“What makes you believe the Sword of Seven Seasons is here?” Inundation asked.
“They say only the sane remain close to The Great Wish River of Serpent’s Ramble,” Yiliandel said. “I would imagine somewhere along its riverbanks are where we can find the greatest human cities.”
“You argue sanity is a standard human trait.”
Yiliandel sensed the Inundation’s disagreement with this. “Anything but. Humans are irrational. They know this and dismiss it. They are fast to rationalize their intelligence and faster to take up arms about it.”
“So?”
Yiliandel knelt to the soil. She inhaled the moist earth. She had scoped out wagon wheel tracks and a party of plumeraptors not far off from them. Some were clearly domesticated. Signs of societies were becoming more obvious.
“So why would you seek me out, a farmer? They know nourishment. It hardly makes sense if you were to do battle with the Creator Blade. But the reasoning is still clear to me… Farmers are both closest to the earth and to the people. It is people who wield swords, and it is people that you’re scared of.”
Inundation was quiet. There was some truth to this. It had traveled far with Yiliandel from Serpent’s Swim, where the endless black night within Serpent’s Ramble met those hinterlands of river shore. It had been waiting for her to develop these abilities to communicate with it most excellently. It knew so many secrets, but it did not know how to measure them. Inundation was too powerful—too far away. It wanted someone to measure itself against when it defeated Hazahnahkah. Humans had the intelligence required of it, but intelligence was a quality as intimidating as it was delicate.
The farmer’s boots lifted from the soil. She arose into the heavens. Just below the blooming tree kingdoms of Delevenya were several other isles in the sky: Xohoriam, Velvescus, and what was once Beiheilah Gleamwood. Their waterfalls carried themselves into the air, roaring frothing white rivers in the wind like ribbons, from island to island, continent to continent, where they bled back into their eventual journey towards the River of Serpent’s Ramble. The farmer spun her finger. The world turned without realizing it, like a child’s toy rolling on a countertop—up was now down and down was now up. The sky was now an underworld of fiery gold.
“There,” Yiliandel said, humming to herself. “The Fawn Cities.”
So the farmer was finally adapting to her newfound powers that she no longer had to borrow. Yiliandel had a sense of Inundation’s most detailed plan. She was able to read Inundation’s thoughts without probing or asking for them—she was listening to its song.
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Ysan also should listen to its song, Yiliandel also knew this. She landed between The Fawn Cities of Solipsay and the great riverbank of Serpent’s Ramble, towards the echo of Hazahnahkah’s once-wielder.
All things within Serpent’s Ramble had a sound, a vibration, for vibrations were at the heart of all material things of this world. Contrary to the beliefs of most in The Fawn Cities, thought was the most material thing there could be. Especially for the Inundation. It felt thought as one would swim through water, and all thoughts churned the world no matter how minute. A river was a confluence of these and other things: melody, rhythm, tone, structure, harmony. These were always shifting, rewriting themselves, never exact to the source no matter how intimately you knew it, but the Inundation knew it—it knew it as best as one could know.
To a creature like the Inundation, vibrations are the foundation of perception. Where others see with eyes or hear with ears, it reads these patterns directly. A forest becomes a woven field of long, steady pulses. Animals appear as rhythmic disturbances, each with a signature tempo. Humans, with their extreme emotional ideologies and relentless inner narrations, produce vibrations that are sharp, layered, and often contradictory. The world is a continuous fabric of these signals, overlapping but distinct, precise enough that the Inundation can “read” objects and intentions in the same way others read text.
Unfamiliar reals, minds, and systems change these textures. The Inundation was not weaker—but it was now too far from hope to manipulate the song it knew so well. Where it once sensed continents, it now senses valleys; where it once read futures in riverbeds, it now views only the immediate terrain for visual data of its swordfish body. However, its capacity to shape Serpent’s Ramble to its liking was still far more than enough to slay the Sword for good.
As far as Inundation could tell, the Sword of Seven Seasons also did not have knowledge of his powers, origins, or how vibrations worked. He understood how to use them, but he did not understand what they were. If the Inundation distorted this echo in its listening, then maybe it would be the one who died in battle.
Yiliandel then reached the woman kneeling by the froth of the Great Wish River of Serpent’s Ramble. The woman was dressed in black and plated vestments, with a burgundy swordcoat veiling the stump where an arm should have been. She was utterly still in the face of the slapping torrents and licking spray of The River. The song of her soul had troubled qualities. There was a trained peace, not a learnt one, yet her intentions were always in the right place. There was so very much for this woman named Ysan to learn, despite teaching herself a Ramble.
Yiliandel did not reach out to Ysan. She watched her from upstream brushes, taking Inundation into her hands and raising it over the river.
“It has been an honor, Inundation.”
“You knew?”
“Who else would carry you to your journey than someone at the end of her own?”
“You can join Ysan.”
“And fight the Rapscallions? I would rather not die, thanks.”
“And your husband?"
Yiliandel held out a marble. She threw it to the dirt. It splashed explosively, and beneath the falling water a man stumbled out, gasping. Yiliandel must have learned reality manipulation through the song a long time ago to carry him like that. She smiled. “This was my final act of thanks.”
“For?”
“You taught me the true nature of this world,” Yiliandel whispered, looking at the sky. “But it’s time for Hazahnahkah and the Rapscallions to end. I’m excited to see how you change the skies, swordfish.”
“If I die there shall be no change at all.”
“Then die quickly,” Yiliandel said, never being one for anticipation. She bowed, and then, with her husband, vanished in the woodlands.
And the swordfish flopped himself into The River.
EFU : The Shaping World
The ceiling glows with eternal Stars.
The walls stretch beyond sight — endless rock, cold and ancient.
And within this world of stone, humanity endures.
Protectors, those who stand against the Apexes — colossal beings whose very Aura can bend the laws of nature.
Adlet , a boy born in village at the world’s edge, longs to stand among them. Yet the moment a mysterious being whispers his name, his fate begins to shift.
EFU: The Shaping World is a grand fantasy epic focused on growth, mystery, and an intricate power system. Every chapter hides subtle clues that lead toward revelations far greater than the surface.
What to expect ?
- A slow but relentless progression
- A vast, coherent, living world
- Intense, technical, and meaningful combat
- Long-term build-up and payoff
Feedback and theories are always welcome — every reader helps uncover another layer of this world.