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Everything a Valthakan Needs 

A Birthday Bash

Hello Valthakai!

I know many of you may be a bit surprised to be receiving this edition on Friday of all days, but with my birthday coming up, I decided it would be a fun gift to open my Deep Dive section to all of our readers.

Naturally, this means you’re being dropped into Chapter 19 of Arc’s Journey, so if you want to catch the rest, take advantage of our birthday special!

It ends Sunday at midnight!

Welcome to my birthday weekend, everyone. I’m so glad you’re here.

Enjoy!

Love,

Daniel and the Crone

What I’ve Learned

Normally, I approach our Discord to select topics of interest for our Deep Dives, but with my birthday coming up this Sunday, I decided I wanted to focus on something a little more personal.

I am about to turn twenty-six, and while that by no means suggests that I am well seasoned, I still thought it would be enjoyable to share some of the lessons I’ve learned stumbling my way from STEM to writing and beyond.

Let’s get started!

Forgiveness Isn’t Always Necessary

I have, with plenty of input from my therapist, dedicated myself to being more positive.

While this has certainly not prevented me from sharing some hilarious, frustrating shenanigans with my family, friends, and overall life, it has meant that I dedicate myself to focusing on the positive.

But sometimes, you cannot communicate your way out of something with someone.

I had a large friend group in college, and when an issue with a friend I had known for years blew up into a physical altercation, the dynamic between us changed permanently.

But I decided to forgive him.

His tears, his promises to do better, and the kindness he showed after meant more to me than the bruise I had on the back of my head.

I was living with him and seven other friends.

What would hating him have done for me?

What would holding this grudge do for me?

The answer?

It probably would have protected me from letting it happen again.

Because it did happen again.

A three-year friendship dissolved in a Target parking lot, and my last words to him (the next day) were “Don’t start with me.”

And that was that.

Do I forgive him?

There’s no reason to, as he never apologized.

My other friends expressed their support for me, but promptly stopped speaking to me after I moved out of the house.

Don’t worry—they all got to catch up at their reunion this past year. What was initially presented as support for his partner (“We can’t leave her alone with him, Daniel;” they’ve since married) became business as usual in my absence.

Do I bear any ill will?

No, I can’t say that I do.

But there is the part of me who entered college desperate for friends.

A part of me who felt like I had found the people who would line the aisles at my wedding.

A part of me who felt like I had finally found exactly who I had been looking for.

And a part of me who died a little bit when it all crumbled.

So while he does not get my forgiveness, he also doesn’t get my disdain.

None of them do.

There are still four or five people from that part of my life that I maintain varying degrees of connection with, but they are the ones that I treasure.

The rest are just memories.

Connection and Content

If it hasn’t become abundantly clear to anyone who consumes my content, my primary motivation, at a lizard-brain level, is to connect with people.

As a child, I struggled with social cues and interests that were quite counter to the norms of my peer group.

Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokemon, Bakugan, Beyblade, Naruto, Magic: The Gathering.

You name it, I played it.

And the fantasy world I built was not one that appealed to, well, most people.

Except now, it does. 

And it has led to a slew of new problems.

As my friend once clocked, I balance the question of whether I offer too much to people on the other side of a screen.

My sex life, my writing, my hobbies, all the pieces of myself from the fantastical to the religious to the downright horny are majority free to dissect.

Truthfully, it stems from that desire to be seen.

And I am.

The genuine responses I have received from Meet-&-Greets, accidental recognition, or even people whom I direct to my content warm my soul.

I’ve found that being seen—whatever I actually put out there—has left many people feeling seen as well.

Of course, this will be my reminder to both myself and anyone reading this that you (and I) do need to touch grass.

As wonderfully horrible as the internet can be.

It isn’t reality.

Prioritize your connection with the physical (the Corporeality, as I refer to it in my writing).

Your friends, your parents, your spouses, pets, crotch goblins, plants, coworkers, bartenders, baristas, and strangers.

