"I need climbing gear, rations and lights. Do you have any lights that work without mana and fuel? Reusable?"

The owner of 'Spirit of Life', an adventuring and travel shop, was terrified, standing still like a deer in the headlights. His name was Galfletz, a human veteran ex-adventurer who had chosen Vinewall as a great place to run a quiet establishment in his twilight years. His experience was vast and developed over years of trials and journeys, but his heart pounded in his chest at the startling focus of a patron of his shop, standing at his desk while running his hands over various pieces of equipment and paraphernalia. The man at his desk had eyes of red, the spiderwebbed veins in his sclera had burst and seemed to seep blood into the remaining white areas. He hadn't blinked once. The tears streamed down his face in an attempt to pull more weight than they should, trying to clear the built up dust and detritus not being cleared by his unmoving, darkened eyelids. His voice was monotone and inoffensive, yet pushy and rushed. Galfletz summoned his remaining courage to get this man out of his shop, as quick as possible.

"O-of course, dear patron. These thin metal tubes here are preloaded with their own mana reserves, and only require a press of the button to activate. Most useful for those with low mana pools!"

"What if you didn't have any mana? Will it still work at a press?" Cameron railed off the words at an uncomfortably fast rate.

"Uhm, the button is mechanical. You don't need to magically interact with it, so I suppose... yes?" The shop owner was flustered, yet kept focus.

"Good. I need 20." Cameron's eyes darted to the device in deliberation, before moving back and resuming direct eye contact to Galfretz, to his displeasure.

The outworlder left the shop, and made way straight to the gate. He didn't have to push through the lazily meandering morning crowd, as they moved ahead of him of their own volition. People pulled their friends out of his path, and stared silently at the ragged anomaly walking their streets. He ignored the horror of the citizenry, or rather never actually registered it. He left the gate in his rearview, his eyes trained to the south on his one true mission. He trampled over farms and undergrowth, not registering the well placed roads not 2 feet from his person. His feet rotated in their sockets mechanically, as did his legs, and his hands were held with fingers interlocked in a prayer that recited inside him again and again and again. His mind ached, and echoed with one irrefutable fact.

The Beacons must be activated.

"The beacons are why I am here. Why have I wasted so much time? The evil has to be kept at bay. It's why I'm here. Why else would I be brought here? I will activate them and save us all."

His holy mission had been delayed, but was not unrecoverable. There was no obstacle that would be tolerated on his way to the valley top. Anything he could not walk over or step to the side of, became his nemesis, and was to be obliterated with extreme prejudice. Boulders that could be easily skirted in a few minutes, or clusters of bushes and brush were decimated through grenades and accelerant from the tip of the flamethrower that he held in his hands. Sense had left him, or more accurately, been postponed. Unblinking eyes gazed at the orb at all times. They were unfaltering, as if a single blink would erase his goal from the world and send him into despair.

The foot of the river flowed through the two cliff's protection at the entrace of the valley. The delicate incline to the top was easily crested, yet took time for any traveler to reach the top. It didn't help the enthralled Cameron on his mission. The paths on either side of the water were left unused, as his body demanded the straightest path. His body reached a critical state of exhaustion from lack of sleep and his unnecessarily direct pathfinding, yet ceased to fall, fueled by his remotely controlled muscles and sinew, and enabled from a lack of bodily stimulus. He could feel nothing but the siren call of the orb that was so close. It demanded his presence, and the flesh answered.

The domed slopes around the pooled water of the source called for him. The lake formed from the bounty of rainwater from the clouds above sat tranquil, the bottom invisible from the circumference Cameron found himself standing on. Not for long, though. He dived, pushing his legs outwards with as much thrust as they could mechanically summon. The dark enveloped him, yet light had no importance. Nothing could obscure him, shake him, or divert him from his goal. The weight of the water above him was of no consequence, nor the lack of oxygen supply to his brain.

The Beacons MUST be activated.

His lungs screamed for release, and his ligaments wore and tore in their torturous duty as Cameron sunk to the lightless depths. He had reached the entrance of the Beacon; A small rocky entrance sat on the lakebed, water rushing through it and forming a pulling current into it's interior. The outworlder let himself flow through the passage, his body smashing and tearing at every jutting point and scraping surface. He remained emotionless as his being was torn apart by the dark surroundings, but he didn't react in any way other than to propel himself further along the claustrophobic tunnel. He was so close, now. The final destination flashed in his vision as the water stung his open eyes and his blood escaped his veins.

