn paper, but the papers got bigger, the pages fuller, their numbers filling books, then shelves. After a while, pencils didn't cut it. Drawings couldn't capture the beauty of a sky or the shimmers of an ocean, and she wanted to explore it all. She was an adventurer at the core; an adventurer with a cough. And it was that which kept her in bed.

If nothing else, I used to fear their sound; breath leaving her lungs so forcefully, so destructively. My paintbrush used to leave the page to wait for them to pass, but they got so torrential I used to fear the air would not return. So my brush strokes grew fervent. I rushed to paint my point. Entire sketchbooks full of sights, creatures, magical items. I rushed for the chance to show her the world she could not trek on her own two feet. I'd resolved myself to show her everything I had the power to show.

"Would it kill you to smile?"

My paintbrush stopped.

"You make such beautiful paintings, yet it never looks like you have any fun making them," she whined.

I considered her for a moment, giving the usual lack of emotion. She sat there, in her blankets, hugging her pillow and staring expectantly at me.

I moved my brush to an empty patch of blue and continued to paint. After a moment I tucked the canvas between two fingers and flipped it around to show her.

She laughed. "That's not what I meant."

I'd drawn a smiley face for her, using the bend of sand dunes splashing higher than they normally would and two pebbles thrown by a dessert sylph. It looked ridiculous.

"This is your best one yet, Akris."

She said my name like a song, ignoring the S, rolling the R in the only way it was meant to be rolled.

I didn't say anything.

On the days she didn't harass me, she stared out the window solemnly, between naps and coughs and our games of show and tell.

When she slept, I left to capture new sights for her to see. When I returned I'd remake them, down to last detail on each overlooked pebble or leaf.

I'd watch her excitement each time. I'd watch her joy, her bitterness, her tears, her yearning for more.

"Never stop." She whispered to me one night, after her healer had finished his failings; his potions of emptied promises discarded in a bin.

And I never did.

I rushed through her paintings when she coughed and rushed even more when the coughs stopped. I rushed to show her the world, without realizing I could have kept her in mine. If I had only stopped to paint her. Just once. I could have kept her by my side with a single portrait. I could have painted what she looked like looking at my paintings. I could have kept my heart in an eternal capsule of time, upon a colourless canvas.

But I didn't.

And she died.

Just as everyone knew she would.

The day she left her bed, I brought all my tools into her room. All my paints and oils and pastels and water colours. I threw crayons into the mix, charcoals and pencils and for the first time in my life, I made art.

The final touch was a single canvas, resting atop her pillow. There was no colour upon it, for black was not a colour; it was a reminder. A reminder that darkness and death lurks behind every masterpiece, waiting to sink its teeth into every colour you've ever grown to love, every hue of emotion you've worked hard to put on a face. Upon this canvas was a black silhouette of the portrait I'd never drawn; her shadow, resting upon her pillow without her. Abyssal and uncoloured, just a crude black splotch on my past reminding me exactly where my heart could have rested had I eternalized it.

Behind the canvas, her pillow was painted. Her bed was coloured in to the brim. Her bedsheets covered in crayons Her window splashed with rainbows of oils. Her door carried the greys of lead. Her floorboards, and walls, and ceiling and chair. Her rug, her dresser, the inside of the drawers, her flasks and vials of lies from healers whose bloods I used for all the shades of red. Every knob, every screw, every crevice, every wick... I painted it to eternity.

Living proof of the life that could have lived if the world hadn't failed her. If I hadn't failed her.

When I finished, I left the room. Closed the door—

"Would it kill you to smile?"

...I considered her echo. Then took the paintbrush from my ear, stole a smudge of red from my cheek and drew a smile on the knob.

And smiled back at it.

Tainted Sky's First Official Promo Vid! Check it out:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKpwLQBnKjk&ab_channel=TaijaSensei

Tell your friends! Tell your nemesis...es! Tell the wooorrlldd!!!

In order to get this on your shelves, I need a following! So every like, every shared link, every bit of support helps like crazy!

[Brand New Instagram page. Behold: https://www.instagram.com/taitaisensei/ ]

But also:

I'M BACK!

WITH UPDATES!!!

