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Transcript

Skeliwave · The Monster Catcher's Journal

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Travelers and Monster Catchers abound. I'm Stella
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Ferris and you've crash -landed it on the Monster
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Catchers Journal podcast. Today's episode is
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about a cosmic storm that almost wiped out all
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of Nibiru. It was an autumn day, as you Earthlings
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call it. I was sitting on my porch enjoying a
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nice cup of glow tea. Xena was curled up in a
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chair next to me with her Ignazura sprawled across
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her lap. While Luna and Mirino were running around
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the yard chasing the swell -ceth bird, the swell
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-ceth bird is a bird that can puff itself out
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like a puffer fish to keep prey from being able
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to eat it. I heard the rumble, but I paid no
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mind to it as thunderstorms are common on Nibiru.
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However, I started to worry as it got darker
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and darker. Come on. We must get to Luan. Professor
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Orion always tells me if a cosmic storm kicks
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up, go to Luan because it's the only safe place
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on Nibiru during a cosmic storm. I shout it as
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Xena and Luna and I, and our three glyphs, Orabic,
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Ignisura, and Myrno, ran for Luan Academy. The
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whole town had gathered in the Academy, chattering
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and speaking amongst themselves about what might
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be happening. Professor Orion, what's going on,
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I ask, as I walked into his classroom. A cosmic
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storm has kicked up over Nibiru, with gale -force
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winds strong enough to take out all of Nibiru.
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But terraformia may never be the same. But don't
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worry, as I've said before, Luan is the safest
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place on Nibiru," Professor Orion said. I found
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a spot in Professor Orion's classroom and sat
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with my back to the corner. I've never been much
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for having my back exposed to an exit. It just
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leaves you open for attacks. Luna and Xena sauntered
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over and sat next to me. A few moments later,
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my worst nightmare arrived. Nova. What have you
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done this time, Quasar? Did you catch a time
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glyph and that's what's causing this cosmic storm?
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Nova asked in a sarcastic tone. No, I've got
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nothing to do with this, I replied. Well, that's
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a first, Nova said as she laughed hysterically.
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Can you shove off you pekta? I shouted. Language
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quasar, Orion said from his usual spot at his
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maps. I was surprised he'd even heard me. Normally
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when he was poured over his maps and books, He
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was super focused and didn't hear a word anyone
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was saying. He had to pick this of all times
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to hear me, right? Anyways, Nova smirked and
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said, yeah, what Orion said, language quasar.
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Is there an echo? Because there seems to be a
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mockingbird in my class and those do not exist
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here on Nibiru. We shall keep it that way, Professor
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Orion said as he went back to his work. I smirked
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at this, and Nova just gave me a funny look.
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How long are we going to be here, I ask. Without
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even looking up from his maps and books, Orion
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replied, could be days, could be months. Storms
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like these don't just pass. And with that there
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was a long bit of silence, aside from the chatter
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and the constant thumping from the storm outside.
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Hey, let's play Float Chess, I suggested, trying
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to make my voice sound like it belonged to someone
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who wasn't watching the windows turn into a black
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glass. Xena and Luna brightened like lanterns,
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Ignisura tucked deeper into Xena's arm, and Myrno
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did a ridiculous little hop that scattered dust
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motes into the air. Orabique, always too dignified
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for games, cocked his head and landed on the
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nearest window sill. Feathers ruffling, as the
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gale made the pain sing. For a few heartbeats,
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the room smelt like warm tea and old books again,
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and the idea of anything else felt impossible.
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The chessboard appeared between us, not a board
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of wood, but a field of pulsing light. Each piece
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of glyph -stitched figurine that hovered an inch
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above the table sent us rook -drifted. Ignorzor's
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night filed through a diagonal with effortless
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grace. Luna's queen made a showy flourish that
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sent a ripple through the pieces. We moved in
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silence at first. The tiny game, a secret rebellion
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against the thunder outside. The near hiccuped.
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A low, wrong note vibrated through the academy.
