#reading inferno has me in the blender

[aller-geez]

Vaelyn’s Journal

(A glimpse into the journal Vaelyn left when he disappeared after the fire at a Toad Biscuit show)

(A continuation of this fic can be read here, and LET ME TELL YOU, WORTH THE READ.)

Nebralis 3rd, 4777

Well, here I am—journaling. Never thought I’d sink to this level, but Rexar said I needed a hobby that wasn’t, and I quote, “making everything about myself” or “picking fights for fun.” He doesn’t get it; those are my hobbies, Rex. But no, apparently, scribbling in a notebook counts as productive. So congrats, journal, you’re officially my new therapist. Sorry in advance for the mess you’re about to witness. At least you don’t charge by the hour.

Tour’s been insane lately—in the best way possible. Last night’s crowd was on another level. I swear my ears are still ringing from the sheer volume of people screaming our lyrics back at us. There’s nothing like it. That wall of sound? It’s like an electric current running through your veins, charging every nerve, making you feel invincible. For those two hours, you’re not just a guy on a stage; you’re a god, and they’re your worshippers. It’s addictive, man. Makes all the sleepless nights, shitty gas station snacks, and the occasional questionable motel worth it.

Oh, and “Inferno’s Lament”? Absolutely nailed it. I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I shredded that riff so hard the strings were practically begging for mercy. Rex didn’t even try to steal my thunder for once. I caught him smirking, though. He’s sneaky like that. He’d rather choke on his own pride than admit it outright, but I know he was impressed. It’s the little things, you know?

Kriia, on the other hand, is a one-woman health brigade. This morning, she stormed onto the bus wielding a blender full of something green, chunky, and entirely too suspicious. “It’s for your immune system,” she said, like that explained the fact that it smelled like a lawnmower threw up. I choked it down like a champ because I’m nothing if not a team player, but let me tell you, grass has no business being in liquid form. Pretty sure my taste buds are filing a formal complaint.

Speaking of the bus, it’s becoming more of a madhouse with each passing day. Rexar’s got his guitar permanently glued to his hands, Kriia’s organizing everything like she’s running a military operation, and I’m just trying to keep up with it all. Life’s chaotic, exhausting, messy—and I love it.

Here’s hoping it stays this way.

(Also, note to self: figure out how to casually bring up to Rexar that we need actual snacks on this bus. If I see another bag of stale chips, I might riot.)

Nebralis 10th, 4777

You’ll never believe what I pulled off last night, journal. During soundcheck, I might’ve cranked my amp up to 11. Not metaphorically. Literally. The poor speakers didn’t stand a chance. One minute, everything’s normal, and the next, there’s this unholy screeching noise followed by a very satisfying pop. The crew was pissed—like, “ready to string me up with guitar cables” pissed—but the look on Rex’s face? Priceless. He looked like he was one bad chord away from punting me straight into next week. Worth every penny it’s going to cost to fix the damage.

That said, Rex has been… weird lately. Normally, his broody “I’m too cool to smile” shtick is just part of his charm, but recently it’s like he’s carrying around the weight of the world on his overly muscled shoulders. Case in point: I made what I thought was a hilarious crack about his hair looking like it had gone twelve rounds with a weed whacker and lost. Usually, he’d fire back with something equally brutal (and probably funnier), but this time? He just gave me this weird, disappointed look, like I’d kicked his dog or something. It was unsettling, honestly. Note to self: retire the hair jokes until further notice.

Anyway, back to more important things—my music. I’ve been working on a new song, and let me tell you, it’s a beast. Heavy as hell, with a gnarly breakdown that’s going to melt faces and maybe even break a few bones. The kind of track that makes the crowd go feral in the pit. I’m calling it "Oblivion’s Grasp," and yeah, I know it sounds pretentious, but it fits. It’s got this raw, almost primal energy that just screams “instant classic.” Rex hasn’t heard it yet, but I’m banking on it being the thing to snap him out of his funk.