"I am so sorry it had to be you, traveler, truly, but we had desperate need of you." Comfort in tonal resonance. Her voice was an epitome of motherly love, yet gave Cameron no pause to the flickers and pulses of his nerves sending warning signals through his spine. Pain unending.

Cameron clawed through the fog and reclaimed his consciousness, as well as a limited amount of autonomy. A massive mistake. He wished he stayed a mindless slave, numb and disassociated. The pain had returned to him, a vengeful wave of agony that drowned out everything else as his body haemorrhaged blood from the tears and rips in his body. The absolute directorate still resonated in his head, yet he remained stubborn in mental combat as he battled for control.

"You see, the Beacons are elements of the Cartographer's creation, embedded into the planets it believes have potential before life sprouts up, to seed mana across the barren earth in order to harbour, cultivate and aid the life that appears." The female voice seemed desperate.

Shut the fuck up. The air didn't pass his lips, yet they formed the words anyway as he laid on his side, attempting to draw breaths through his cracked ribs. He could only see this as torture, a recompense for not abiding to the white star's plan. A fire poker in his back as an agonising prod to the 'right' path he had rejected.

"Their second use is as a intermediary for interaction, a limiter of sorts, as it's direct overwhelming power would destroy rather than help the worlds it wished to aid." Cameron absorbed the context from the voice, yet still detested it's origin.

His fingernails feebly scraped into the smooth stone below him, attempting to gain purchase yet sliding over it. Sight finally returned to him, his eyelids washing the detritus and refuse his eyes had gathered over time in water and on land. White light flooded the immensely large room around him.

"A mistake was made, however. The Beacons control the flow of mana throughout the planet, attracting and redirecting any mote of magic in it's vincinity. This includes the mana of living beings. Any who would approach a Beacon would die of deprivation. A terrible unforeseen consequence."

He sounds like a fucking idiot, then. Serves you all right. Cameron should have died, by now. He knew this, yet he was still alive. It seemed to him that the changes enacted against his will were not all to his detriment. He felt a slow regeneration permeate his cells, yet it did nothing for the hell he was still being subjected to as bones healed and ligaments mended. The nerves felt it all. He begged for respite, but none came.

"In it's youth, it did not foresee that should the Beacons be needed, they would be untouchable to anything with mana. Thus, the only way to activate them is to send someone unaffected by the siphoning, a manaless.. The only way for that to happen is to draw upon the untouched worlds and their denizens at the edge of the universe, too far away for the Cartographer's nurturing hand to reach in time. "

The voice echoed throughout the room, motherly and reverent. Cameron drew his first breath without searing pain in what felt like a lifetime. His ribs had finally fused back together.

"The cartographer, unfortunately, was right. Everyone has a soul, and yours is small and closed, unmalleable to the major changes that mana makes to anything it touches. A perfect fit for our predicament."

"What the fuck is so important about the beacons! What 'evil' is coming? Aren't you Gods?! Deal with it yourselves!" Cameron utilised his liberated lungs to scream out loud in rejection. It was an experience of bliss after the endless purgatory of halted inhales he had been forced to undergo. The voice halted for a moment, then solftly rebuked his words.

"Don't you see, Cameron? Powerful beings can only move powerfully. Gods are never free to act upon their worlds directly, lest they destroy it in their overaction. We elect and bestow slivers of our power to our chosen, but this is not enough in the face of pure evil The ones we must call across the stars are our only hope, regardless of their wishes or willingness. We need manaless beings, souls large and unmoulded, that we can change and meld them into immensely powerful heroes to aid us in our time of need. Yet they can only be called across the stars once a reliable pathway has been made. Made by the Beacons. A task we give to people like you."

"You never asked us, did you? We 'inferiors'? You have no right to demand anything of us. We are prisoners here, and punished for what? Not giving to charity? Not helping little old ladies across the street? Get fucked with your soul talk. Does free will mean nothing to you? Are we all just entertainment for you bastards?" His scathing words came out soft, lowering the punch he wished it would have, yet still carrying the anger to the voice and causing it to pause. Minutes faded away before any one spoke.

"Am I done, now? One Beacon. That's what that kidnapper asked of me. What he expected me to do. You can get someone better now, right? Send some other poor bastard to do the rest."

