A guide to tripping

"This last soul," Lyla began with careful deliberation, "is quite special, though not in an obvious way. It's from a creature known as a Cloud Dweller—a being that drifts endlessly among white clouds. Their presence is subtle; humans only notice them when they migrate, a sure sign that a storm is brewing. Some speculate—well, primarily I speculate—that if we had enough of these creatures, perhaps we could steer storms away, harnessing their mysterious abilities. Unfortunately, I lack both the funding and resources to properly test this hypothesis."

Nemo peered at the sole closely, its mundane appearance now oddly captivating. Unlike the striking glow of the turtle's sunlit core or the chaotic red flicker of the caterpillar's endless hunger, this soul appeared utterly ordinary, almost disappointingly so at first glance. Yet, the more he stared, the more intriguing it became. Its edges seemed indistinct, shifting subtly in form, refusing to hold a consistent shape. It pulsed faintly, not in rhythm with his heartbeat but in an eerie pattern of its own.

"The Cloud Dweller's soul is uniquely formless," Lyla continued softly, almost reverently, as though wary of disturbing something delicate. "It adapts and changes constantly, embodying the very essence of transformation. It is... enigmatic."

Nemo reached toward the soul tentatively. As his fingers neared, he felt a curious tingling sensation—warm, yet somehow cool; comforting, yet oddly unsettling. It wasn't like the clear calm of the algae leaves. Instead, it evoked a sense of vast emptiness, like gazing into an endless expanse of sky where secrets lurked unseen behind shifting clouds.

With a slight shiver, Nemo leaned closer, compelled by curiosity and the irresistible pull of hunger. He inhaled deeply, and the soul flowed into him effortlessly, diffusing slowly throughout his being. Unlike the others, this soul didn't vanish swiftly. Instead, it lingered, spreading a strange, gentle warmth through him, accompanied by a vague sense of unease. Nemo felt oddly watched, as though countless unseen eyes were studying him from within.

Eventually, the sensation passed, and Nemo's ravenous hunger finally subsided entirely. Even after the second soul, his hunger had lessened significantly, but only now, after consuming the Cloud Dweller's soul, did he truly feel sated. He sighed deeply, grateful for the relief but troubled by the lingering mystery.

The algae leaves quietly retreated back into the floor, leaving him alone in silence. His introspection was abruptly interrupted by Lyla's practical tone.

"Alright, Nemo, brace yourself—it's going to get cold. We're going to clean you and the room quickly."

Before he could react, jets of chilly water erupted from all directions, thoroughly soaking him and everything else in the cell. Gasping and shivering, Nemo struggled against the freezing deluge, frustration bubbling within him. Am I a prisoner? Livestock? He silently fumed. Awakened are supposed to be valued, not treated like animals.

Seconds later, the cold assault ceased, replaced immediately by a warm gust of wind that rapidly dried him and the room. Before he could fully recover, the heavy door swung open, admitting five individuals dressed head-to-toe in white protective suits and breathing masks. One stepped forward briskly.

"Please stand back while we prepare your accommodations," the figure instructed curtly.

Nemo retreated obediently to a corner, watching quietly as they efficiently transformed the barren cell. Within moments, a comfortable bed, fresh clothes, a small collection of books, paper, pencils, and even a modest toilet were neatly installed. Their work completed, they vanished as quickly as they'd appeared, the door sealing shut behind them.

He stared at the closed door, suspicion gnawing at him. "Am I contagious or something?" he asked aloud, hoping Lyla still monitored him.

"For now, yes," Lyla's voice replied gently but firmly. "Only after your third trip will you cease being contagious. Consider this your room. Everything essential is detailed in those books. Given your inquisitiveness, I've included additional texts. You have approximately five hours until your trip begins. Read the book on your bed first, then explore the others if you wish. If you have questions, someone will always be listening."

Approaching the bed, Nemo examined the peculiar book laid carefully upon it. Surprisingly, it was real paper, appearing ancient despite clearly being relatively new. Its cover was deep sea green, reminiscent of the algae leaves from earlier, and it felt oddly comforting under his fingers.

Emblazoned in golden letters were the words "A Guide to Tripping." Curious, he opened it, his eyes catching the inscription on the first page:

"While not humorous anymore, in our time it could have been somewhat amusing. Hence, I've named these advancement dreams 'trips'—if only to ensure an occasional smile."

- Ortam Feltahs, two years after the Cataclysm

Nemo paused, a peculiar familiarity stirring within him upon reading that name. At the bottom of the page, he noted it was the "32nd Edition, written and published in 2476." Only last year? Why does it feel and look so ancient then?

Turning the book over, Nemo searched for the author, his curiosity piqued further when he read the spine's golden lettering: "Lyla Feltahs." A connection, surely intentional. Lyla must be related to the man who first coined the term 'trip.'

Settling onto his bed, Nemo began reading. Initially, the chapters offered clear, detailed explanations about rooting and feeding, familiar yet enlightening. However, as he progressed deeper into the text, clarity diminished, replaced increasingly by ambiguity and uncertainty. Phrases like "we don't yet understand..." and "it varies significantly between individuals..." became common.

He learned definitively only a few points: the trip involved visions of a land and a symbolic tree and required confronting some form of personal challenge or encounter. Beyond these sparse certainties, everything else remained distressingly unclear.

Sighing, Nemo flipped through to find the last pages entirely blank, mysteries piling upon mysteries. He set the book aside, intending to reflect further on what he'd read, but the moment his head touched the pillow, exhaustion claimed him instantly, whisking him effortlessly into unconsciousness.

Yet even as sleep overtook him, Nemo felt a sudden, gripping certainty: whatever awaited him in the impending trip was more than just a vision—it would challenge the very core of his being. Unseen forces stirred restlessly, a silent promise that tonight, everything he knew about himself and the world would irrevocably change.