It is they who make it worth getting up in the morning.

The pleasure and pain of human interaction.

I have long since sought to give up on making everyone happy.

Make no mistake, the journey to that decision is a long one, and there is still a part of me that quails when someone—even a complete stranger—appears to be upset with me.

This is an impulse I still struggle against, and I have found upwellings of emotion when I’m touched in certain ways, or perhaps get into a misunderstanding or argument in a comment section.

My advice in that regard is this:

Everything positive is meant to be there.

Everything negative is good content.

Sometimes you need spice to give a meal some kick, sometimes you need to say fuck it and swear at an asshole instead of minding your business.

I will leave it up to your discretion.

Writing

I guess I am best described as someone with STEM hardware running theater kid software.

I am a truly god-awful singer, and was perhaps the first known personality hire for my high school men’s choir.

Don’t get me wrong, I love singing.

Unfortunately, singing isn’t particularly fond of me.

That doesn’t stop me from busting out Lady Gaga on karaoke nights.

I consider myself a fairly decent dancer, nothing professional, but I’m not shy on any dance floor, especially with two years of pole dancing under my belt.

If you’re ever hesitant about tearing it up, just imagine me in my underwear.

I don’t know if it will help with nerves, but it will certainly improve your night.

When I went to college, it was with a clear goal: get a good degree, use it to earn good money, and make a life for myself.

And why wouldn’t I?

I am quite good at mathematics, I have a familial history in the medical field, and I am interested in many scientific subjects.

It took about four years to realize that interest doesn’t translate to passion.

COVID took two years of my college experience.

It replaced it with the same amount of debt and significantly more booze.

It is also what started my entire content creation journey.

But even then, while I realized I had a knack for witticisms and a love of reading that translated well to the digital stage, I still believed I was on a path to a doctorate, or tenureship, or worse.

College, the act of learning— a privilege and a joy, became a lifeless endeavor for me.

While I loved our analysis of cellular behavior, cellular physics, or immunology, the thought of dedicating my life to such a subject filled me with an intense fear.

Truthfully, I probably could have done it if I had dedicated myself more, but a part of me (a very damaged part) wondered why I couldn’t effortlessly learn and enjoy these subjects instead of them feeling like a chore.

I have spent many years feeling talentless.

I didn’t feel particularly athletic, though I did receive my black belt in Shaolin Chuan Fa.

I didn’t feel particularly good-looking, though I do think I’ve gotten better at grooming myself.

And I didn’t feel particularly intelligent in college, though I did receive my bachelor’s in biomedical engineering.

But writing was another story.

Despite occasional errors, I am damn fucking good (to use the scientific term) at getting my point across through text.

Whether that’s for research papers, fantasy writing, or comedy, I’m pretty proud of what I have come up with.

I spent a long time without a voice, and now I’m not just heard but seen and read by millions.

Go me!

Promote Yourself

I can tell you exactly why I struggle to celebrate my successes.

Because the moment I chose a path, it became my obligation to excel at it.

Second place was the first failure.

Fourth place was a tear-inducing embarrassment.

And attempting anything brought the risk of a crushing defeat.

As my dad would say, “you’d have a gold medal in comparing yourself to others.”

Before you get angry at him, he’s been my #1 fan for the longest time.

And my behavior in this regard has induced some truly obscene blood pressure levels in both of us.

Thus, with my twenty-sixth year almost complete.

I’ve elected to brag more.

This newsletter is read in 30+ different countries, meaning I’ve brought people together more successfully than the United Nations.

Quote me on that.

In the five years that I have been creating content (my very first video was April 21st, 2020), I have received a quarter billion views on TikTok alone, and since expanded to Instagram, YouTube, and created my own website.

I’ve met some of my favorite people on the planet, both professionally and personally, and have been invited to weddings, bagelries, and Salt Lake City, of all places.

Daniel, a decade ago, felt like there was nothing there but his own turmoil.

