This wasn't the ocean anymore.
Not a trace of blue lingered within their immediate line of sight, save for the expanse of azure above. Almost everything was a varying shade of green, all bathed in a soft gold glow. Trees towered over them, extending their skeletal arms to the heavens, holding on to their clumps of leaves against the light breeze.
Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn stood rather still, puzzled eyes drinking in this verdant place and the flood of daylight.
"Surprised?" said Mr. Brighteyes, breaking the silence. They all turned their attention to him. "Come on," he said, taking his steps forward, gesturing for them to follow. "One more tale to talk about before the end of this simulation. Then we make our way back to the cabin for cookies and homemade iced tea."
And so they trailed behind him, maneuvering through the trees, feet padding down the grass-strewn trail.
No one said a word until Mr. Brighteyes glanced back at them and said, "It will take some time for us to get there. You can ask me any questions, if you wish."
Sander thought for a moment. "There's this person the voiceover was talking about," he started. "Eee . . . Eli? Or was it Elo? Elo-something?"
"Elohim," said Mr. Brighteyes.
Sander nodded. "Yes. That's the one."
"Elohim is the King of All Worlds," Mr. Brighteyes explained, "the Lord of Elysium, the Creator of the Universe and Every World in It."
"So you're saying he's this god?" said Jack.
Mr. Brighteyes gave Jack a backward glance. "Precisely, Jack." He transferred his gaze ahead. "A god."
"And the Eli-something you said," said Damien. "Lord of Elisoo, or something that sounds like that."
"Elysium."
"Yeah," said Damien. "So you said he's the Lord of Elysium. Is that what you call this world—Elysium?"
"Elysium is one of the Realms Beyond, not this world we are in—or rather what this simulation shows us," said Mr. Brighteyes, stepping over a protruding root in the path. "The Realms Beyond encompass every world in existence. Like an umbrella hovering over a multitude of marbles—the umbrella as the Realm Beyond; the marbles, the thousands of worlds in current existence—"
"So you're saying every world that's ever existed falls under this umbrella of the Realms Beyond," said Max.
"That's right, Max. Although Elysium is not the only Realm beyond the worlds," Mr. Brighteyes went on. "Elysium is the Realm Above. And there is Sheol, the Realm Below, the Realm of the Fallen."
"Like heaven and hell," muttered Lyn, yet her voice loud enough for all of them to hear.
"In your world, they are known as heaven and hell," said Mr. Brighteyes. "The Realm of Good and the Realm of Evil, the Realm of Light and the Realm of Darkness."
"That saves us from more of this information overload," chuckled Jack. "Math's killing me enough." He nudged her shoulder. "Thanks, Lyn."
Lyn would've rolled her eyes, but she shrugged instead, not wanting to explain herself. "Sure."
Sander pondered on his question for a moment. Then he said, "Mister Brighteyes." A moment's pause, as he weaved his thoughts into words. "So there's a possibility that some things that exist here co-exist in our world; they're just known here by different names."
"Not the things of this world, per se," said Mr. Brighteyes. "Your world already knows of things concerning the Realms Beyond. All worlds do. The Realms Beyond connect one world to another, like the backstage behind all plays. You are right on one point, however: each world knows such things by different names, the names given them in the language of their people."
Sander hummed in understanding.
"Oh, look," announced Mr. Brighteyes, directing their attention to a certain gap between two trees, revealing a clearing straight ahead. "We're close."
They walked on without another word, noticing only now how the trees had thinned out around them.
Damien quickened his pace. Although he admitted to himself that this field trip was actually pretty cool, he wanted this done and over with. His stomach growled and demanded for Mr. Brighteyes' promised cookies and homemade iced tea, badly.
They stepped out of the trees and into the clearing. And before any of them can move any farther, Mr. Brighteyes held up a hand, halting them in their steps. "We stop and watch here," he said. "Look."
