Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

The mallet was surprisingly heavy in Alias’s hands. Each time he lifted it to help Theo align the rough cedar posts, the physical vibration traveled up his slender arms, rattling his collarbones.

It was a grounding sensation, a violent reminder of the mass and friction of the mortal world. He threw himself into the task with a silent, hyper-focused energy, his silver hair tied back with a scrap of linen to keep it out of his face.

Theo watched him from the corner of his eye, his chest heaving as he hammered the stakes deep into the dry earth. Despite the gravity of the previous day, a small, involuntary smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth whenever Alias gave an exceptionally enthusiastic swing.

By mid-afternoon, the eastern perimeter was standing—a jagged, honest line of raw wood cutting across the golden grass. But as the sun began its slow descent, painting the dunes in long, bleeding shadows, the heavy disturbance in the upper atmosphere became too loud for Alias to ignore.

It was a low, subsonic frequency that made the water in the lake ripple without any wind. The sky wasn’t blue anymore; it had a thin, greasy yellow tint at the horizon that didn’t belong to the desert.

Alias dropped the mallet into the dirt. The sudden movement made Kael look up from his woven mat, a half-sorted handful of lentil seeds freezing in his small palm.

"Theo," Alias said, his voice dropping its light, curious tone. He rubbed his hands against his tunic, but the phantom sensation of a cold, suffocating pressure remained on his skin. "I need to leave the ridge for a short while."

Theo’s hand froze on the handle of his axe. The easy, workspace silence they had maintained all morning shattered instantly. He turned around, his face hardening as his blue eyes locked onto Alias with a sudden, raw panic.

He took three long strides across the turned earth, his large hand coming down over Alias’s shoulder, his grip so tight it bruised.

"No," Theo said, his voice dropping into that thick, defensive growl from the slums. "You just got back, Alias. You saw what happened the moment you turned your back. If you go up there again—if you leave us for another ten years—"

"I am not ascending, Theo," Alias interrupted gently. He reached up, placing his cool fingers over Theo’s burning, sweat-slicked wrist, his touch firm enough to calm the panic. "I am staying on the earth. But the energy past the ridge... it is changing. It is growing thick with a malice I did not write into the blueprints. If I stay here and wait for it to reach the house, the walls you built will not be enough. I must find the source before it finds us."

Theo’s jaw worked, the muscle leaping under his tanned skin. He hated his own helplessness. He hated that twenty-four hours ago, he had sworn to protect this man, and now he was looking at a threat he couldn’t even see with his human eyes.

Alias didn’t wait for him to argue. He closed his eyes, focusing a small speck of the light within his core. He raised his left hand, and with a soft, audible hum, a tiny object materialized between his fingers. It was a small, delicate bell, cast from an unearthly, liquid gold that didn’t cast a shadow. It lay in his palm, completely silent despite the wind.

He pressed the bell into Theo’s hand, closing his fingers over it.

"If anything changes," Alias instructed, his silver eyes boring into Theo’s with absolute finality. "If the sky turns black, if the water in the lake goes sour, or if you feel even the slightest chill that does not belong to the evening... Ring it. Do not wait to see what it is. Do not try to fight it with your axe. Just ring it, and I will be back before the sound dies."

Theo looked down at the tiny golden object resting against his rough skin. A dry, self-deprecating chuckle escaped his throat. "I told you I’d be the one keeping you safe. Now I’m standing here holding a toy, waiting for you to fix the sky."

Alias smiled, a genuine, soft expression that smoothed the tension from his brow. He stepped in flush against Theo’s chest, leaning up to press a lingering, warm kiss to the very top of his head.

"You protected our home with your blood, Theo. That is more than any god has ever done," Alias whispered against his skin. "I am an Architect. It is only natural that I maintain the foundation. But when I am just a man in your arms, in your bed... I will very much welcome your arms around me."

He pulled away and knelt down on the grass before the mat. Kael was watching him, his small face tight with that old, familiar dread of abandonment.

