If you’re willing, I’d like to tell you about my homeworld. Or, rather, my home dimension.
Perhaps, by telling you all about it…?
Well, the concept is far too complicated to fully explain right now, but suffice to say: although it still exists out there, somewhere… I can never return to it.
But by telling you about it, there’s a chance you may be able to… “connect” with it, so-to-speak.
Now, I only have my memories to go by, and I wasn’t exactly expecting to… leave- as abruptly as I did. Also, it was ruled by vastly different laws of physics. So, while I’m going to do my best to explain and translate, keep those two things in mind, haha!
Hm… We didn’t have a name for our world, per-say — at least, not one I can translate beyond “our world,” so…
… I’ll call it “Illunira.” After how it glowed.
It was cold. There was no sun to warm it — in fact, there was no outer space at all! Instead, the heat from the center of the planet spread to the surface through lava, and our sky looked out upon a different dimension.
Plants grew in that lava, and our sky- that dimension? … It looked like a prism.
There were no seasons. No day or night.
Instead, we told time by the changing of the crops: the Planting, Growing, Harvest, and Rest.
We sowed our crops in spots where large amounts of life-sustaining lava came to the surface. I’m going to call these “volcanoes,” but they didn’t erupt like the ones here do. They only spilled out and bubbled with lava.
Our cities and towns formed around these volcanoes. However, never too close. Too close and we burned.
Well… some of us.
There were three species of intelligent beings: the Anima, the Florus, and the Symbi, and the Florus were able to live closest to the volcanoes, as they were plant-like beings (though, of course, sentient and mobile).
I say they were “plant-like,” but… Illunira’s “plants” more resembled flexible crystals than any vegetation from this world. But, unlike crystals, they glowed with energy siphoned directly from the lava. They were what transformed that energy into something that could sustain life — much like how plants here do with sunlight.
And this was how the Florus “ate” — directly from the lava. However, since they lost the energy they siphoned rather quickly, they could never stray far from a source of their “food.” (In this way, perhaps they were more like reptiles that couldn’t let themselves get too “cold”?)
In contrast, the Symbi, clusters of single-celled beings that worked together to form larger communities, stayed far away from the blustering warmth of the lava. It would easily kill some of their members.
Far from being crystalline, the Symbi were more like living, coordinated plasma; they only had a solid form or shape when they wanted to. And, as I understood it, it took quite a bit of effort to do so. So they rarely did.
The Symbi gained energy from…
… Huh. Y’know, I don’t think I ever saw them feed — but then, how could I? They were far too small. They almost seemed self-sustaining, in that way. Although I know they couldn’t have been.
The Anima were something between the two. We were beings that couldn’t feed from the lava, nor get too close to it, like the Symbi. We held a more solid, crystal-like structure like the Florus, yet we also flowed with formless plasma internally, allowing us greater freedom of movement and separation from our energy-sources than them.
We seemed able to feed off of almost anything that wasn’t the lava itself: smaller creatures, the “plants,” and even some…
I’m honestly not sure what they were, but there were these floating, excess energy… things that we could absorb.
… Perhaps that’s what the Symbi ate…?
Regardless — All of us glowed. All of us lived together, fed one another. Ruled over and under each other.
All of us had souls. And, when our bodies inevitably died, all of us became the Dead Ones.
The Dead Ones… those whose physical bodies had died, lived on as beings of pure energy in the outer atmosphere — inside the divide between Illunira and the dimension surrounding it.
Though, only for a limited time.
Only until their energy ran out.
This dimension I call “Prizmal,” because it looked — and still looks — like a prism from a distance.
… But that’s an explanation for a different time.
Some believed Prizmal to be the afterlife, while others insisted it was what fed the planet’s core with energy. Either way, only the Dead Ones were allowed to travel there. Anyone else would die so far from the planet’s heat.
I know because they tried, once.
How could they do that, you may wonder?
Because we floated.
We weren’t tied down to the land. All of us: Anima, Symbi, Florus — anything that wasn’t a plant — floated and flew. Because everything that lived there was only ever half-made of matter.
And the other half was energy.
So we floated.
… I miss how colorful it was there.
Our Spirits, our auras, glowed so many different colors.
It wasn’t a bright place — on the contrary, it was quite dark. But that darkness just made every light seem to shine that much brighter!
Small animals would skitter across pools of lava, or sparkle against the surface of anything reflective. Sometimes you’d see a light come up from under the non-glowing ground to reveal a tiny nose. Or you’d see a mass of similar-shaped flames rushing in one direction and, on closer inspection, realize it was a herd or pack of some larger creatures traveling together. Sparks would flicker in the sky, alone or in droves, looking for smaller sparks to swallow.
All of it against the empty darkness of the ground below, or the shattered, diffused light of Prizmal and the Dead Ones above.
Darkness and light extending in every direction, like a sea of living and moving neon signs on a starless night.
All so many different colors.
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