My friends—my motivation! My inspiration; and whoever else got caught in the compilation! I'd just like to say a super mega ultra: 'I'm sooorrrrrrry! >__<' it shouldn't have taken me this long to reach out to you again. I'm sure I've lost followers and fans but I am still and always will be eternally grateful to everyone who took the time to read Tainted Sky! To all the fans I didn't lose yet, THANK YOU FOR STANDING STRONG! I promise you I never stopped writing and editing and I am definitely a heck of a lot closer to getting this thing published and on our bookshelves than when you last heard from me!!! (I should invest in a proper bookshelf... *TaiSensei glances at her piles of books on the floor)

[To those who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a link to the original story: https://www.theprose.com/book/1219/tainted-sky-reis-playlist ]

The reason you haven't heard from me:

I've been writing like crazy, making music like crazy, learning how to navigate Kickstarter like crazy, learning how to make a trailer like crazy, and being crazy as usual. I basically went full hermit mode. Picture a ninja under a turtle's shell with a robe, a cup of tea, and a strong aversion to the sun.

I can guarantee you that the quality of the story you read years ago vs now are completely different. New content, new backstories, new jokes, new and improved vocabulary (wow so smart, TaiSensei >:D ), and hopefully, if things go as planned, then new updates!

I finally caved to the social norms and unlocked an Instagram page. Or at least I'm trying to. I don't know what the humans put on these sites these days so "Ima do my own thing." (*coughcough*Spiderverse reference*cough*). But I mainly want a consistent place where fans can see where I'm at.

The end goal: Kickstarter!

I will be igniting a Kickstarter campaign (or 2) in hopes of being able to provide a full soundtrack for you guys to enjoy alongside your wacky physical copy of Tainted Sky!

With that said, the soundtrack is looking like it might still be a little ways off but if all goes well. The campaign would ensure that the book itself will look much cooler than your average book, with some custom pages, musical symbols, and fun speech bubbles decorating the margins. But more on that with the Instagram updates.

However, none of this will be possible without support, so please, plzplzplz, spread the word! Even if you're not interested, share this, or better yet, share the story with someone who might be interested. Doesn't even have to be prosers, I'm going meta, so you should too! break the fourth wall and share it with friends/family/and those not tied to this dimension.

I will also be doing my best to make this little fanvillage of ours into a whole fandom and then into a FANDOMINATION! BWAHAHA!

-ahem-

Don't have Instagram:

Don't worry. I'm accumulating an email list so feel free to put your email here: https://artisanal-pioneer-5844.ck.page/8f212835bb

Alternatively, you may DM me through the prose with your email (or a list of emails +___+)

Either way you'll only be subjected to the major updates. I promise not to spam your inbox. I'm too anti-social for that anyway.

Zedge, on the other hand.... >:)

(no I'm kidding, I'll keep my characters under control)

Fun Bonus note:

Any and all fans who had given any of my trackters a like and/or a comment before this post will get a special discount (I kept track) so I really hope you all take advantage of that.

To summarize:

Instagram here:

https://www.instagram.com/taitaisensei/

Email drop-off corner, here:

https://artisanal-pioneer-5844.ck.page/8f212835bb

Mostly abandoned twitter attempt... is unfortunately here: https://twitter.com/TaijaSensei

The original (unedited) story here:

https://www.theprose.com/book/1219/tainted-sky-reis-playlist

And finally:

THANK YOU TO ALL MY READERS. THIS IS ALL FOR YOU!

Maybe ADHD is just another escapist's dream, looking for distractions from this hell called reality. What's the next quickest thought out of here? A free ticket to get away from having to give a shit.

The real message in a bottle being:

((("Let me out!")))

This house of responsibilities is searing my soul. How can I feel so suffocated in a country supposedly free? What bullshit. Who'd even believe that? This Country Is A Marketer's Dream. Every Breath Uttered Gets Capitalized Against Your Will. slaves of society dancing to the song: "You forgot your Capital" by The Undertones. Choreographed not freestyled. Y'know, since it wasn't taught.

Can art be taught?

Not the 'free' part, but maybe the style. In a crippled fashion, strung up by salary, supported by crutches of cash. Pay up for your marionettist's money--your puppeteer's pity. They just might give it in grants. Though it comes with a cost.

About as Equal in pains as laboring over free poetry, when you really should be doing:

just about everything else.

Inspired by the music video: "Fight Song" by Eve

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was a hunter before I met her.

Not a protector.