Daniel, five years ago, felt like he was stumbling forward with no desire to get there.

Daniel, now, is happy.

Shockingly, truthfully, achingly happy.

Not because I’m successful, or have achieved my dream physique.

Not because I’m completely debt-free or own a condo with a pole in every room (there will be signs, is what I’m saying).

But because I’m here.

With the potential and desire for all of the above, and more.

And because you’re reading this with me.

Who needs a fucking diary?

Daniel’s Writers Workshop

Previously in Chapter 18: A Sliver of the Sun …

Ixsidhe has found herself in a rather curious position.

After a brief, unwelcome visit to Lepi’s territory, our resident Brewitch has brought a single moth familiar into Xylalith’s Demesne.

Her reasoning was thus: neither she nor Arc knows the exact terms of Ialine’s Deal with the Fae lord, and as such, they are at quite the disadvantage while solely reliant on the Silverfolk for transportation and protection.

It is Lepi who suggests she seek a new Braid, however detrimental that may be to her current Brewing.

Luckily, Xylalith takes such a request in stride. In fact, he seems more than prepared to offer up a source of Fae magic: light from the Silver Sun, the Fragment that shines above all Fae territories.

One question remains, of course.

What is Ixsidhe willing to give to get it?

And now…

Chapter 19: Crystallize

Xylalith smiled as though he were talking about the weather. The gemstone he had brought now rested delicately upon the altar, its light a silver haze that was as dizzying to the eye as it was to the Mind.

“Tell me, Brewitch. You cannot be content to let the Inkmage claim power alone?”

“Please don’t drag me into this,” Arc muttered. He idled at her back, a buzz in the Ethereal announcing he had called upon his Fragments.

Ixsidhe stepped closer and tried to share Xylalith’s smile. The Fae lord looked bemused of all things, and with the way the altar covered his body, she felt like she was approaching a desk of sorts.

“May I?”

She approached the crystal with Xylalith’s approval.

Silvery energy beat in time to her own heart, and as Ixsidhe watched, the faces of the gemstone warped slowly, merging and dividing at random.

“Ixsidhe,” Arc touched her shoulder, and the Brewitch started, realizing she had been leaning closer.

“What is it you want?” She asked the Fae lord.

“That isn’t the correct question,” Xylalith laughed. “What can you offer?”

He reached out then, batting the gemstone between his fingers.

What can I trade him? Ixsidhe found herself hungry for the crystal. What could this Fragment do?  

Shockingly, she found that it didn’t matter.

Perhaps the feelings had always been there, simmering under her skin. Perhaps it was why she had found such kinship with Tseli in the first place.

Brewitchery’s past was with Dvenya, a rigid set of expectations and conformity, with its path to power a journey even those who walked it detested.

And it didn’t save her.

Lepi’s familiar hadn’t followed Ixsidhe through Xylalith’s portal, but she could still feel the sensation of a million twitching limbs dragging her away.

Her Brews were useful, but nothing like the raw power these Fae creatures showed.

Even Arc was improving with the Malleus and his Ink; the tendrils he manipulated could pierce her from a dozen yards away.

“Ixsidhe,” Arc whispered again. His concern was genuine, but useless at this point. “We have no idea how the Recreative Essence will affect you.”

“If Xylalith had offered this to you, would you say no?” She responded.

“He wouldn’t,” the Fae lord offered.

Arc frowned, but conceded the point with a nod.

“The Conjuror’s Draught,” Ixsidhe said. Xylalith’s eyes widened alongside his smile, and he took a slow step around the altar.

“That is a purely Creative Brew, what use would I have for it?”

“I have no doubt you could develop an eidos from a proper sample. Or I can prepare it to align with your Essence instead,” Ixsidhe said, trying to keep the doubt from her face.

She could manage it in theory, especially with access to Xylalith’s wild herbarium; she’d Brewed the Conjuror’s Draught before… once.