Alias didn’t hesitate; he wrapped his arms around the boy, burying his face in the child’s neck. Kael’s small arms immediately locked around Alias’s shoulders, his fingers twisting into the coarse linen of the tunic.

"Mama," Kael whispered, the word small and wet against Alias’s ear.

Maya let out a soft, surprised snort from behind the seed basket, a tiny smirk breaking through her tired face. "Looks like I’ve been replaced already," she murmured.

Alias felt his face heat up with a thoroughly human flush, but his chest felt remarkably warm. He set the boy back down, gently tapping his small, round cheek. "I will return shortly. Stay with your father."

He stood up, took three steps backward into the high grass of the grove, and simply let his weight drop into the layout of the world.

To the human eye, Alias simply vanished, leaving nothing but a slight disturbance in the jasmine bushes.

In a fraction of a second, the oasis was hundreds of miles behind him. Alias moved along the hidden axes of the earth, his consciousness sliding through the structural lines of the continents. He stopped in a far-flung valley to the East, his linen once again shed into his divine silks due to the release of his divinity, and his halo chimed above his head.

The earth underneath his boot was cracked, too dry.

He frowned, looking up at the gray clouds hanging low over the mountains. The air here was damp, heavy with the scent of an impending storm, yet the fields below were completely dead, the crops withered into black rot. It was a structural paradox. The clouds were full, but the rain refused to fall, trapped by an unnatural density in the lower atmosphere.

Norx, Alias thought, his jaw tightening. This was his doing. A drought of his making.

Alias knelt down, pressing his bare palm flat against the dead soil. He didn’t use a massive flare of light this time; he simply located the blockage in the local water table, his divine will prying open the choked channels beneath the stone. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Flow, he commanded.

A sudden, sharp thunderclap shattered the silence of the valley. A heavy, cool sheet of rain slammed into the earth, the water immediately turning the gray dust into rich, dark mud.

From the doorways of the collapsing huts nearby, the starving and drying villagers stumbled out, their faces lifted to the deluge in absolute disbelief.

Alias stood up, but despite the rain, his robe was not soaked. Like there was an invisible umbrella made of divine curtains draped over his head.

He didn’t look at the people who were already dropping to their knees in the mud, their hands raised in frantic praise. "The land is nourished now," he muttered into the wind. "Plant and eat so you do not starve."

He didn’t wait for their prayers. He pulled his presence back and slid further along the border, tracking the heavy, oily sensation that was getting stronger with every mile.

He fixed two more provinces—one where the wells had turned to liquid salt, and another where the livestock were dropping dead from a rot that didn’t have a biological source.

Each fix was a temporary patch, a minor correction to a world that was being systematically unstitched by its creator.

Then, he reached the southern edge of the great salt flats, and his feet came to a sudden, violent halt.

The air here didn’t just feel wrong; it felt dead. The vast expanse of white salt was split down the center by a jagged, bottomless fissure that didn’t belong to the tectonic layout of the world.

It looked like an ink stain on a clean scroll. From the depths of the crack, a thick, purple-black mist was bubbling upward, moving against the wind like a living fluid.

Alias stepped toward the edge, his silver eyes widening as his divine perception finally deciphered the internal structure of the mist.

It wasn’t made of earth, or wind, or water. It was an impossible, perverted compound—divine light mixed with the raw, chaotic energy of the abyssal void, held together by the heavy, sticky residue of human despair.

As the mist crawled over the white salt, it began to solidify, turning into segmented, chitinous limbs and long, faceless shapes with rows of needle-sharp teeth that clicked in the silence.

They had no eyes, but they were turned entirely toward the living settlements and toward the oasis.

"Demons."

The name didn’t come from his own mind. It dropped into his consciousness like a lead weight, carrying the distinct, vibrating resonance of Norx’s voice, echoing from a high, distant part of the sky.

Alias’s heart raced, a frantic, heavy drumming against his ribs that made his breath catch. He looked at the clicking, ravenous things crawling out of the black earth, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.

The scale had been abandoned. The game was over.

"Norx," Alias whispered, his voice turning entirely cold as he looked up at the flickering, dark stars. "What have you done?"