4.2.25 - The Swajin Drujin of Neverwas: Tomorrow's Folly pt 2

Parable 2 – The Return to Ashram Yotok

Swajin pressed the gem embedded beside the viewing pane and began to speak, eyes narrowed on the ever-looming outline of Ghentsai.

“Tell me, Handler... you must have many passengers across this city. How do the people feel about the Invokaree?”

His voice rasped like sand dragging across rusted metal—dry, ailing, and slow.

The handler did not turn. “Most are quiet now, Swajin. Not much conversation anymore. Just peace.” His accent was thick, old-south Ghentsian, but softened by time. “The ruins of the old castle—they remind us. To enjoy the peace.”

He stared ahead, goggles dangling below his chin, face cut red by the mountainous winds. He shed tears, though the howling frost devoured them before they touched his cheeks.

The goratha galloped across the ancient pathways—stone veins of Ghentsai carved by the old kingdoms. Ashen floors absorbed sun from forgotten skies, melting the eternal snow that blanketed the high valleys.

“The peace, yes. Always the peace,” Swajin muttered.

He reached into his coat and retrieved a polished shell, tapping it to produce a map-pearl. As he tinkered, he continued, “You got a favorite spot to eat, Handler? Somewhere near Ashram Yotok, in the Herrtoric District?”

The handler answered without pause.

“Ashram Yotok... beautiful place. Old herrtory in it. Built for the Blues of Ghentsai—a very old family. The gems in that Ashram were picked from their ancestral homes. Dey tell stories, if you look close while you eat.” He sniffled, wiping his face again. “There’s an Invokarian place called Brusty Brab. They serve a flame-seared bull leg that sings on the tongue.”

Ahead, the goratha pushed forward—its snout wrapped in a heat-shield clamped between its teeth, connected to a plasma rope gripped by the handler.

The beast used its muscular hind leg to slice wind behind it, countering the brutal northern current. Ghentsai's blur grew clearer, larger, more imposing against the gray blizzard-scape. The city’s towers pierced the sky like ancient needles.

“I see its influence reaches even this far,” Swajin said. “Never had flame-seared bull leg... might have to try it. What about Cantorous meals? Haven’t seen much of that cuisine in these parts.”

He closed the shell, tucking it back into his coat. Then, before the handler could respond, he added with a soft chuckle:

“Ah, beautiful. Always awestriking. In this dark and gloomy weather, Ghentsai still glows like a second sun.”

The handler said nothing else for the rest of the ride.

Swajin kept his viewpanes open, watching the city unfold like an ancient diagram of power. Basilisk SS2ii models glided by. His fingers traced the view-gems. His eyes moved with the streets—towering black spikes, a terrarium lodged a sic or two from each peak’s tip. Then a building caught him—made entirely of Ghentsai’s abundant great oak. Sapphire trees grew from its sides and roof, glowing faintly in the cold.

He yawned.

The goratha reached Ashram Yotok, scaling the building’s side to the elevated drop-off terrace. Lower entrances were reserved for common vehicles.

Swajin gathered his things and rummaged through his pocket. Thin coins, cut from flawed gems, clinked in his hand.

“Do you take SKTs, Geks, or Shalts?” he asked the handler.

The handler pressed a button. A coin container slid out from the side of the pod.

“We take ’em all. They get processed at the depository down the slope.”

“Well then.” Swajin dropped the coins into the slot. “I’ll pearl you when I’m ready to head to the castle. Give it a few sycles. These old bones need a rest.”

He tipped his hat before stepping into the Ashram, briefcase in hand.

Inside, a receptionist greeted him with formality veiled by indifference.

“Swajin Drujin, welcome back. We ran your token. It brings up credentials and photos, but I’m afraid... some information’s missing.”

She didn’t look at him—just shuffled papers, half-watching her screen.

Swajin didn’t miss a beat. “Send a pearl to Shinkugara. Validate with Farseek Xolos. In the meantime, I have a request: send up extra clothes, food, and make sure no one enters my room after delivery. That will be all.”

He walked past her.

The reception hall, the first room accessible via goratha, was adorned in old dominion art. Paintings of Blue, Yellow, Red, and Green family members filled the walls between embedded gems—each one matched to a carving of their ancestral homes.

Swajin paused only briefly. Then he pressed the hydroxer panel.

A fine liquid layer coated his body. It expanded, crystallized, and he was sucked downward—delivered directly to his room.

As he landed, the requested items were already waiting: clothes from the shops below, a selection of meals from every region.

He placed the briefcase on the floor. Then moved the food table aside, leaving space before the bed. He unlatched his brooch and removed his coat. From the gem burst the twin-headed creature—silent and familiar. Swajin petted one of the necks, and a third head emerged. Its mouth opened, and out came Algahast, still asleep. Chair and all.

The creature vanished back into the gem.

Swajin poured water into a glass and splashed it onto Algahast’s face.

“Wake up, old man,” he said, dragging the table closer. “I’ve got more questions.”

He unbound Algahast’s arms. The man stirred, blinking at the food spread before him.

He didn’t hesitate. He ate.

Swajin fetched a set of clothes and placed them near the edge of the table. Then he collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling—a painted mural of a mother and her children, laughing in the breeze of a Blue Castle summer.

Algahast kept eating.

Dishes from Cantor, Invokar, even the Maniaspora—tiny portions from the world’s most sacred recipes. He devoured them all. All but one.

The sappiclair. A pastry from Cantor—blended oak hearts and gruhana yolk, tucked inside sweet shell layers.

He placed it in front of himself. Dressed slowly. Then slid the cake to the side.

And finally, he asked:

“Why am I alive?”

Swajin Drujin didn’t answer. He had already fallen asleep.