“And if I say I have no need for your halfmagics, what can you offer me then?” Xylalith stepped closer, and Ixsidhe decided that the first thing she would do when she next saw Ialine was slap her.

Rumors and myths surround the Silverfolk and the payments they extracted. And it was then Ixsidhe realized what Xylalith was hoping for.

“If my talents are not to your interest… then… do you seek my hand?”

“Ixsidhe!” Arc shouted.

The Fae lord paused, a muscle in his neck twitching as he stared.

The marsh erupted, Xylalith’s coarse laughter filling the clearing as he doubled over. His fingers knocked the gemstone, and Ixsidhe had to stumble to prevent it from rolling into the murk.

“I often forget the kind of stories your people tell about mine,” he wiped tears from his eyes. “Rest assured that my wife would be fiendishly upset if I brought you into my household.”

“He’s married?” Arc muttered.

“Then I must admit I am at a loss for what you could want from me,” Ixsidhe blushed. The crystal must be affecting her Mind, why else would she have been willing to sell herself as a bride?

“Your Brewitchery is an acceptable price. Seven Brews.”

“Eh?”

“Seven Brews, at my request. Each claimed at a time of my choosing.”

“Four Brews, and you may request them only so long as you agree not to use them against another Brewitch.”

Arc gave an interested ooh as she responded.

Xylalith walked back behind the altar, a newfound respect on his face.

“Agreed, but only if you allow me to guide the Braiding process,” he leaned forward, placing both hands on the altar.

How difficult could it be? Ixsidhe wondered. But she nodded her assent.

“Excellent!” Xylalith clapped, a silver flash pulsing from his hands. The Ethereality bent around the two of them, and Ixsidhe felt as something lurched into place within her Mind.

I hope I don’t regret this.

“Form the Anchor,” Xylalith instructed. He gestured Ixsidhe closer and placed the gemstone between them.

The Brewitch listened, closing her eyes, and rolling her neck as she focused on her Mind.

In her usual habit, she ran her senses along the Witches’ Font, feeling the way it pulsed through her veins, a metronome in rhythm with its source far across the Orrery.

If she reached into the Upper Worlds, she’d be able to trace it all the way back to the Brewitches’ Guildhall, but her focus remained internal.

The Flesh, she thought to herself. It seemed the most compatible target for her second Braid, and so her Mind began to layer itself more purposefully along her body.

The gemstone burned in her not-eyes, a heat that outweighed everything else around her.

“No,” Xylalith said. Just as she was about to reach for the Silver Fragment, his Mind fell upon her like a cloak, a delicate swaddling that restricted her Ethereal senses. “Not so diluted; concentrate it.” He instructed, the feeling of his Mind conveying his meaning.

Rather than weaving the Fragment through her Flesh, she could feel his attention on her eyes.

“We Braid differently,” Xylalith explained as an Ethereal pressure fluttered her lashes.

Ixsidhe considered resisting, but there was that tug within her Mind, reminding her that she had agreed to allow the Fae lord to tutor this process.

So without another word, she retracted her senses, pulling away from her body and gathering the energy directly into her eyes.

It was a strange endeavor, and one that she never would have attempted before this. Her Essence here was a delicate thread compared to the largesse of her Flesh, a far more flimsy target, and one she wasn’t entirely sure she could successfully Braid.

“Just… focus,” Xylalith told her. She could feel his hand upon her cheek. “Exactly. Like that.” Slowly, the feeling of her Corporeal body fell away as her Mind, under Xylalith’s guidance, began to saturate the Essence, preparing it to Anchor her newest Fragment.

Arc burst into motion as Xylalith raised his thumb. Whatever shifting magic the Fae lord used fell away, and his hands had morphed into talons.

“Enough,” the Inkmage said. He had rounded the altar in an eyeblink, the fingers on his left hand raised as a spearpoint to the Fae lord’s neck.

Ink burst from Arc’s wrist to form needlepoints at his throat, and the Malleus burned within his palm.