She was a dragon—still is a dragon—in the body of a little girl, with hair like a blanket of snow, sweeping just above the muck of the ground, billowing far behind puny, bare feet. Pale as can be. With canary yellow eyes only fit for staring into souls, and the kind of powers only meant for devouring them.

I was nothing special—even now, nothing special. Just human, nesting eyes the colour of rust, and a sight that missed whatever was so important about life up until she slithered into it. But I thought: if my eyes could still view someone so valuable as worth more than her bounty of a few too many zeroes, then maybe, I was less blind than I surmised.

We found each other on a day steeped in dusk. Half the sky was raining; half the rain was painted. All around me—on some abandoned street—were puddles with smoky mixtures of red seeping through.

I was kneeling on the floor, my knuckles numb and covered in blood. I couldn't feel them but saw them shaking. There was more blood than I remember causing.

Plipping and plopping.

I watched my fists trying to recall what I'd been fighting.

A soft pitter-patter and two tiny feet appeared in front of me. Lazily, I peered up, and was pierced by her stare, the outline of her horns woven through her hair. The cratering rib cage of a recently deceased beast silhouetting her frame like a ring of ghostly wings. Its bones wisping into golden dust that melted the must from the haze.

Slunked half-ways off my shoulder, my weapon reacted to her. It hung off me like a gym bag made of shadows, but was really a weapon for shredding souls, the type my fists couldn't handle. Where a zipper should've been, its mouth hung hungry, often wide open, with a spiky grin and a large tongue always thirsting... for puddles.

Except here, it quivered. The corners of its mouth angled down. It bit its lip—if you could call it a lip—and swiveled behind me. Afraid. Of this little girl whose rib cage cratered behind her.

I watched her watch me.

We were a duo fit for a fantasy, instead we are the outcasts of the city. Always on the run. From slum to slum. Dodging skyscrapers and their hired hunters. Fighting the world simply by trying to survive it.

"Tch," I let out a bitter puff of smoke. Crushed the cigar with a clench.

She giggled beside me, oblivious to my troubles, as she spray-painted a bathroom stall with a stench.

Graffiti; robbery; illegal activity; she seemed to like these things. The types of joys that got people's attention really, and Attention wanted us dead. And even without hired hands reaching for her neck, she was a lot to manage. Since I met her, I'd gained the rank of an older brother, though I don't remember having nor wanting a sibling, especially not one so needy.

I shut my eyes and forced a sigh.

She tugged my sleeve with her inhuman speed, jolting me from what little respite a sigh could provide, and pointed at a vendor's cart serving oily fries.

Her eyes spoke for her drooling mouth: 'I want this.' they said.

I drew in a smoke and gave her a scornful side eye. Dream on.

It didn't take long for her to throw a can of paint at my head.

~~~

Our brawl caused a scene so we ended up fleeing south. A vexing sprig of fries sprouted from her oily mouth, as she waddled along beside me without care.

Sometimes it was hard to justify my time with her over the price value of her wanted poster. I'd gathered a few in my hand, both then and now. I watched her innocent eyes painted in a way that made me scowl.

My soul-shredder, (that shadowy satchel), ate the temptation in the form 'Wanted' papers, leaving my hand with its cold saliva and a much warmer hand holding hers.

An unfamiliar poke struck the side of my shoulder. I looked over to find a cloaker—the worst kind of commercial stalker. A red cloak draping over its tall figure. There was a silence—a long stare—assuming whatever it was under its hood had the eyes to peer, and in my peripheral, she bowed forward for a playful peek. Her hand sprung out in a wave like the creature was an old buddy. My hairs stood on their ends as all its hands spread out like a fan and waved back.

