String Theory

"Close your eyes. Relax your body. Relax your mind. Count your breaths and clear your mind, just be."

1… 2… 3

"Let go of your thoughts. Don't stop them, simply let them go, relax, let them evaporate into nothing."

5… 6… 7…

"Hear the world around you. Visualize it if you must. A web of strings, constantly vibrating, the sound making up the world we know and live in."

9… 10.

Thom stepped out of his body and into the ethereal world. It stretched before him in all directions, glowing a deep purple, almost black. He was standing on what appeared to be nothing, and all around him strings stretched into all directions, of all different sizes and vibration and color, glowing slightly with the reflection of their sound.

"Very good," said his mentor, stepping forward. His ethereal body, like the rest of the strings, glowed, because it too was made of strings - unique double-helix strings which, when vibrated properly, somehow gave the properties of life. "And now find the string you want. Don't work to find it, just hear it in your mind and it'll be there." Thom stretched out an ethereal hand and felt for the right string. Among so many, it should be impossible to find, but there it was, right beneath his fingers. A tiny string, glowing slightly red with the pitch of A. And with the lightest of tugs, barely touching it, changing the vibration ever so slightly…

Plink. Thom's eyes snapped open as a drop of water hit the metal pan in front of him. A faint red glowing line in the air in front of him faded out of existence as the string returned to its natural vibration. "Excellent," said his mentor, standing up from the meditative position. "Practice that when you have the opportunity, but remember to be shielded when you do, just so if you make a mistake it's contained." He switched off the small shielding device and tossed it to Thom, who caught it easily and stowed it in his bag. "We'll meet again next week and work on water to fire transmutations. Be sure you can make enough water by then." Thom bowed, and once his mentor returned the ritual farewell Thom left the chambers and headed for the lift that would take him to open-air hangar on top of the Temple.

The School of Classik Temple was the heart of Classik, a luminescent city floating high above the forest of Ten'Lora. The School, and the city, was divided into five Districts - Ren'saunce, Barok, Classik, Roman't'k, and Modern. Each district had a slightly different feel, of course, due to the buildup of musical residue from the millenias. Playing a single note to make a single drop of water has an imperceptible effect on the world, but if you had a symphony of mages doing that all day every day for a decade, the air would begin to smell red and taste wet, as it became more and more difficult for the strings to return to their natural state. Since different styles of Classik sound different, the School keeps music in the appropriate location, which both enhances the musics and keeps the city in harmony. And a glorious harmony, too - glittering white towers stretched high into the sky, ships of all kinds danced among them, and the forest thrived below, stretching from horizon to horizon, growing taller than trees anywhere else in the world. A city of those interested in the advancement of humankind, the greatest developments came from here - from the decoding of the genetic string, allowing lifespans to be stretched indefinitely and bodies to be changed at will, to the understanding of the magical strings that define the world.

'Course, with all those stuffy old geezers worried about protecting the harmonies of their city they'd been living in for ten thousand years, there wasn't much room for variation - especially in the Ren'saunce and Barok districts where Counterpoint was still the preferred musical style. And besides, all these people practically spoke music - whereas Thom still liked a little language guiding his. And he knew just where to find that.

Without hardly a glance for the glittering beauty surrounding him, or the amazing view available from the roof of the Temple, Thom headed straight for his ship. Streamlined, a soft silvery-white, with top-of-the-line sonic engines, it hummed at his approach, and as he strapped in he punched in coordinates for Rok, a city on the other side of the world. It hooked in to the worldwide transportation network, and leaped fluidly into the air and away from the city. In a moment, the sonic engines came online, and Thom was travelling impossibly fast, the speed of reality - the speed of sound. He'd be in Rok in no time - literally.