01-22-2025, 01:36 AM
True to his nature, Theron listened in stillness, his expression serene. But beneath the surface of that calm exterior, his thoughts churned like deep ocean currents. Anton’s story carried weight—not the heavy, clumsy weight of braggadocio, but the kind that came from truth spoken with deliberation and vulnerability. This man was either genuinely extraordinary or an anomaly that defied conventional understanding, and Theron was determined to discover which it was.
Empathy on a supernatural scale, an ability to feel the emotions of others with such precision, was a gift that bordered on mythic. In all his time with the Brotherhood, he had encountered many Seekers who claimed to possess talents, some legitimate and others colored by imagination or desperation. But this? The way Anton described the intensity of his connection to others, the way he had spoken of the emotions tied to the myth of Orpheus, felt too visceral, too alive, to be fabrication. Still, Theron’s mind turned over the possibilities.
Could the Veil itself be amplifying Anton’s natural talents, pushing him beyond the boundaries of mortal understanding? Or had it chosen him specifically because his gift was a kind of key, unlocking something within the Veil that others could not sense? And what of the visions of Orpheus? Were they a manifestation of Anton’s connection to emotion and story, or something deeper? Was he reliving fragments of a soul that crossed into the Veil? Could Anton’s abilities be tied to reincarnation, to the echoes of lives long past? These thoughts flickered through Theron’s mind like stars briefly illuminating the night sky—fleeting but profound.
And then there was the revelation that unsettled even Theron’s measured calm: the claim that the other Veil Walkers, had disappeared completely from Anton’s empathic senses. That was no trivial detail. The Veil reacted differently to everyone, yes, but this... this suggested something Theron had not yet encountered. Was it a defense mechanism, a way for the Veil to obscure itself from Anton’s empathetic reach? Or was it something far more unsettling—an acknowledgment of Anton as a force beyond what the Veil could fully absorb or predict?
His gaze remained steady on Anton as these thoughts played through his mind, but his voice, when he finally spoke, was a still river of sound—calm and deliberate, charged with meaning.
“You saw Orpheus not as a distant story, but as something alive?” Theron said, his response one of quiet awe. “Not merely a tale, but a series of moments felt in their fullness. Grief, resolve, doubt, and emptiness. You carried his burdens as though they were your own. This does not seem to be an idle vision. The Veil does not show us fragments without reason. It reveals what must be seen, though often, its meaning is shrouded in its own mystery.”
Theron’s thoughts circled back to Anton’s self-proclaimed empathy. To sense others’ emotions with such clarity was already remarkable, but to influence them? That, Theron knew, was no simple gift. It was power, raw and untempered. And power was dangerous, both to the one who wielded it and to those it touched. Yet the Brotherhood was a place where gifts, no matter how volatile, were tempered into purpose.
“You have a gift that extends beyond what most would consider possible,” Theron continued, his voice soft as wind, though the weight of his words deepened. He did not reveal whether or not he counted himself among that number. “To influence emotions is to wield one of the most intimate forms of power, Anton. The heart is where fear, joy, and faith take root, and to touch it is to shape the course of another’s soul. It is no small thing.”
But his mind remained tethered to the Veil, to its strange reaction to Anton. The disappearance of the Veil Walkers from Anton’s senses raised possibilities both thrilling and troubling. Did the Veil see Anton as a threat, or did it regard him as a peer? Could he be some conduit—a medium through which the Veil’s truths flowed differently than with others? Or was this anomaly something more profound, a sign that Anton was not just gifted but pivotal?
Theron’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, reflecting both curiosity and intensity. “The Veil reacts to each of us differently,” he said. “For you, it seems to behave in ways I have not encountered before. That you could not sense when someone Veilwalked is no accident. The Veil hides itself from some and reveals itself to others, but this… This suggests a deeper connection. Perhaps it is not hiding from you at all, but waiting for you to step into it fully, to reach for it with intention.”
His voice dropped lower, his tone almost reverent, as though speaking to something greater than either of them. “The Veil does not make mistakes, Anton. Whatever gift you possess, it is not random. It has chosen you—or perhaps, you were born with it because the Veil knew you would come.”
Theron leaned back slightly, folding his hands before him, his posture as composed as his words were charged with meaning. “The Brotherhood welcomes you, Anton. Here, you will not only uncover the depths of your gift, but you will also learn to master it. To wield it with purpose. Together, we will explore what it means to stand on the boundary between the seen and unseen.”
He paused, allowing the weight of his offer to settle before continuing. “But first, there is someone I would have you meet. He is our librarian, a man whose knowledge of old things is astonishing. And perhaps he can help us both understand what the Veil has revealed to you.”