~~~

Fast forward a few scenes and she was stolen from me.

~~~

Without reason nor rhyme; within a snap of time; I couldn't process what had happened for life to turn this wrong. A single song knocking against my skull like a distorted bell; playing over and over and over and over:

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight until the world is made right and her warmth is back in my grasp.

I could not think with her not there.

She, to me, was my final limb. The one I'd been missing all along. In a meaningless life surrounded by zeros, she became my +1.

Protector turned hunter; I tracked them down until a base was found: some elusive blacklisted den. A place where fighters and brawlers had a pit to share and an ugly chance at glory from deceptive madmen. It was an arena I had no taste for, but a winner received a reward from a wealthy cloaker who didn't deserve anything he had to offer—much, much, less: my needy little sister.

Attempt one, attempt three, attempt five, six, and thirteen, and all I kept seeing was her petite frame getting dragged from me. Many hands pushing my head into the ground; five, ten, fifteen, maybe twenty? maybe twelve?

The pit turned my vision into a filter of red. So many enemies and forgotten fights with the dead. A shadowy gym bag thriving off of people's souls. Betters and buyers cheering to the sounds of my bloodshed. 'Didn't seem to matter whose blood sprayed, creating puddles out of painted rain in a place where there was no dusk or day or sky. All while too high above, caressed by a crooked finger in a creepy glove, she sat perched on a throne too large, watching me watch her; watching me get hurt; watching her with a look so tortured. From a girl so pale, so frail, so small.

It seemed I'd grown too used to every slash I could not evade being accompanied by the sound of her smacking me with a lopsided band aid.

The sight of her—and that fry-less frown—made me weak. And I could not breathe with the bulk of a Gozu brute strangling me.

With my soul-shredder tossed to the side. I could not fight.

But how could I not fight for the +1-and-only meaning of my life?

The Gozu’s restless hands tightened around my neck. A choke. A gasp. A figment of their soul seeped through my chest. Weighing a ton. Crushing a lung and—

Oh........

(There was something above)

That's right......

(a rib-caging a dove)

She was still a dragon.

There was a curdling cry. A roar that tore the sky. A zap of lightning. Spits and violent hisses. The ox head choking me was gone in an instant. I was swept up as the entire den was blasted to pieces.

The bulk of a white beast and its serpentine twist, swimming across the air—up and up and up. Shimmering and magnificent and... fighting for me?

I never knew that was something that could be.

I did not think there was anyone out there who still wanted me to breathe.

A cough sprang outta me.

The white glow from the sol-funder illuminated my face. One hand was cold against its metallic screen. Dark, pooling puddles layered over my feet. My other hand clutched my side. A hover-bus whizzed up the street behind me, disturbing the puddles, rippling their reflections against my ankles.

Meanwhile, the sol-funder loomed over me like a bank tower leaking its funds. A jackpot-like chime nudging my ears as icons of starz kept pouring into the digital happy-face of me. The chimes were never ending.

I tried clearing my throat. It was sore from all the yelling.

In the distance, I heard an upstreamer. Its engine sounded lazy. Cranky even. It moaned out its warning. The star-fundz finally stopped. I realized late. The screen timed out and dimmed, leaving behind a murky reflection. The outline of a hand much bigger than mine was drawn there. A swollen eye stared at it. A smudge of blood smeared along the corner of his mouth—my mouth.

I peeled off my hand, smeared the smudge some more with the hem of my sleeve. Then flipped my palm and stared hard and long at it, or rather, the disk set to its center. I tore my other hand from my side, ignoring the loud throb it left behind, and pressed the disk with one shaky finger. The star clicked once in, and then jutted out. I extracted it.

I'd never used a star-deposit before. I'd never even held a star to deposit before. I thought I never would. I thought the depositor embedded into my hand had been a waste of good surgery. But here it was now, coming in handy, imbuing me with an impossible amount of money.

A slip of water ran up my cheek to my eyelash. I winced away from it.

Up-rain.

I tilted my head upwards to where the upstreamer lurked; a giant plate in the sky, eyepatching my favourite moon out of sight, collecting its pools and puddles to deposit somewhere else. Who knew where else.

Dirt water stung against my bruises, shot daggers into my cuts, but it was pretty to look at. Rain pouring towards the sky—or its eyepatch anyway...

. . .

I didn't feel like a trillionaire—or a miniature happy-face. I was just barely a teenager, and small for my age. And I didn't really want the money my mother died for.