“You really are improving,” Xylalith commended him, though his teeth were gritted.

Arc was stunned to see a third eye opening along his forehead, its pupil lost beneath a massive silver iris that drew in the light around them.

“Put that hand away,” Arc warned.

“She agreed to this,” Xylalith pointed out.

“I wasn’t part of the deal. What are you doing with that claw?"

“Do you understand how difficult it is to form an eidos while guiding another non-Fae Mind and remain such an interesting conversational companion?” Xylalith hissed.

“An eidos for what?”

“I assure you’ll figure that out rather quickly, but that’s assuming she can Brew an antidote.”

Arc tensed as he felt something wet spill into his shoes, tiny webbed feet crawled along his ankle, and he looked down to see one of the small salamanders that nested in this place had draped itself across him.

“If you hurt her—” was all he got out before his leg collapsed beneath him, a tingling sensation rapidly spreading up his body.

His Fragments fell from his control, the rudimentary consciousnesses panicked as the poison in the creature seemed to affect them as well.

Ink spilled into the grass, the amphibian darted back into the water, and the Malleus gouged a trench into the soil as he fell back.

His hearing was practically gone by that point, though Xylalith’s tone sounded apologetic as he muttered something.

“I hate this part,” the Fae lord muttered. “Ixsidhe? Ixsidhe, open your eyes.”

It would have been much easier if he had been working with any other species. Only the Sun knows why he’d end up stuck with two humans. They were so much more fragile than he would have liked.

Nothing to be done about that now.

All that Xylalith could do was reach for the crystal and the Sunlight he had trapped there.

When the Brewitch opened her eyes, he struck.

His thumb burst through her cornea like a knife, the humor within spurting out along his knuckle.

Ixsidhe barely had time to scream before he plucked it out like a grape, grabbing her head and holding it in place as he shoved the crystal into the empty socket.

Lastly, he released the eidos he had formed of her eye, feeding the template into the crystal and linking it to the Essence that she had saturated with her Mind.

It worked beautifully, though she still collapsed against the altar, fist to her face as she came to terms with agony and its equally rapid absence.

“W… what?”

“I owe you, truly,” Xylalith admitted, “but unfortunately, I had to get your pet Inkmage to back off, and the only way I knew how was with poison. I believe you can easily form the antidote.”

Ixsidhe stood then, noticing where Arc lay limp across the grass. Blood, the almost-translucent color of the Witches’ Font, still pooled down her face, but her Mind shuddered into focus as she looked at the world with new eyes.

Well… Xylalith thought, a new eye.

“Bastard,” Ixsidhe hissed.

Arc wished he felt nothing. That poison filled his body and his Mind with a buzz that made it impossible to sense anything else.

Then something touched his lips, a trickle down his throat that tasted of spring rain and moss.

The toxin retreated as the Brew pushed through his veins, the Ink and Malleus calming as he reasserted control over his body.

Light gradually came back into focus, and Arc realized someone was talking above him.

Ixsidhe gave a delicate laugh, lifting his head and repeating herself.

It took a moment for his hazy thoughts to click, and Arc realized what was bothering him.

Her right eye was the same, an amber color flecked with green that he hadn’t seen up close until now.

But the other was an imitation, a gemstone so delicately cut that its facets mimicked the shape of an iris, thin veins at the edges of the sclera, and internal shading to form a pupil.

Arc was just about to swear when the crystalline eye blinked, and the pupil behaved normally.

“The Braiding was a success,” Ixsidhe smiled.

Arc reached out with his Mind, feeling the well of power that now shone from within her, the Recreative Essence he had barely touched now woven into the Brewitch before him.

His anger faded into curiosity, so desperate he was to see what Ixsidhe was now capable of.

“I am quite good at what I do,” Xylalith pointed out from where he sat cross-legged upon the altar.

A flicker of anger was still there, Arc realized, with the first words he spat out:

“Bastard!”