The Vapor Key: A Project Spellcheck Short Story

Brother Allen stepped into murky depths of the humble temple, leaving behind the light of day as the way closed behind him. Though the sun’s rays crept in through ancient cracks and creases in the age-bleached stone walls, they could not breach the pitch-black cloud of smoke that reached from one end of the room to the other. The room’s only source of proper illumination came from the eight towering braziers that encircled the room, but the fire that burned within them were but splotches of red gloom, easily overpowered by the heavy smoke pouring from the pillars below them.

Standing at the edge of the enormous dark cloud, Allen embraced the wondrous history that surrounded him. This temple, hidden amongst the ruins older than the Kingdom of Lancet itself, had waited patiently across countless centuries for acolytes whose gifts transcended the more ordinary talents of oration and holy insight. Here, he would follow in the footsteps of the Fatherist Church’s greatest and most provident saints and sages and prove himself worthy of their legacy.

The moment of awe passed to make room for focus as he felt his mentor, Brother Kurt, approach from behind. He did not need clear air or lighting to visualize his stony face, a countenance that resembled the most stoic of statues; the old priest’s low and weary voice announced his wisdom and authority well enough.

“At the far side of this temple, through the unceasing smoke, you will find a large, stone door locked tight. With only your pure-seeking heart and the Lord-Father’s blessing, find its key, and unlock your way to the garden that awaits on the other side.”

Allen took a deep breath, then looked at Kurt with determination burned into his face. “I understand, elder brother. I’m ready.”

“Then go,” Brother Kurt instructed. “The Trial of Vapors begins.”

At last, the moment was upon Brother Allen, and he would not suffer to waste a single moment.

The first step to completing the trial was quite clear, ironically enough: to enter the smoke veil and brave the threats of exposure and suffocation. Of course, only a fool would trust held breath and the treacherous ally of time to prevail, lest this be a trial for every acolyte. No, Allen would need to properly demonstrate what set him apart from the others.

With open palms extended before him, he concentrated, and found the grip of his thoughts upon the slithery, poisonous foulness of the toxic air before him. Now at one with the smoke, he willed it to part and make room for him, and in a blink, the occlusive, shapeless nebula began to part before him.

As Allen walked forward, the smoke made way, opening the path and offering unpolluted air as he trudged forward with unwavering focus, only converging back upon itself when its duty was done. He did not fear the chance that his mind might slip, collapsing the small radius of sanctuary he had made for himself; the thought did not even dare to cross his mind any step of the way.

He only stopped when he could see a large sliver of golden light, a sign that he had finally reached the end of the temple chamber. With continued concentration and a wiping gesture, he cleared more of the smoke until he had crafted a smoky trench, finding a massive stone doorway at its end. The light he saw emanated from an etched hole far too intricate to be mistaken for damage; this was a giant key hole meant for an unrealistically-large key.

Allen almost laughed at the idea that more naïve acolytes might have scoured the room for such a key, but he knew better. After all, this test was an exercise, a demonstration meant to highlight one’s skills with the white magics. The key was not one of stone, metal, or any solid material—it was dispersed all around him.

Putting his hands together, Allen summoned the smoke to his hand. Like water down a faucet, the smoke pulled and pooled into his clutches, massing into an ever-growing ball of soot upon his palm until there was nary an inch of the substance left outside of his control.

Pushing smoke out of the way was one thing, but concentrating an entire temple’s worth of it into the space the size of a throwing ball was far from a trivial feat. Indeed, Allen felt the strain of the act upon both his mind and his muscles; he could not afford to linger or lapse after coming so far. With haste he guided the ball away from himself and toward the door, letting its vapors slip and seep into its large, central slot. He tightened his thoughts as though wringing them, willing a gust-like strength into the smoke waiting to be released.

Then, with a resounding thought, he gripped the air before him and tore it like paper. The slot rapidly twisted, booming like thunder as it reached its limit. Smoke poured out of the mechanism like a wound as Allen’s mind finally rested and his body buckled from exhaustion, but his moment of repose proved earned as the door rumbled and shifted, revealing blue skies and vibrant greenery reserved only for those who passed the test.

Allen instinctively turned to see behind him, anxious to seek Kurt’s appraisal of his skills. As the student bowed in respect to his teacher, he peeked to analyze Kurt’s face. Indeed, his upward-furrowing brow implied that he was indeed impressed, but something within his eyes concerned Allen; it was almost as though the trial was not over…

“Well done, little brother,” Kurt said. “The Trial of Vapors is perhaps the most difficult and taxing of all the white magic trials, yet few have ever solved its puzzle with quite the finesse that you have, and fewer still at your age.”

“Thank you, elder brother,” Allen said, smiling. Perhaps the feeling was just misplaced anxiety.

“Now tell me what partaking in this trial has taught you.”

“…Elder brother?”

“Surely, you’re aware that there are more to these sorts of tests than the sums of their worldly parts. What sort of insights have you gained in the wake of this trial? What has it shown you about yourself? Your power? Your duty?”