"We... cannot. It would take decades. Time we do not have, after the failiure of the others before you to remedy the situation. You are all we have." Her regret didn't matter to Cameron, especially in the face of the fact that she had facilitated others to arrive here just to die.

"How many others did you send...? And how long does it take for you bastards to bring us over?"

"We have called hundreds to Anteia's aid. The ones who followed our calling failed every time. The ones who ignored it encountered thier own problems. Our benefactor understood our desperate need for assistance, and sent you as an experiment. You are the first The Cartographer has... altered. Your mind and body have been changed as well as your soul. An act no God would accept, yet we were so very desperate. Souls should be unchanged, yet we moulded you into our tool out of necessity. We will atone for our crimes, but can only do so after our world is saved."

"The first? You sent normal people here with NOTHING?! No magic, no armory? What the hell did you expect! You sent them to their deaths!"

"Myself and the other Gods will talk to you again, outworlder. I'm afraid I must leave now. I am not exempt from the Beacon's influence, and my time is up. We will contact you again. Somewhere less... volatile."

The apparition vanished, leaving Cameron still recovering on the ground. He finally had peace, but it only let him focus on his pain as the only stimulus to draw his attention to left. He spent hours in agony under the soft white glow of the orb as his body repaired itself. At the third hour he realised his muscle volume had dramatically reduced, as well as any fat on his stomach and thighs he had managed to gain during his brief stay on Anteia. I'm... eating myself, aren't I? All fuel for the fire. Christ.

At the 10th hour, Cameron could finally stand, and observe the surroundings. The inside of a pyramid, with it's four inwardly sloped walls, illuminated by the spherical centerpiece. At it's foot stood a plinth as an obvious interaction point, which he walked slowly as his legs adjusted to the reconstruction. As soon as he placed his hand on the panel, the pyramid glowed a soft blue, light pouring from shallow channels and cracks in the stonework. The outworlder closed his eyes tight at the sudden flood, and waited for it to stop. after 10 minutes what ever process the structure had undergone had completed, and it returned to the delicate glow of the orb being the only point of interest. He may have derided some awe and fascination at the swarms of blue mana floating and coalescing into the orb normally, had he not been decimated from the forced march and subsequent wounds.

"I'm done, right? Let me out of here. I need sleep." A slit appeared in the wall behind him, and grew in size revealing a room containing a platform large enough for him to stand on. He managed to drag his emaciated legs forward to the exit, his eyes drooping the whole way. The platform raised smoothly, and if it was not for the sense of elevation, Cameron felt he would be fooled into thinking he was not moving. It's been at least 30 minutes. How deep below was I?

After an hour, the stone box released him from it's enclosure, opening onto the wet grass next to the lake at the top of the valley. Cameron groaned, wishing he was just teleported to Vinewall and damning his lack of magic.

"Getting back would be easy on the river... Don't suppose I have a canoe in my armory though." He was surprised with the feeling and sound of his voice. His dramatic weight loss left his tone lighter than he was used to. He made a promise to eat his way back to health on his return.

The journey back was extremely harsh for the emaciated mercenary. The plan was to get to the hermit's cabin and rest before moving forward but the terrain refused to allow him passage up it's incline, his muscles no longer fit for task. He was ready to collapse at a moment's notice, yet somehow kept up with the roads in front of him, and continued forward, leaving the cliffs and valley behind and reaching a semblance of civilisation. He realised the harvest had been completed, the previous fields of gold had been cut and shorn, ready for the next season to come. The dark, peaceful sky glowed a beautiful white, intersperced by twinking stars and multiple moons he had not noticed previously. It dared him to fall and pass out with it's comfort, but Cameron refused.

The gate guard had changed again, to a sleepy looking orc leaning on the side of the gate and his eyes falling softly before springing open again. Cameron could empathise. He tossed a Tesson to the man without stopping, who surprisingly caught it with a nimble thrust of his arm, and nodded to him in acceptance before resuming his fight against exhaustion. The home stretch to the tavern felt longer than the whole journey but he grit his teeth in determination, longing for the soft furs of his bed and the chain lights to carry him to sleep after almost a day without it.

The key to his room seemed to avoid the lock, and Cameron was a second away from breaking the door down before it found it's place and turned. He kicked it shut behind him, and felt himself dissolve into the mattress. Not 10 seconds later, he was finally at rest. He slept dreamlessly, and the anger and pain were left to the side for tomorrow.