Skye is the Limit by Phenomenal Pen (detective books to read TXT) 📗

“Your suspicions are, in fact, correct. If it pleases you, you may christen this land Sky-Earth. I hardly think it matters to dreamland whichever way you call it.”

“Wait, who are you?” the female elf asked. “And what are these… things floating on our arms?”

Each of them, with the sole exception of the mystical old man, had a crest on their right arm – left in the warrior’s case. The symbols were various animals and had the same pyramidal golden base and wispy appearance. They looked like wire sculptures and were intangible.  

“You know me as Athena in your conscious state. But as I have taken on a different form and gender inside Sky-Earth, do please address me as Mage,” Athena continued explaining in a completely masculine and rather hoarse voice. “In response to your second query, those bracelet-like designs on your arms are your archetypes. Are you unable to recall what they signify?”

“Wait, I do remember something,” the berserker warrior said. “Something about…”

“Trust Your Anima,” the elf whispered, her brows knit.

“Argh! Why is it so hard to remember?” the warrior cried out, pounding his big hands against his forehead.

“I remember a teacup,” the ranger contributed.

“A broken teacup,” corrected a fifth person.

It was another man. Everyone turned to him to take in his own otherworldly appearance: a top-knot and mustache that drooped down along the corners of his lips, which were stark black compared to the ranger’s blonde. He wore sheepskin gloves, a gray sleeveless tunic that would’ve fallen past his knees but he had hiked up with a leather belt, and ankle-high boots with straps and buckles up the front. Tucked in his belt were a utility pouch and some tools like a hammer. Finally, he wore an apron to hide his bulging midriff and this was smudged with soot like his whole figure.

The others all thought the same name when they saw him: Blacksmith.    

“As evidenced by your Anima bracelets, all of you come from the same place and seek the same objective,” Mage continued explaining. “You have also taken on identities that are generic character classes in role-playing games.”   

“What do we, um, seek?” asked Warrior.

“To seek an audience with Atum, the God of Creation, and activate the Benben Stones along the way.”

“You must mean Atom,” Elf mumbled, “the smallest piece of matter.”

“Indeed,” Mage said. “As you decree, in this world, he shall be known as Atom.”

“Where do we find this Atom?” Ranger asked.

“He dwells in the Mansion of the Bennu in Heliopolis.”

“Lead the way!” Warrior suddenly roared, surprising everyone with the volume of his voice, including himself. “If this Atom refuses to tell us what’s going on, we’ll twist his arm till he does.”    

Even though he said it, Warrior looked squeamish and uncertain. He looked bewildered that he had such a violent streak.

“Wait,” Elf said, “I seem to recall there’s one more member.”

“You are right, Elf,” Mage said and turned his hood-covered head heavenward.

Everyone followed his gaze.

In the sapphire sky, what started as a speck gradually became more distinct as it streaked down towards them. The object reached its full size when it was just a few feet over their heads, but it was still tiny. It was a hummingbird.

The creature continued buzzing above and around them, zipping past and between while making that incessant hum which sounded almost gleeful. And then, the closer they paid attention, the more they could make out another distinct sound drowned by the buzz. It was a tiny chatter coming from the bird. The voice was thin and squeaky, like someone who had just sucked helium out of a balloon. Nevertheless, it was human, and feminine.

“Weeee! Look at me, guys! Look at me! I’m flyiiiiiiiing……!”

The hummingbird started executing acrobatic maneuvers like a jet in an air show.

“Whoa,” Blacksmith cried out, impressed and envious.

“Look at it go,” Warrior whispered, trying his best to follow the flyer around with his eyes but soon getting cross-eyed and dizzy.    

Elf cupped her hands in front of her mouth and shouted: “What’s your name, little one?”

The hummingbird abruptly stopped and hovered inches away from her face, in the center of their loose circle.

“You don’t need to shout,” the hummingbird admonished, but its immobile beak proved the voice wasn’t coming out of the appendage. “I can hear you just fine.”

“Oh, sorry,” Elf said, immediately remorseful.

The buzzing was reduced to a soft flapping. The once blurry wings slowed down and fluidly transformed into those of a butterfly. Like a magician’s sleight-of-hand, the wings masked the bigger transformation of the rest of the hummingbird into a winged humanoid figure of proportionate minuteness.

“In fact,” the squeaky voice said, “if you look closely, you can see that I have two antennae that are constantly vibrating. These amplify my hearing up to a hundred times.”