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The light in the chess pieces flickered and rewound
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like a scratched crystal. Metal clocks on the
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wall skipped backward, then thudded forward,
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hard enough to make the hands quake. Someone
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stifled a cry, even Professor Orion's maps quivered
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as though afraid. Nova's laugh cut thin. There
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it is, the rhythm of the time glyph, she said,
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but this time her voice had teeth. It isn't just
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weather, it's folding. She pushed through the
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crowd toward the front table, where Orion stood,
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maps spread like a war plan. He looked up, and
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for the first time the lines around his eyes
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didn't belong to the maps, but to worry. Luan
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sits on a weak seam of the nexus, Orion said,
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voice steady but urgent. When a time glyph stutters,
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it finds seams to latch onto. The academy's ward
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will hold for a while, but if the glyph's pulse
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keeps shifting, if it accelerates, terraformia
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won't be the only thing that changes. We could
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lose whole memories. People might slip out of
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the record. He tapped a star on one of his maps,
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and the ink around it shimmered like heat haze.
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Nova's smirk had vanished, so what do we do,
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map man? Sit here and let the storm eat everything
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we like? Her fingers were balled into her sleeves.
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For a heartbeat, I thought she would shoulder
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Orion aside and go after the glyph herself, the
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way she always wanted to fix things with force.
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Orion folded his hands. We stabilized the pulse,
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anchored the rhythm. There are old Luan rites.
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They bind temporal drift into the living things.
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Glyphs can act as conductors. If we hum the right
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sequence and center the glyph's waveform, but
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it's dangerous. It requires someone to stand
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in the seam and hold focus while the rest of
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us chant. The seam pulls at you. It reaches for
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what you hold dear. The room inhaled. Luna's
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fingers found mine and squeezed. Xena's face
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was alabaster. Mirono gave a tiny worried chirp.
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Ignizura's sapphire eyes shone like lanterns.
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Nova's draw worked. I don't like sacrificing
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people, Professor. You won't necessarily be alone.
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Orion's gaze flicked to the three of us. To me,
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to Xena, to Luna. Glyph, Bondit, Host are stronger
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together. If two or three stand in the seam and
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lock minds, they can steady it long enough. for
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a tracer to thread the glyph and calm its pulse.
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My chest felt like a drum. The storm's thump
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outside matched it. I looked at my friends, at
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Xena, whose laugh could make even Orion grin,
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at Luna, whose hands never stopped moving when
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she was nervous, at Orabeek, who had pecked me
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awake more times than I could count. I thought
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of the swell -keth - Bird puffing itself into
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safety in our yard and of glow tea cooling on
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the porch small stubborn proofs That our world
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had been here long before anyone named it safe
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I'll do it I said before I could talk myself
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out of it My voice was quieter than I want it,
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but steady put me in the seam. I'll hold Nova's
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eyes cut to me like knives and then unexpectedly
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softened You always pick the dramatic option,
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Quasar," she inhaled, and squared her shoulders.
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Fine, but if you're going to stand there like
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some tragic statue, I'm not letting you do it
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alone. Luna's lamps dimmed as the wind reared
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up again. Outside, something bright and cold
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streaked across the sky, an oriole scar that
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painted the clouds in silver. Professor Orange
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shoved a bundle of thin copper rods against the
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table tracers. We hum, we hold, we thread. He
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said, when I give the signal, we start. Keep
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your mind on one thing, one unmovable truth,
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your anchor. The storm will try to pry it away
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from you. I closed my eyes and pictured the porch,
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my cup of gloaty, warm between my hands. I pictured
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Xena and Luna laughing on the steps. Ignizara's
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purr. Mirror -nosed ridiculous hop, I breathe
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in Luan's old wood smell, felt Orabiq's feathered
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warmth against my palm, outside the world seemed
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like a beast, inside my little anchor burned
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steady, and for the first time since the rumble
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began I felt ready. Professor Orion raised his
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hand and the room fell into a silence, so deep
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I could hear the scratch of chalk dust sliding
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down the blackboard. The storm pressed against
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the walls like an angry ocean, but inside, every
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eye was on him. Now, he whispered, the tracers
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lit up in our palms, copper glowing as though
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molten, and a low hum spread through the chamber.
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It wasn't a song, exactly, it was a little older
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than that, a vibration that felt like it had
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been waiting in the bones of Luan Academy since
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before the first brick was laid. Now, Nova stepped
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beside me, jaw clenched. Don't you dare falter,
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she muttered, her voice tight. Don't you dare
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mock me if I do. I shot back, and for once she
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didn't smirk. The floor trembled, a seam tore
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open in the air, like paper splitting in storms.
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Light bled through, a jagged wound of violet
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and silver. My chest lurched, as though something
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inside me recognized it. A pull, sharp and hungry.