If she lived for it, then maybe.

My clothes were soaked.

~ ~ ~

I waited in line at the nearest medi-center.

People with proper clothes and upstanding homes stood in front of me, awaiting service. Treatment. Free pills? Whatever the patient-type came here for.

It was finally my turn.

"Medi-center services, how can I help you?"

A woman with blue-silver waves of hair spoke to me. There was a stylus in her mouth and her chin was on her palm. I couldn't tell if she was amused or bored.

"Um... yeah...how—" I cleared my throat. My voice was still hoarse. "How much does it cost to revive a corpse?"

"Depends..." She removed the stylus from her mouth like it were a smoker, then dabbed its tip into a holo-blotter. When her stylus swiped back up through the air it was scrolling through holographic panels of its own creation. She twisted its mid-section, refining her search. Then ruthlessly, she didn't answer my question:

"Do you have access to your cadaver of choice?"

I thought of the penthouse hotel suite I ran from.

"Is its memory faucet undamaged?"

I thought of how drunk she was.

"Is the body in good condition?"

I thought of the open window.

"And finally...do you have ID?"

I didn't have ID. So I guess that was that. I nodded at nothing she said and walked away without a sound.

~ ~ ~

There was someone sobbing on my hover-bus. I wish they'd shut up. My head was hurting enough as is.

Their audible tears were resurfacing unwanted thoughts. Thoughts I'd worked hard to drown:

'This'll be the last job, I promise," said my mother, who was not dead in my head.

She was mapping out her face for the night, scrolling through mascara masks and lip paints to project onto it. "Once we rob this client, we'll be set for life. We'll leave this stupid planet once and for all. Deal?" She held up her pinky with a sheepish smile. I did not want to, but I held up mine, she clapped it with hers, like a little high five minus the four.

In the hotel suite, she was entertaining her client. A CEO of something. They were in the lounge room. I was uninvited, but I was there too. Not in the lounge, but in the office connected to the bedroom. Based on my mother's usual strategy, I had a good ten minutes before they'd make it to the bed, so I took my time with my quantum-capture, pressing the sphere to anything that looked even remotely valuable.

Then a tele-talker rang from the desk beside me. I'd thought it was just decoration (because who even used tele-talkers anymore?) but there it was, chiming, and his footsteps started coming.

Immediately, I turned on my invisi-cap, but his office had a security detail that made it malfunction. So I was visible.

His kicks were hard.

He threw me in front of my mother, pridefully showing off his prey. She was very drunk, but very worried. Then very angry. There was a brawl. Glass from a bottle. A star thrown into my hand. A shout:

"RUN!"

A bad time to find out I wasn't the fight or flight type.

I froze. He approached. We were near a window. My mother, drenched in wine, wobbled to a stand after being knocked down. She took out a knife concealed in her dress and jammed it into him. Near the window. He toppled. Grabbed her wrist—

"Are you okay?"

The sobbing stopped. A handkerchief was thrust in front of me. The various eyes of the hover-bus were on me. Confused, I received it, but didn't answer the question. I left the hover-bus two stops too soon. Someone followed.

The owner of the handkerchief; a nice person, I realized. She was very nosy, but looked very worried. I let her follow me, checking to see if my invisi-cap was still on my head.

It was.

~ ~ ~

When I reached my destination, I switched on my invisi-cap and walked in. The nice person was left disoriented outside, but didn't leave. I think she already called authorities so I guess she had to stay. Otherwise there was a fee.

I stood inside one of those planetary transferal pods—a cheap one. This was a port planet—where people were deposited and withdrawn on constant—so these pods were everywhere. No one liked this method of leaving a planet so it was cheaper but still cost a fortune. I wasn't sure what that word meant anymore.

Both my hands were placed on the metallic screen this time. I was shivering.

'Choose a Home Request Form' glowed boldly across the screen.

'Explore an ecosystem right for you!'

'Sort by: Most popular | Land formations | Oxygen levels | Plant life | Ocean life | Lava life | Technological advancement | Population'

I skipped this step and went to: 'Pick a Planet!' I selected one without thinking about it. My thoughts couldn't be trusted.

'Choose a Home!'

'Options: Work your way up | Life of luxury | Middle class | Happy home | Pet owners | Miscellaneous | Other'

I didn't want a home, but didn't have a choice so I clicked 'Other'. A pop-up appeared:

'Warning: Housing shelter is not guaranteed with this birthing service. Is this okay?'

'Yes'