The five of them crowded around Mr. Brighteyes, and there, not far from where they stood, was a large glowing human figure, its back turned to them, oblivious to their presence. It was patting down one of ten human-sized forms of clay. The clay sculptures stood tall and still before it, one next to the other, four pale in color, two a tone of olive, four a rich brown hue, all marked in streaks of red.
And when the glowing figure had smoothed out the clay statue's surface to careful perfection, it stepped back to admire its works of art—each one was good, finely detailed, sculpted inanimate children borne from the heart and brain of the artist.
"Is that—" Sander tried to ask.
Mr. Brighteyes nodded. "Elohim," he confirmed.
"And what are those red things on the sculptures?" Max asked, looking to Mr. Brighteyes.
"Blood," Mr. Brighteyes said, smiling as Max's eyes widened in surprise. "Elohim's own blood, mixed into the clay. Now look."
Elohim stepped back farther and stopped still in his tracks. He heaved a deep breath in, the six of them in the audience watching his chest rise, a vast intake of air held within his lungs. Then out of the glowing figure's mouth rushed forth a gust of wind, washing over the clay sculptures, blowing into each of them the breath of life.
At the touch of his breath, hearts began to beat, speaking in their own beautiful language of rhythms—"I live! I live! I live!" A warm flood of red ran through the sculptures' veins. The color of life then bloomed into their faces, and their fingers first trembled at the sudden jolt of esprit and then moved in delicate motions, as each of the once clay figures, now clothed in flesh, made their first attempts to understand what it was to breathe and move and feel.
"This is the beginning of the world of Crystalline," said Mr. Brighteyes, drawing the youths' attention to himself. "Standing before Elohim are the first of the five peoples of Crystalline—the Kadasan Tribe, the Moana Tribe, the Kingdom of Tiern, and the Kingdom of Soleil, and the Kingdom of Tesoro."
"A man and woman for each people," muttered Sander. "Like Adam and Eve."
"Yes. Like Adam and Eve, the fathers and mothers of nations."
Sander nodded in understanding.
Damien looked at the figures again, now moving with more ease, examining their flesh and limbs. They touched their faces, patted their palms down against skin, studied one another and compared. Amazed and bewildered at the profound thought of life. Idiots, in a manner he understood.
"They look like . . . us," observed Damien. "Human." He turned to Mr. Brighteyes. "What makes them so different from the people of our world?"
"The Essence," said Mr. Brighteyes. "Crystallians are gifted with the Essence to manipulate existing elements in their environment. Look."
The youths all turned their sights ahead as they were told, and there, before their eyes, air whirled around one of the women, her arms raised up, a smile etched on her face. One of the men wiggled his fingers in front of him, and hovering above the fingers were stones that moved as his fingers moved.
"However," Mr. Brighteyes went on, "the Essence has its limitations. They may only use it upon the command of Elohim, or only if they ask his favor and he wills them to use such a gift."
"Why the limitations?" asked Max. "Imagine what they can do with that. They've got superpowers!"
"And imagine the harm they can do to themselves and to others," replied Mr. Brighteyes.
Just then, one of the men, brown and jovially curious, held up a ball of light in his hands, harvested from the sunlight that fell upon them. And the ball of light turned to a ball of flame, and the ball of flame grew and grew, to his utter amazement—until the flame touched the skin of his palm, gladly devouring a patch of his flesh. The fire vanished, and all that was left was an ugly sear etched into the man's palm and tears streaming down the man's face.
"I see," muttered Max.
They watched as Elohim walked over to the man, like a father to an injured child, and the god gently held the man's palm up and caressed his scorched skin, massaging tender strokes upon burnt flesh. It only took a matter of seconds, and when Elohim let free his hand, the man stared at clean skin, healed of his wound and of his pain, and the man's eyes glistened with tears once again, this time out of wonder and joy and gratitude.
"But we must move on," said Mr. Brighteyes, still holding up his hand lantern with his right hand, waving his free hand up and around, "to the fall of all Crystallians."
"Yo. The fall of what—who?" said Jack, as the scene blurred and faded before them.
"The fall of all Crystallians," repeated Mr. Brighteyes.