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I gripped the tracer tighter. Orbeek flared his
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wings, Ignorzor's sapphire body glowed, Myrno
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bristled like a living wall. They were anchoring
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us, their presences stretching out like roots
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into the seam. Luna's voice joined Orion's hum,
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soft but clear, and Xenna followed, a heartbeat
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later. The seam widened, time itself stuttered,
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Luna's hand squeezed mine. Then blinked away,
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then returned, as though the moment had rewound.
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Nova cursed under her breath, but steadied her
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own tracer into the light. The glyph appeared.
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Not a beast, not a shadow, just a shimmer. A
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pulse made flesh, shaped like a ripple in water.
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It had no eyes, yet I felt it looking at us,
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through us. It was a storm, the fold, the beat
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of the clocks breaking. Anchor. Orion's voice
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cut sharp. I shut my eyes and latched onto my
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truth. The porch, the gloaty, laughter in the
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yard. The memory burned bright, fighting the
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pull. But the glyph wasn't content. It reached,
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clawing at my anchor, tugging at pieces of me
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I didn't realize were loose. Nova's hum wavered.
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She grit her teeth, shoulders trembling, and
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I felt her anchor falter. I shifted, letting
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my voice join the hum, steady and low. Hold on,
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Nova. Don't let it take it." She snapped her
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eyes to mine, and for the first time I saw fear
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instead of sarcasm. Easier said than, she cut
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off, voice choked, as the seam yanked at her
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with invisible hands. Then I shouted over the
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roar. We have to thread it, now, or we will lose
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her. Oren's eyes blazed, and he slammed his own
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tracer into the air. Then thread it. The glyph
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pulsed harder, and the seam yawned wide enough
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the stars bled through. Not Nibiru stars, but
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cold, unfamiliar constellations. I raised my
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tracer into the rift. The storm howled louder,
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and my anchor slipped like sand between fingers.
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Then I felt another hand on mine, warm, steady,
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Luna's. Her eyes locked with mine, glowing with
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something fiercer than fear. Together, she whispered.
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The hum rose, and then the seam screamed. And
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then the tracer caught. The glyph twisted, shuddered,
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and folded. in on itself like a collapsing wave.
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The seam snapped shut with a thunderous crack
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that shook the academy. Silence fell, real silence,
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the kind that hummed in your ears because the
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storm had truly stopped. Nova staggered, breath
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hard, and labored. Well, she rasped. That was
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horrifying. Xena laughed weakly, hugging Ignisura
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so tight the porglyph squealed. Luna's hand was
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still on mine, and I realized I hadn't let go.
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Professor Oren lowered his map, his expression
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unreadable. You've steadied the pulse for now,
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his eyes flickered to me, but the glyph was not
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destroyed, only lulled. It will return stronger.
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Nova straightened, brushing dust off her sleeves.
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The next time, she said, her smirk returning
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like a mask. We don't just anchor it, we cage
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it. I swallowed hard, staring at the still glowing
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tracer in my hand. I wasn't sure if she was right,
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but I knew one thing. Nibiru would never be the
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same. When we finally pushed the Academy doors
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open, the air outside was damp and heavy, but
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blessedly still. The storm had passed, leaving
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the world drenched and glistening. Moonlight
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and sunlight filled the courtyard in the stone
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pass, where puddles had gathered like scattered
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mirrors. Xena stepped out first, Ignizor perched
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proudly on her shoulder, his sapphire stripes
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catching the glow of the lamps. She tapped her
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foot against the puddle and gave a mischievous
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grin. Splash! Luna didn't hesitate. She darted
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forward, skirts swishing, and stomped into the
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nearest puddle with a laugh that rang brighter
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than any storm could silence. Myrno bound it
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after her, sending up a spray of water that showered
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both of them. I couldn't help it. I laughed,
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too. The weight of the scene, the echo of the
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glyph, all of it cracked and fell away like broken
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glass. My feet carried me forward, and I leaped
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into the biggest puddle I could find, sending
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water fanning out in every direction. Orabiq
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let out an indignant squawk as droplets rained
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over his feathers. But I swear, I caught him
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ruffling his wings like he was enjoying it. Even
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Nova had been sulking near the steps, finally
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gave in. She rolled her eyes, muttered something
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under her breath, and then stomped hard. Her
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puddle sent a spray high enough to soak my shoulder.
