If a Novierian could smile, Synthe would. "Be wary. It will take quite some time for your mind to sort through and analyze everything. Depending on how important you find this information makes the difference of whether it is stored in your memory, or discarded. You will see everything here through my eyes, and occasionally through others if they gave me a bit of their memories, like I'm doing so now." The telepathy went through, as the psychic being held up his two fingered and thumb hand over her head, just barely floating a few centimeters away from her forehead.
Synthe had closed his eyes as well. And all around him from his perspective, time had stopped. He carefully chose the strings and threads of memory that made up his short life, and wound them into a single being of thought.
... Right, I don't have long, do I... What am I? Am I 192 years? 193? Am I older than that? I.. I think I have until around the 200s in comparison to the full 400... The idea of his life ending in quite a few years frightened him. But, somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt he was ready for it. It was the price for dabbling in magic for a Novierian, after all. Even if he had no idea he was using magic until it was too late.
There's no time for regrets now, is there? I.. I should be happy that I even get to give someone proof of my existence, whether they be of my race or not. .. Even if it's not a child, or a mate.
The memories, all gingerly wound in a glowing, holy looking light came out from the Novierian's forehead, it's radiance almost lighting up even the blackness of the pocket dimension. "I hope you find out everything you're needing to know."
The ball circled around his outstretched arm, increasing in speed as the smallest strings eventually came undone, forming a single, long, and dim line, and then went into Kylexx's forehead. And with it, a tear welled and traveled down his face.
The first that came was the race's history. Ever since their genesis, their beginning, they have been capable of ESP. Yet, this wonderful ability was one they never really used without any reason. It was, to them, a gift, a gift from their creators, and they were going to treat it as so. As a result, the race more depended on their physical strength and improving their way of life, as well as how they felt about themselves. As they did this, their ESP powers grew to exponential proportions beyond what it originally was, partially because of their way of life and their philosophy.
The whole race was one giant family. Sure there were parents and people being total strangers, but unlike most races they have met, even the most strangest of strangers could see where the other was coming from if they ever conflicted, and made peace. And if they did not, they would settle it with their fists, and in doing so, they would understand almost everything about them.
But, their existence came a price. They were the race without afterlife. They had no magic to support what shred of spirit energy they had, and if any had delved into the magic arts, their life times often ending as far as 400 would be shortened. They could not do anything about this, and when they died, their spirit as minuscule as it was, would fade to nothing.
If it was a cruel god's way of doing this or if it was simply their biology, none of them knew. But the death of a Novierian was always sad, and the birth of one was one with celebration open to every single one of their race. It hadn't mattered who, but just to celebrate the miracle of birth with a Novierian family was fun, and made many, many happy thoughts.
When other races tried to interact with them over the years, they often did not understand them, and took their belief in different gods as blasphemy to the other race. The wars started. Each and every time, the Novierians were on the brink of total extinction, to be fully wiped from their world. And every time, their fighting spirit, their will to protect others and love those even not of who they knew won them each and every war. But in the end, they had to build again, and again, and again, until finally they had given up Novier. There was so much death. So much hate against them during those wars. The endless, depressing feeling that overtook all of them whenever it happened was unbearable beyond all belief, being forced to build up their society on the graves of those that had fallen. The idea that none of them had no afterlife did nothing to help. Eventually, they trusted no race. No one at all. They weren't allied with anyone, until the Archive had came and saved them on Nil.
But that alliance was just mutually beneficial. There was no feeling between them.
Synthe, himself, did not witness these wars. But, when he was learning in the small ages of two to five, this history was passed down to him in the very same way, the thousands of images transmitted to him via memory by his elders. One day, he was told that he too would find someone to pass his life memories, along with their history to other Novierians, preferably his mate, child, or closest friends.
But how is a Novierian that, who avoided almost every social gathering except when he was invited to play music, supposed to find someone like that? How was he supposed to find people he cared so deeply about, when all he wanted to do was not fight, but play music? The same music that, unknowingly, brought about his use in magic. And in turn, made his life all that shorter. Many Novierians wouldn't mate with one that's lifespan would give out before long.
The feeling of death was unbearable. It was catastrophic. Synthe knew the feeling all too well when he outlived those that brought him into the universe as well. Synthe understood, and didn't want that pain on anyone. He had avoided gatherings to find mates, to find acquaintances. Something that he now regrets. He wished he knew all those people he left behind, to have talked to many of them and knew that much more. But all that was left was what he had remembered.
The time that he was in the WWB, or anything else passed as a blur. They weren't important. They were minuscule, unworthy of even being told of.
As the history of the race and Synthe's memories was given, the horrors of war, the images of all those that had died, and the rose color pictures of those in celebration or in happiness, all came and went in Kylexx's mind. The emotions of happiness, but also of sorrow could be felt.
Synthe reached back, and laid his arm on his lap, and resumed meditating. It would take a bit for Kylexx to fully sort through everything he had given her. Whether it took a few minutes, hours, or even days all depended on her mental strength. But he was sure to make the memory transfer as painless as possible.
I can wait. I'll be sitting right here.