'Species-change request form: N/A

Would you like to retain your memory faucet?'

I paused, but soon decided I didn't want someone else for a mother.

'Yes'

A pop-up: 'Warning: with memory faucet intact, there is a high chance of PTSD due to birthing process. Would you like to sign up to receive your memory faucet at an age of your choosing?'

Oh, that’s smart.

'Yes'

'Age of choice:'

'13'

'Terms and condit—'

'Skip'

'Reincarnation fee: 4 777 849 201 stz. Confirm?'

'Confirm.'

'Please insert ID'

I stared at the screen.

. . .

I was back in front of the screen. The nice person's wallet was in my hand, as I ruffled through for her ID.

'Thank you for your purchase, Averana Kacings! Particle translation and transferal process should begin shortly. | Approximate wait time: 10— 8— 9 mins."

A code-like tattoo crept up my arm. I removed my palms and the codes kept crawling.

I left the pod. Averana shrieked as I took off my invisi-cap in front of her. I handed her back her handkerchief and her wallet. "Thank you for helping me." I told her. Then I clicked the star in my palm. It jutted out, and I handed her a trillion-or-so solz.

Because what would all the money in this world mean in another?

My body felt fuzzy and I realized it was glowing like the things I stuffed in my quantum-capture. I sat down next to her, suddenly feeling light-headed. In the distance, I could see the blurring image of a cop-cruiser—the one Averana must have called—racing around a corner towards us.

For a while, I just sat and watched it approach in silence. I'd be phasing away soon anyway.

Averana knelt by my side to join me. One careful hand of hers rested on my shoulder. Its warmth felt better than a trillion-plus solz ever could.

My head fell against her.

To be honest... even just the pinky would've been enough.

"What do we have here?" Korvo held up the stone to the light of Zin's magic circle. Within the cave's depths it glimmered like a light source of its own. "Never seen a gem quite like this one."

Zin was halfway through a step when he hopped back on one foot to have a looksee. He crossed his arms and leaned playfully against his friend, peering with feigned interest over his shoulder at the rock in his hand. The stone was strange indeed, like if alexandrite had the odd innards of black opal. Streaks of silver mana blazed across its mid-section the more it was twirled.

Being a dark-elf, born from the deepest layers of Aeodian night rock, he expected to know of the gem in his friend's hand on instant. But he did not, and the fact that he knew it not, interested him more than the rock itself.

"Not sure how you keep finding the weird ones, Koko. I worry for the visages of your future children if you ever find a wife."

Korvo scoffed and nudged Zin hard. "If anything, you're, by far, the weirdest thing I've ever discovered. What kind of elf doesn't have pointy ears?"

"The cool kind." Zin answered absently. He was watching the jewel closely now. How was it that he'd never come across a rock such as this? He should know of them all; if not by sight then by aura, by elemental property, by instinct even, but this stone gave him nothing to go off of. It looked rarer than obsidian-diamond, yet possessed the presence of a pebble.

Perhaps his friend's—very human—hand was masking its power. Korvo was strong for his race but, well, human still, and they tended to have a weird tendency to absorb light and reject mana, whereas Zin could do the opposite.

"Lemme see it for a sec?" Zin said.

Korvo tossed it in the air where Zin snatched it.

An exhale was knocked out of him. Acid hellfire spread from his palm to his entire arm. Crackles of static rippled off of him, as though his mana were being peeled away. The magic circle lighting their path flickered and died until blackness encompassed them.

Searing white veins made rivers up his grey skin from where the gem touched it. Shivers crawled up his spine. His knees buckled from under him, yielding to the pain that felled him before the stone could even fall from his grasp.

He could not hear but felt his friend kneeling by his side. Concern in his every nudge.

Zin wanted to reassure him, wanted to shake whatever this feeling was right off, but a foul vision slathered across his eyes.

Suddenly he was not within The Cursive Caverns, but within a sky. Blinding light struck him, and instinctively he recoiled, but it wasn't long before a sandcloud blotted out the sun, red as human blood, pulsing, warping. Lightning teared across its depths, reshaping its foul silhouette. A city lurking beneath. Warriors armed upon griffon-back—dragon-back even. They all faced the cloud. Familiars of phoenixes and fire foxes blasted their arts towards its ominous haze.

Then a person strutted out from its depths. An elven-like form. A flash of yellow eyes that hurt to look at. A hand on his back. His name being shouted over and over. Cold sweat. Pained breaths.

"Zin! Zin! What happened, what's wrong? What can I do?" Korvo was shouting, a lit torch now in his grasp.

