It was common for sight to evoke emotions. It was common for people to see things and link them to certain feelings.
Before those thoughts—turned into visual flows in this strange land—could continue further, the soul it originated from began to twist and turn.
"No, no, no. Not again."
The thoughts carried on without the soul's guidance.
In limbo, the land of dreams, the realm fashioned by the kin of the Feys, sight and emotions existed in an unholy union, a mind devouring singularity.
The soul stood in the heart of limbo, his name and identity completely forgotten.
He had been stripped to his core. Upon him were marks of five.
"Not this again. Please, not again."
"Why do you have this place so much?"
The soul stilled at the sound of the voice. Rotated and saw a blob of white light, spread out around him.
From the light the soul could feel life, power, amusement, and—somehow—femininity.
"Who, who are you?" The soul questioned.
"I believe you know the answer to that question," the aura of light answered.
"You are a Fey?"
"In spirit, yes. This is my astral presence."
"Are you the reason why I'm here?"
"What do you think?"
The soul emoted annoyance. "Will you keep making me answer every question I ask you?"
The Fey spirit responded with emoted amusement. "What do you think?" She repeated. "Look behind you."
The soul looked back and was filled with shock and disgust by what it saw. There was an energy flowing out of it to the floor like liquid. Within it were colors that marked it—red, fiery blue, yellow, silver, and black.
What shocked and disgusted the soul was the black, it was wrong. It looked like a disease, pungent and vile. And it was spreading, corrupting the others.
"What is this?"
The Fey moved closer. "Your core. The Maris upon your soul." The soul felt something within agree with that assessment. "The red, the first mark is of an ancient being, a being such an ancient history it precedes consciousness."
As the Fey spoke the red trail of energy vibrated in excitement as it radiated in the presence of limbo.
That felt so familiar to the soul for some strange reason.
"The yellow," the Fey continued, "is a mark of a creature of the harvest, an entity of a thousand wishes. It latched onto your young soul like a karmic thread."
"The silver is a mark of protection, an echo of a great aura, an shield of safety against natural forces of harm."
The soul frowned. "I feel like I should know that one personally."
"Don't worry, you do."
"How about that one?" The soul pointed.
"The Black. Hmmm. That one is a parasite, a great essence reduced by destruction. It has now latched onto your young and innocent soul, its eldritch tendrils snaking through. A creature of a thousand faces."
The mention of a thousand faces struck fear into the soul and made an image appear to it that made it recoil in horror—an image of a mountainous creature.
"The blue fire," the Fey said in reference to the fifth and final that shone as bright as the fires of hell. It pulsed along with the flow of the soul. "It's a mark sharpened with the edge of destruction."
"What do they all mean?"
"Hundun, the Limbo Cannibal, Mukoku, Lagarakei, Hell Lords of Severance."
The soul turned to stare at the Fey in confusion. "What do all those things mean? What's a Hundun?"
"Hundun is considered by the mortals to be a mythological concept that represents the primordial chaos or void that existed before the creation of the universe. It's often depicted by their fickle minds as a giant, formless, and featureless mass. We of ancient origins know it to be an ancient being, one of those who rose from the womb of the universe."
"Why do I have his mark?"
"He is the primordial chaos, the personification of a state without boundaries, distinctions, or structures, which are later imposed by the creation of the universe. The primal ancestor of gods and cosmic forces. Hundun symbolizes the potential for creation and the raw material from which the universe is formed. He represents the idea that the universe emerged from a state of chaos and disorder, same as him, and that structure and order are imposed upon it." The Fey paused and the aura of light turned to face him. "And you have his mark because his powerful blood flows through your veins, golden and pure."
"But I don't feel powerful?"
"It's because of the black mark. The mark of the Lagarakei. It is being suppressed by the silver mark but it has done too much damage already. For you to feel powerful, you must break loose."
"Break loose how?"
"You see that bright shine that acts as a background to the flow?"
The soul turned to look and took in the red, black, yellow, fiery blue, and black flows then squinted and saw the white shine that surrounded them like a silhouette.
"I see it."
"That's your primal core. The core of your Yosei nature."
"What's a Yosei?"
"Something of the realm outside the minds of men."
"I don't understand."
The Fey chuckled. "You are not meant to. Not yet." The soul was so confused it could muster no response. "Now, do you want to be powerful?"
The soul nodded.
"Then you must embrace your Yosei core. Only with it can you hold back the flood of the corrupting black flow and let the others work as they should."
"How do I do that?"
"Well that's what I'm here for," the soul said, then it muttered, "I hope she truly appreciates the effort I'm about to go through for you."
Before the young soul could ask what she meant by what she was here for, it fell into a slow sleep. Limbo, in a familiar nature, covered it like a blanket.
The Fey smiles. "Remember my words as I speak them, Young Yosei. You shall recall this as it happened, and you shall remember my following words. You were bestowed a great gift. What no one anticipated was that the ichor would start boosting the potency of your half Yosei soul. Use it well, use your gifts well. You are a well of power."
"Go well, Young Yosei," the woman said in farewell.
"Your future awaits you."