Theron stood then, his movements fluid, as though the chamber itself bent to accommodate him. His presence filled the space—not through force, but through the quiet, commanding charisma that came so naturally to him. “Come,” he said, his voice still soft, but laced with expectation. “The Veil has spoken to you, Anton. Now it is time we listen.”
Empathy on a supernatural scale, an ability to feel the emotions of others with such precision, was a gift that bordered on mythic. In all his time with the Brotherhood, he had encountered many Seekers who claimed to possess talents, some legitimate and others colored by imagination or desperation. But this? The way Anton described the intensity of his connection to others, the way he had spoken of the emotions tied to the myth of Orpheus, felt too visceral, too alive, to be fabrication. Still, Theron’s mind turned over the possibilities.
Could the Veil itself be amplifying Anton’s natural talents, pushing him beyond the boundaries of mortal understanding? Or had it chosen him specifically because his gift was a kind of key, unlocking something within the Veil that others could not sense? And what of the visions of Orpheus? Were they a manifestation of Anton’s connection to emotion and story, or something deeper? Was he reliving fragments of a soul that crossed into the Veil? Could Anton’s abilities be tied to reincarnation, to the echoes of lives long past? These thoughts flickered through Theron’s mind like stars briefly illuminating the night sky—fleeting but profound.
And then there was the revelation that unsettled even Theron’s measured calm: the claim that the other Veil Walkers, had disappeared completely from Anton’s empathic senses. That was no trivial detail. The Veil reacted differently to everyone, yes, but this... this suggested something Theron had not yet encountered. Was it a defense mechanism, a way for the Veil to obscure itself from Anton’s empathetic reach? Or was it something far more unsettling—an acknowledgment of Anton as a force beyond what the Veil could fully absorb or predict?
His gaze remained steady on Anton as these thoughts played through his mind, but his voice, when he finally spoke, was a still river of sound—calm and deliberate, charged with meaning.
“You saw Orpheus not as a distant story, but as something alive?” Theron said, his response one of quiet awe. “Not merely a tale, but a series of moments felt in their fullness. Grief, resolve, doubt, and emptiness. You carried his burdens as though they were your own. This does not seem to be an idle vision. The Veil does not show us fragments without reason. It reveals what must be seen, though often, its meaning is shrouded in its own mystery.”
Theron’s thoughts circled back to Anton’s self-proclaimed empathy. To sense others’ emotions with such clarity was already remarkable, but to influence them? That, Theron knew, was no simple gift. It was power, raw and untempered. And power was dangerous, both to the one who wielded it and to those it touched. Yet the Brotherhood was a place where gifts, no matter how volatile, were tempered into purpose.
“You have a gift that extends beyond what most would consider possible,” Theron continued, his voice soft as wind, though the weight of his words deepened. He did not reveal whether or not he counted himself among that number. “To influence emotions is to wield one of the most intimate forms of power, Anton. The heart is where fear, joy, and faith take root, and to touch it is to shape the course of another’s soul. It is no small thing.”
But his mind remained tethered to the Veil, to its strange reaction to Anton. The disappearance of the Veil Walkers from Anton’s senses raised possibilities both thrilling and troubling. Did the Veil see Anton as a threat, or did it regard him as a peer? Could he be some conduit—a medium through which the Veil’s truths flowed differently than with others? Or was this anomaly something more profound, a sign that Anton was not just gifted but pivotal?
Theron’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, reflecting both curiosity and intensity. “The Veil reacts to each of us differently,” he said. “For you, it seems to behave in ways I have not encountered before. That you could not sense when someone Veilwalked is no accident. The Veil hides itself from some and reveals itself to others, but this… This suggests a deeper connection. Perhaps it is not hiding from you at all, but waiting for you to step into it fully, to reach for it with intention.”
His voice dropped lower, his tone almost reverent, as though speaking to something greater than either of them. “The Veil does not make mistakes, Anton. Whatever gift you possess, it is not random. It has chosen you—or perhaps, you were born with it because the Veil knew you would come.”
Theron leaned back slightly, folding his hands before him, his posture as composed as his words were charged with meaning. “The Brotherhood welcomes you, Anton. Here, you will not only uncover the depths of your gift, but you will also learn to master it. To wield it with purpose. Together, we will explore what it means to stand on the boundary between the seen and unseen.”
He paused, allowing the weight of his offer to settle before continuing. “But first, there is someone I would have you meet. He is our librarian, a man whose knowledge of old things is astonishing. And perhaps he can help us both understand what the Veil has revealed to you.”
Theron stood then, his movements fluid, as though the chamber itself bent to accommodate him. His presence filled the space—not through force, but through the quiet, commanding charisma that came so naturally to him. “Come,” he said, his voice still soft, but laced with expectation. “The Veil has spoken to you, Anton. Now it is time we listen.”
![[Image: Theron-avatar.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/Theron-avatar.jpg){kind=avatar}