It took Zin all his willpower to re-ground himself. Shaking hands dug jagged grooves in the stone under him. A choked cry left his throat. 'What happened? ' he wondered that too. What on earth was that? Why did it summon itself from a random rock? Why didn't it affect his friend...

Zin couldn't speak. He was too shaken to form the words and hated himself for it. Weakness wasn't his style. Though he wasn't sure this was that. Weakness didn't act this way. He was blindsided; attacked from within.

Zin found his arm suddenly around Korvo's shoulder. He was lifted to his feet, surprised anew to find his legs with no strength in them, even now. And more surprised to find that they'd left the cursed cave by the time he blinked. Was he loosing time? Had he passed out?

"Put me down. You smell," Zin croaked.

"Zin? What the hell, man!?" Korvo eased him down against a wall. "Don't freak me out like that! What even happened back there? Are you...good?"

Zin winced. "No, I'm great."

They were outside, Zin noted, though it was dusklight and a pinkish sky that met his gaze rather than the morning sun which he despised. Albeit, at that moment he might not have minded the heat of a sun.

He felt cold...which was disconcerting. It took more than a blizzard's wrath to make him cold, much less the capabilities of some stupid rock. Zin glared at his shaking hand. For a brief spell, the white veins were still engraved on his forearm, but soon they vanished. The echoes of its acidic pain still present. Zin groaned and held his aching temple. A small healing art (he knew wouldn't work) budded at his fingertips.

"What happened!?" Korvo pressed. "Should I go find a healer? Do you need water? Ice? "

Zin glanced up at him. Korvo knelt there with that puppy dog-eyed look of his.

"See, its times like this when your maternal qualities shine brightest."

"Knock it off!" Korvo punched him—"Ah— Sorry!"—and regretted it. "For real though! One second you were fine and cracking your usual dumb jokes, the next you were on the ground, yelling! Were you hexed? Was someone else in the cave with us?"

Hexed... there's a thought Zin hadn't considered. Could a rock perform a hex on its own? Without incantation? Or a creepy old mage to manifest it?

"I don't know." he said, honestly. "It was something in that gem. I don't know why it didn't affect you. My only guess is that it was constructed to target a magic system upon contact."

Korvo gave him a confused look. "I... I don't follow."

"Do I really need to dumb it down more than that? You: no magic. Me: magic. You: it no hurt. Me: it did." He flexed his hand, surveilling the muscles at work.

"No—I mean..."

Zin twitched. Something red fluttered in his peripheral. Something that made him freeze.

"What gem?"

At that moment the dusklight from the sky lost its light and night took over. Around Korvo's neck was a necklace Zin had never seen before. It shifted. Zin hesitated.

Gradually, he fixed his gaze to the necklace only to find it wasn't a necklace at all. Red sand lay there, drizzling off an impossible ring like an ethereal shackle.

His gaze crept upward further. Into Korvo's eyes.

Yellow eyes.

That hurt to look at.

Games appeal to me the most when their stories tell better tales than books. So think of this list as the best books I’ve ever had the honour of living in. (I tried to keep it in order but after the 3rd one, there were too many games that couldn’t be compared or put on a scale). Anyhoo:

Tales of Symphonia Dawn of the New world

Its the 2nd of the two Symphonia games and, not gonna lie, there’s some sentimental value for me on this one. But I stand by the thought that anyone who loves a good fantasy story (or who loves a good story and doesn’t mind the fantasy) would love this game. I’d never known true story telling until I played this masterpiece; never known true world-building either. Typically, in fantasy stories, the characters aren’t necessarily that relatable. I don’t know what it’s like to save a princess or to stop an evil overlord from destroying a world, but I do know what loneliness feels like, and sacrifice—choosing what’s right over what you want, being the odd one out, and, dare I say, ROMANCE.

Tales games in general know how to attack you in the feels, but this one happened to be the one that knew how to emotionally resonate with me. It also probably plays a major part in why my imagination might seem as endless as it is. This game is a gorgeous, rollercoaster of adventure that I wish got the recognition it deserves.

P.S. You don’t have to be into anime to enjoy this game. Picture it like a more emotion-driven version of final fantasy games. (And with better story, in my opinion)

Naruto Storm 3

(I’m biased, I know)

The only reason this isn’t my first favourite game is because it’s my favourite anime and has an unfair advantage. It’s really not a game that everyone will enjoy, unless you’ve watched or read or played the other Naruto games. But all I’ll say... is I have never known the fear of walking in the e.x.c.r.u.c.i.a.t.i.n.g.l.y. slow shoes of a blissful pregnant woman, until this.

