The Mask and The World

On the cobblestone streets of Dunbrooke, a silver-haired man walked with a mask covering most of his face and a faded cloak trailing behind him.

He drew a lot of stares.

Small village, small minds.

Everyone knew everyone, except for this guy.

Reed. Or Lucien. Or Alex. Didn't really matter. He adjusted the mask, his fingers lingering on its edge before flicking back down. Inside, his jaw tightened. 'This thing is damn annoying…!'

(—oh, such a confident walk. Is it intentional? Practiced, perhaps? Seems fitting for someone of noble birth.)

The voice came smoothly, calm and deliberate. There was no malice in it.

Alex ignored it. Actually, he'd been ignoring it since the first time it spoke.

(Not much for conversation, are you? That takes resolve—or maybe it's just a lack of imagination. Do you think this hard with every breath, or is it the mask that makes you so pensive?)

'Who even says that kind of thing...?' Alex was briefly speechless, though his expression and feelings stayed grounded. Anything else, and he'd lose focus. Losing focus could get him killed—in a way, that is.

What had it been? Half an hour? The first day wearing this damn mask, and Alex was already irritated by it. He mentally counted every step until he could stop. Because the mask never stops. Like, ever.

In the memories—or claims—that came with it, the voice was that of Reed Nevil, a scholar who'd bonded with the mask during some ill-conceived experiment. Quiet. Rational. But too curious for his own good.

And this wasn't Reed Nevil...! At least, Alex didn't believe it was. No way, no how. He assumed it was the mask pretending to be Reed Nevil. Why? 

It never raised its tone. It never slipped. No mockery, no laughs. Every line spoken in the same measured cadence. It was aligning with Reed's personality in his head, but it was pretty much an instinct that told him otherwise. 'Now, obviously, trusting instinct isn't always good, but not for this one!'

Normally, it's nothing really to be annoyed about. It's simply that—

(Ah, I see. Deep thought. You wear it well. Very brooding. A bit cliché, though. People will notice soon, you know. Strangers always draw attention. Not to worry, though. My advice is free. Consider it a courtesy. For as long as you wear me, that is. Oh, please, don't thank me. It's truly my pleasure.)

Alex almost clicked his tongue.

Nothing about its tone seemed intentionally mocking or designed to enrage him, but what made Alex's fingers itch to tear the mask off was the way the voice tried to be clever—and just didn't quite reach it. 

It wasn't about malice; it was about preference.

Alex hated 'know-it-alls'. He wanted to kick them off a cliff when facing one. And from the looks of it, being "triggered" could make his identity stolen easily.

That story his older brother wrote regarding "the only way to avoid your identity being stolen is to stay on guard" is a trap statement.

He thought it meant something about having heightened awareness, like quick thinking to notice little things, but no. What he should've done was ignore everything the mask said.

Alex should've gone with "Recreate: Heightened Patience." When he'd picked "Heightened Emotions" instead, believing the extra edge in awareness would help him react faster—'well, yes, it definitely sharpened every tiny irritant to unbearable levels.'

He sighed and continued walking normally.

The town bustled in its strange, alien rhythm. The Rift that had once dominated the skies was gone, and the townsfolk returned to their routines, as if giant holes in the fabric of reality were just minor inconveniences. 

Yet today, the usual routines held a distinct sense of purpose. As someone who stayed there for most of the time, of course Alex knew why.

The preparations for the Celestial Ascension Festival, one of Valdaris Kingdom's most sacred celebrations, had taken over the village square—dedicated to the divine star that had once guided and saved their ancestors during a time of unparalleled despair.

Stalls brimmed with celestial-themed decorations crafted by patient hands. Twisted silver wire and polished glass came together to create fragile star-shaped ornaments. Artisans skillfully etched intricate constellations onto lanterns that would later illuminate the dark skies in vivid colors. Nearby, clusters of children excitedly dusted fragments of glowing lunar stone onto garlands meant to represent the radiant trail of the divine star.

The faint scent of sun-dried herbs wafted through the air as villagers hung bundles along their doorways, charms woven to invite blessings during the festival. Large tapestries stretched between sturdy wooden posts, their surfaces still being painted with depictions of a star descending upon a kneeling crowd.

The farmers were busy arranging a section of the square for the feast that would take place in a few days. Barrels of aged mead and honeyed fruit were being rolled in, while spices and dried meats were prepared to season dishes in honor of Valdaris' divine savior. The steady rhythm of pounding flour mixed with chatter and the laughter of children.

Not far from the square, at the top of a ridge where the sunlight bathed the treetops, the village elders had begun polishing an ancient star-shaped relic. It gleamed faintly even under the midday sun, a sacred object said to resonate most when the festival commenced.

Though preparations were still in their early stages, the excitement was palpable. The occasional glances toward the sky betrayed their anticipation of nightfall days from now, when the stars would align in familiar patterns—a celestial mirror to a history forever etched in their souls.