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Really, I sputtered. She smirked. Consider it
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payback, Quasar. We danced like that for what
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felt like hours, boots splashing, water glistening
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under the moonlight and the sunlight, laughter
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echoing through Luan's courtyard for one night.
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The world wasn't about storms, seams, or glyphs.
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It was about puddles, friends, and the stubborn
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joy of being alive after everything tried to
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take it away. And I think, just maybe, Nibiru
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itself was laughing with us. The morning after
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felt like waking from a half -remembered dream.
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The sky over Nibiru was clear, painted with streaks
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of soft orange and violet. Dew clung to the academy
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gardens, and every puddle from the night before
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shimmered like glass and bowls filled with starlight.
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We thought maybe, just maybe, the worst was over,
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but Professor Orion summoned us to his classroom
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before breakfast. His expression grave. His maps
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had changed overnight. Where neat lines once
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traced rivers and coastlines, there were now
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warped spirals, and jagged rifts etched across
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them, as though something had dragged its claws
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through the very world. This was no storm of
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chance, he said, tapping one of the spirals.
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The glyph behind it revealed itself in a pattern
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left behind. I leaned closer. The marks weren't
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just spirals. They resembled a curling stinger.
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Orian's voice dropped low, almost reverent. His
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name is Skelewave. Xena frowned, pulling N 'zorah
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closer against her chest. Never heard of him.
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You wouldn't have, Orian replied, I still on
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the map. He is one of the uncatchables, a skeleton
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scorpion, his body woven from bones of drowned
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creatures, his skin nothing but flowing water.
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He drags the sea with him wherever he goes, and
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storms follow in his wake. He is neither alive
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nor dead. He simply endures. Luna shipped it
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uneasily. Mirono pressed against her legs with
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a nervous growl. So he caused all that just by
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existing. Existing, Orion said softly and stirring.
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If Skelewave moves, the tides of Nibiru move
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with him. The storm was only a symptom. If he
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fully awakens, we may see floods that swallow
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whole valleys. Nova's arms crossed, scoffed,
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but her voice held no humor. Another uncatchable
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perfect. Just how many nightmares are out there
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waiting for us to trip over them. I stared at
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the storm, marked maps, my tracer still faintly
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glowing at my side. The storm had been terrifying
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enough, but the thought of - a skeleton scorpion
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made of living water, somewhere out there beneath
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the waves. It's in a chill colder than any rain
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down my spine. Skelewave, I whispered, testing
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the name. It tasted like salt and thunder. If
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he's uncatchable, then what are we supposed to
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do? I asked. Orion finally looked at me, his
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expression unreadable. Hope, he said. Hope he
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does not arise again. But deep down, I wasn't
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sure hope would be enough. What is hope going
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to do? Nova snapped, pushing off the wall where
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she's been leaning. Storms don't stop because
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you wish they would. Skelewave doesn't care about
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your maps or our prayers. He'll rise again and
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when he does, puddle dancing won't save us. Her
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words land at heavy, even Ignisora hissed, tail
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lashing, while Mirono tucked himself under Luna's
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chair with a low whine. Professor Orion didn't
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flinch, he set down his chalk, finally lifting
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his eyes to meet Nova's glare. Hope isn't the
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weapon, Nova, it's the anchor. Without it you'll
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drown, before Skelewave ever touches you. She
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scoffed, poetic, but drowning's drowning. Anchor
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or not? I found myself speaking before I even
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thought about it. No. He's right. Hope kept us
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steady in the seam last night. Without it, he
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would have been shredded like paper. Hope doesn't
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stop the storm, but it's the only reason we can
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stand long enough to fight it. Nova froze at
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that. Her smirk faltered for a second. I thought
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she might actually agree with me. Instead, she
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looked away, muttered, We'll see. Orion's gaze
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softened, but his tone stayed firm. Scalowave
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is beyond capture, but not beyond observation.
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If he surfaces again, we must be ready, not to
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K .H. him, but to learn. Knowledge is the first
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shield. Xena finally broke the silence, her voice
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quieter than usual, and if knowledge isn't enough,
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the professor's eyes darkened. Then, my dear,
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we make sure hope doesn't leave us, even when
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everything else does. And with that, guys, this
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is another episode of the Monster Casters Journal.
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I hope you have enjoyed, and may the lights and
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the stars and the gods of Nibiru shine their
22:26
beautiful light down on you. I will see you next
22:28
time.