Persona 5

Honestly, I don’t even know where to start. As @D_Reaper mentioned, the aesthetic of this game is just an international treasure and boy do they make it fun to steal treasure. This game is every artist’s dream. It’s art on art on art. The soundtrack has music producers wiping tears from their eyes. The animation is too detailed for words, the story— *chokes up*. This entire game is so impossibly perfect and flawless and [chef’s kiss] that I feel unqualified to even talk about it; to even begin to try and capture its beauty in my mere mortal words. There. Aren’t. Enough. Words. To express how breathtaking and phenomenal this game truly is.

I cannot!

*dramatically faints

Tales of Xillia 1 and 2

More Tales games = more feels. So many feels, so many dynamic characters. So many cool map locations. Such unique, interweaving plotlines! Collectively, these games have made me scream out loud more times than I could count. The 1st game has two main characters, which means you get to play it twice with different perspectives (similar to Nier Automata).

The second game has a Choices-Matter system, and we all know how PAINFUL. Choices-Matter games can be! If you don’t know what those are like, picture reading a book or watching a movie where the character’s wellbeing relies solely on how properly you can make a choice in a designated amount of time.

I kid you not, in one of these two games they casually throw in an optional side plot at you that gives you about as much storytelling shock-value as some marvel movies. EXCEPT IT’S A SIDE PLOT!!!

Xillia is a true adventure game through and through. There are experiences from these games that I cannot un-see or un-feel or ever forget, and if I had my own copy, I would be replaying it right now.

Kingdom Hearts 2

(Haven’t played 3 yet, but it will probably be on this list once I do)

*fangirling

This review is mainly for those who don’t know what Kingdom Hearts is, because I think in the gaming community, it’s pretty self-explanatory. But basically:

Kingdom Hearts is the ultimately Disney movie. The magic of Disney is this game. As in, if you like Mickey Mouse, and Stitch and Tinker Bell and Jack Sparrow and Disney characters on a whole, you will get to see, and talk, and fight with and against them all in this game. They are true, authentic versions of their movie selves. As in, for the most part, the same voice actors you know and love from Disney movies are in this game. As in, please. Play. This game. And when I say this game, I mean all of them.

Undertale

There’s a fine line between hilarious fun and psychological trauma apparently, who knew?

Detroit Become Human

If Detroit was a book, it would be the type to make you race words to turn pages like three lives depended on it.

Choices have never mattered more.

I did not come out unscathed, nor do I know of anyone who has—on their first playthrough anyway. And if you have the heart for it, then this game practically begs for you to suffer through more than one playthrough. The story follows three very different android individuals who have all given me very different types of intense stress! I didn’t even know there were different types of stress.

It got to the point where, during this one scene, I had to pause the game and call my non-gamer, IRL, mom—at work—and ask her what to do (she was also fairly invested in this game). Despite all this, it’s stress I don’t regret.

Out of all of my top 10, this game would probably appeal to non-gamers the most. And if you’ve watched Grey’s Anatomy, then you’ll have someone to look forward to.

Spider-Man (PS4)

Speaks for itself.

(Also Spider-Man is my favourite superhero so I’m biased)

Life is Strange

Another game that left a mark. Choices matter here too, except this game doesn’t often rush you to make a decision, because it doesn’t have to. THEIR CHOICES ARE HARD!!!!! There’s a beautifully calming (and misleading) Lo-Fi soundtrack to accompany you on your tough journey through the authentic, post-secondary, art student experience. Did I mention you have powers?

OneShot

I’m not exactly sure if this one belongs in my top 10 but it made a very lasting impact for such an underrated game. You play as an adorable cat child in a dying world. Your job: to deliver a Sun, as the chosen one. But it is not. By any means. Your typical ‘chosen one’ story. There’s really no preparing for what this game has in store. And what happens in OneShot doesn’t stay in OneShot.

Keep in mind I chose my top 10 based on story, so let’s not get offended as I share my Honorable Mentions (based on general experience and fun):

Smash Bros! Jet Set Radio Future, Nier Automata, The Last Guardian, Tales of Abyss, Persona 4, Phoenix Wright games, Danganronpa games, Genshin Impact, Tales of Vesperia, Tales of the Borderlands, Final Fantasy 4 and 7, Dust an Elysian Tail, Deemo, and Osu!