Glass Visions

The mist swirled in the sphere that was his home and his prison. In the dimly lit stone chamber where the orb resided, the entity within the glass walls could not observe the passage of night or day, and yet, he knew the time, for his power was great.

The demigod chanted his name to himself, the tones changing the color of his vaporous form. He knew that if he recited it long enough a transformation would begin, and he could once again wear flesh for a brief time. But it is so tedious, Ba'sir thought, to speak one word for hours upon end for a flickering moment of solidity.

He grew silent, images from the past haunting him, interfering with his concentration. Because of the choices he had made early in life, he had assumed that he would live a long time. That he would race toward godhood was a development he had neither planned nor desired.

Soon a danger would present itself that would hurl him forever into the realm of the gods. No longer would he have the pleasure of striding over the landscape of Third Earth. The possibly of rebirth into matter would end.

He flowed over the smooth glass considering the obstacle that had set him on this unwanted road. So many seasons past, he thought. Damn that asteroid.

He turned dark purple. Over time, only a handful of individuals had ever known that he had saved the world. The color of his mist skin lightened. What did it matter. He had "died" before Myr'an'dra. And now she had been long dead. No matter how he had searched, he had never found her reincarnated being. The great event had separated them, it appeared, forever, and for many suns he had regretted saving Third Earth from the asteroid.

He had disturbed space by warping his ship near the celestial body, hoping the action would divert its path. How was he to know that a minor discrepancy in the space-time continuum would destroy his vessel, but not himself.

The dimension of the gods was a kingdom of color. He was warmly welcomed by the lights, but had no desire to live among them. His resistance had forced him back into matter, cast out by his new brethren until he could learn the responsibilities of a god. The powers he had gained had landed him back on Third Earth many seasons after his bold gamble.

Now a new crisis threatened, and he had not the stamina for the journey that was necessary to bring the world salvation. But Sky will serve me, he thought with confidence. He considered the descendant of Tygra, the architect who had designed Cats' Lair so long ago. You are a worthy successor to your ancestor, my cub. You will go forth, and bring back the crystal that will protect this world. The Guardians will understand the need. They will know that only I can fully activate its power. Then, our home will become invisible to the invaders that would steal it from us.

A ripple of pain burst red across his form. The transformation had begun. The mist forced himself through the glass, and spilt onto the floor. The vapor roiled, folding in on itself until it condensed into flesh. Upon the cool stone lay a tall, slender Felinari'i of the panther clan.

Ba'sir crawled toward his malachite throne. He pulled himself up, and sprawled on the cushioned seat. He needed to eat. *Sustenance!* he commanded, sending the thought throughout his house. Soon Dri'sar would appear with food.

Brushing back a lock of his black mane fringed with white, the mage gazed into a crystal that rested on a stand, which stood beside his throne. An image appeared within the orb. A red tiger carrying a sketch pad and a white tigress walked along the sandy beach not far from his abode. The young couple shared laughter, and deepened the mage's growing melancholy. Your trip to Tabbia will have to wait, my friend, Ba'sir thought sadly. The errand you will perform for me must take precedence if we are to survive.

He reached for the stately tigress. You must go too Te'mira, so that Sky will succeed. How well will you hold my secrets? he wondered ruefully. May the gods help you through the trial you will face.

A sigh sounded beyond the single door to the chamber. "Enter, Dri'sar," Ba'sir ordered. The being that approached had black skin that seemed to glow beneath the white robes that sheathed her slender body. "As you have requested, my lord," she said, indicating the wooden cart laden with enough food to feed a family. Her long silvery hair added to the light in the chamber.

Ba'sir appraised the offering. His cook had made sure to include his favorite delicacies to encourage his feeding. "That will do fine, fair one," he commented.

"May your work go well," she answered with a bow.

"Indeed," Ba'sir remarked, idly glancing at the repast. He hoped there would be enough energy contained in the food, so that he could draw the strength to work another spell. The additional transformation of his flesh into another face, and the obese form that he once again favored, had become hard work. He would need to eat often to prevent his corruption back into vapor. His reputation for gluttony had been well earned. The pleasure of eating had died, the act becoming a mere tool to effect an end.

Long ago he had set himself upon this path. The call of matter summoned. The road to the sea beckoned. "But one step at a time," Ba'sir muttered, beginning his feast.