Alex walked past it all, taking in the noise, the motion, the fervor. He wanted to buy weapons, potions, armor for better chance in the Dungeon. But he was broke. Like, for real.

He clicked his tongue. 'That damn Lucien—burning through everything before I got here. Fuck you! I've got what, a handful of Celestine Lyr?! I could buy a few decent ones with that, but it's barely mid-cycle of the Duskfall Reign now!"

Vyrholm didn't use Earth's calendar, of course. The planet followed its own strange rhythm, with cycles that stretched through phases tied to the unique nature of its two celestial bodies—the Golden-Red Sun and the Violet Moon.

There are about 230 days in total under a year, with five "seasons" ranging from as little as five days to as much as ninety days. A year are called a Helian, whatever that means.

The five seasons, called Epochs here, are Awakening Cycle, Epoch of Twilight, Moon's Dominion, Sun's Sovereignty, and Lull. Some of them are divided into "Months" or Phases in this world. A week is called a Astra instead, and a day is called a Cycle here, with only five Cycles in an Astra.

The people of Vyrholm, like any civilization, needed to know when to rise, when to rest, when to plant, and when to reap.

The sun, golden-red and ever-present in the sky, was the pulse of the day. It didn't set the same way the Earth's sun would, but it had an obvious cycle that everyone adhered to. It would hover and dip at angles depending on where in the Epochs the planet found itself, transitioning from vibrant heat to softer hues, signaling the approach of night. Most likely, it had a period of high intensity and low intensity, guiding the local rhythms of work and rest, consumption and energy.

The moon, violet and striking in its own way, guided the night hours. When the sky darkened, the people of Vyrholm looked toward the Moon. Their concept of night wasn't endless dark. It was a rhythm that held sway over dreams, contemplation, quiet, and even nightmares. Just like the Sun demanded respect, so did the Moon. It had phases, each marking a different period for their lives, whether for deep reflection or quiet endurance. One full cycle of the moon's phases—starting from crescent to full Moon—was enough to identify a passing month. It was called a Lunar Turn. A reminder for them to rest, reflect, or adapt.

The elders worked out sophisticated knowledge to chart when their harvest was to be most fruitful, when it was best to walk through the forest, or when storms might find their way into their midst—all dictated by the smooth ebb and flow of those visible markers in the sky.

Each cycle on Vyrholm wasn't measured in the typical months or days one would expect either, but rather in epochs of the Sun and the Moon.

The year began with the Awakening Cycle, where the Sun stood in its most vibrant phase, casting long golden-red rays over the land while the Moon's soft violet glow was faint. This phase was a time of renewal and hope, though brief. It marked the start of the year, and while it lasted for 15 days, it gave way to the next phase.

The Epoch of Twilight followed, lasting for 45 days, where the balance between the Sun and the Moon was closest. A mellow time, it represented a period where activities in Vyrholm slowed down, focusing more on reflection and preparation for what was next. During this phase, the twin celestial bodies would spend half of each day competing for dominance, their differing light casting shifting shadows on the world.

After this, there was the Moon's Dominion, a stark 90-day phase where the Violet Moon took its place, overshadowing the Sun's rays with its powerful mystical glow. This time was dedicated to magical arts, spiritual practices, and research. Farmers considered this the season to sow the most enduring crops, even if the dark purple light was rarely comforting to all.

The Sun's Sovereignty would then reclaim its hold for the following 75 days, throwing long golden-red light across the realm with a potency unmatched. Vyrholm's people became more active, pushing through the harsh, glaring light as they readied themselves for the more harsh seasons.

Then, as the cycle neared its end, the two bodies once again found harmony in the short period of Lull, lasting only five days, where both the Sun and Moon were equally positioned in the sky, setting a cool balance over the world. This brief time of calm was the transition before the cycle would repeat itself.

At any given time, the village of Dunbrooke could be found in one of these cycles, and preparations for festivals like the Celestial Ascension Festival were dictated by their position in the Sun and Moon's shared dance. 

It was currently the fourth cycle (or week) of Duskfall Reign, the third and last Phases of Sun Sovereignty, lasting twenty-five days. The Celestial Festival would be held at the start of Lull Epoch, the last Epoch of the Helian.

Alex sighed, thinking on how to increase his salary. 'I could hunt a few Draelketh. Their claws alone would bring in a good batch of Lunar. Also, they're the easiest to get in Dunbrooke Dungeon. Yeah, gotta be patient for gears and do the grind.'

"Um..."

He paused mid-step, turning to find someone staring at him. Nearl Karschten was currently looking at him strangely.

***

AN: Sorry for the absence yesterday, my phone got lost.

I will write an Auxiliary chapter for the Time thingy.

Rate it from 1 to 10 with the reasoning as well, if possible. That'll help me covering what's lacking from the story.

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