It seemed that his anxiety was not so misplaced after all. Seeking to answer swiftly, his mind and mouth stumble over each other. “I… gained… understanding.”

“Understanding of what, Allen?” Kurt asked piercingly.

“Of… myself,” Allen answered, summoning his courage. “Of what I’m capable of. Of how I can use my gifts to… open whatever door I am faced with.”

“That is… almost a suitable answer,” Kurt sighs, ultimately unable to be convinced, “but it is not enough.”

“W-what?”

“Let us repeat this trial.”

“Elder brother, I—”

Allen continued to fumble for words as the smoke, seemingly lost to the outdoors, was swept back into the temple by winds under Kurt’s command. As the door closed and locked once more, Allen found himself plunged back into the darkness, all his work undone in moments.

Kurt was gracious enough not to simply let their position be flooded by smoke; under his control, it was kept at bay, forming a gentle vortex around the priest and the acolyte.

“But… but Elder brother, you saw me solve the puzzle and complete the trial,” Allen said, laughing nervously. “How could I have possibly failed.”

“Perceiving this moment as failure is in itself a second mistake,” Kurt said, unimpressed by Allen’s confusion. “For now, though we must focus on the first.”

Allen winced at his master’s admonishment. Setting aside his craving for retorts and last words, he finally brought himself to truly listen to his teacher.

“Allen, let it be said that I’m not denying that you are an incredibly adept wielder of white magic,” Kurt told the acolyte. “In fact, I’d describe it as an incredible talent at your disposal. However, talent can sometimes be blinding—just as there is more to mankind than flesh and blood, there is more to life than one’s ability to harness the elements. Someone of your… checkered past, should know that better than most.”

“…Yes, elder brother,” Allen said, deflated and devoid of his usual self-certain bluster.

Kurt was not looking to antagonize Allen. He only wanted the acolyte to understand. He loosened his grip on the smoke, allowing it to close in on the two Fatherist clergymen.”

“Tell me, little brother: why is it that you sought ordination within our church?”

Allen paused briefly, not out of clumsiness, but proper introspection. “I sought to redeem myself.”

“To redeem yourself?” Kurt asked. “Or to escape yourself?”

Allen did not answer. His eyes betrayed conflicted thoughts.

“It’s alright, little brother. I’ve met more than my share of fugitives and troubled souls over the years, enough to know that there is nothing to judge about a soul seeking a clean slate. My concern with you is that you’re so desperate to clean your slate clean—and keep it so—that whatever lessons you may have learned end up being washed away.”

Allen remained silent, replying to Kurt with only a single sigh.

“Think back on the days you left behind, for whether you like it or not, they are important. Reflect on who you were, what you were, where you were, why you were…”

As Allen closed his eyes and followed along to Kurt’s guidance he began to tremble, more so than he did while pushing himself to the limit while opening the door. Kurt knows full well the pain that Allen feels, the pain that he had hoped would be obliterated by joining the Purist sect of the Fatherist faith. His goal is not to pry or traumatize from the young acolyte, but instead re-lead him to missed wisdom.

“Now, little brother… how would you describe it? The shadow of your past?”

“Like… like darkness,” Allen answered with labored breath. “Like… filth.”

“Filth… indeed,” Kurt remarked. “And such filth is not a thing any human being can endure, much less escape. Even so, you prevailed against what has already consumed so many others. You didn’t just turn your back on that filth and darkness—you molded it, and transformed it into something new. Something better.”

Finally piecing together Kurt’s message, Allen opened his eyes. “Like… like the smoke,” he muttered, enlightened.

“I believe you truly understand now,” Kurt said, giving Allen a rare smile. “Now, once more, unlock the door.”

Finally freed from Kurt’s control, the smoke came creeping back towards him and Allen, but it would fail to envelop them completely before Allen took hold of it himself once more. Again, Brother Allen sent the smoke towards the slot in the door, but rather exhausting himself trying to condense it into a sphere of smog, he guided it, channeling it into a stream towards its destination. His expression was not one of stress or struggle, but rather serenity and acuity as the fresh clarity he had found flowed through him.

When the smoke fully filled the door, Allen again manipulated the lock to open the door, this time far more gently. Again, the door opened, and again the garden on the other side came into view.

Allen did not turn to Kurt when the deed was done. Instead, he simply looked forward, looking upon the outside world with a whole new perspective.

“Remember the lesson you learned here well, little brother: life brings with it all sorts of grim and vile darkness. Left unchecked, such vapors consume and char us to our very souls. Only a desire for greater purpose and meaning, for true purity of heart, can we not only free ourselves from the grip of the vapors, but wield it ourselves to forge new destinies. Such is the Lord-Father’s greatest blessing to us in our mission to better ourselves and our world and see all of them through the eyes of the stars above.”

Allen nodded. “I understand, elder-brother. I will carry this wisdom to the ends of the earth and the end of my days.”

“Very good, little brother,” Kurt said, proud of his student. “Now, come along—let us leave this sooty place and enjoy the fresh air that awaits us.”