Tour life is exhausting, yeah—barely any sleep, running on gas station coffee, and constantly surrounded by people who are way too chipper for their own good—but it’s moments like these that remind me why I love it. The chaos, the adrenaline, the thrill of creating something that can make thousands of people lose their minds all at once.

Now, if only Rexar would stop looking like a kicked puppy, and Kriia would stop trying to make me drink liquid spinach every morning, life would be perfect.

Nebralis 22nd, 4777

Something’s wrong.

It started small—barely noticeable. Just this weird pressure in my head, like someone pressing their thumb into my temples. At first, I brushed it off as another headache or maybe the lack of sleep catching up to me. But now… now, it’s whispers. Faint, almost inaudible, like a distant radio frequency that keeps cutting in and out. They’re constant, though. They ebb and flow like waves, just loud enough to make me turn my head, only to find… nothing. Every. Single. Time.

I haven’t told Rex or Kriia. What would I even say? “Hey, by the way, I’m hearing voices now. Cool, right?” They’d just worry, and the last thing I need is Rex launching into another lecture about “self-care” or Kriia dragging me off the bus to meditate under a tree or some shit. Besides, Rex is already on my case. He’s been riding me about snapping at the crew, and yeah, okay, maybe I’ve been a little… prickly lately. But it’s like my patience is razor-thin, and everything—everything—feels like it’s grating against my nerves.

We had another fight today. I don’t even remember how it started. Something about my amp, maybe? Or was it the soundcheck schedule? Doesn’t matter. It ended with Rex storming out, his footsteps heavy and furious, and Kriia giving me that look. You know the one—the look that says, “You’re better than this, and you know it.” But am I, though? Because right now, I don’t feel better. I feel… cracked. Like there’s something sharp and dark splintering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break through.

I can’t shake this feeling, either. Like something’s watching me. Always just out of sight, hovering in the corners of my vision. It’s stupid, right? Stress, exhaustion, maybe even a touch of guilt over how I’ve been acting. That’s all it is. Except… sometimes I’ll catch a flicker of movement—a shadow where there shouldn’t be one. Or I’ll hear my name in those whispers, just faint enough that I can convince myself I imagined it.

I’m probably just stressed. Or tired. Or maybe…

...Maybe it’s something else.

Nebralis 37th, 4777

I haven’t slept in three days.

Every time I close my eyes, the shadows come alive. They don’t just move—they writhe and twist like they have a purpose, like they’re watching me, judging me. Sometimes they take shapes: faces I don’t recognize, with mouths stretched too wide, eyes that don’t blink. It’s like they’re daring me to look away, and when I don’t, they dissolve back into darkness, leaving behind this awful itch in the back of my mind.

And the voices… they’re louder now. No longer faint whispers in the distance, they’re right in my ear, hissing and mocking, their words just out of reach. Sometimes, I think I catch a phrase—“failure,” or “liar,” or “you don’t belong here”—but it’s so fleeting, I can’t be sure. I feel like I’m being haunted, stalked by something I can’t see but know is there.

I’m losing it.

Rex and I had another blow-up today. I don’t even know what set it off. He said I’m “impossible” lately, and he’s not wrong. I can feel it, too—this creeping, suffocating sense that everything is spiraling out of control and I’m powerless to stop it. I lashed out at him. I could see the hurt in his eyes before he stormed out, but I didn’t stop him. What could I even say? Sorry I’m losing my mind, please don’t take it personally?

Kriia tried to step in, like she always does, her calm, steady voice trying to pull me back to reason. But I snapped at her too. It was worse this time. Her face fell, and for the first time, I saw real pain in her expression. She didn’t say anything, just left the room quietly, and now I can’t stop thinking about how much she didn’t deserve that. None of them do. They’re trying to help, but every time they reach out, it feels like claws digging into my skin.

If this is what losing your mind feels like, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. It’s like being trapped in a box where the walls are closing in, and you’re screaming, but no one can hear you—or worse, they can hear you, but they don’t know how to get you out.

The worst part? I’m afraid to tell them what’s really happening. How do you explain to your best friends that the shadows are watching you? That the voices are getting louder? That every time you blink, you’re afraid something will be there when your eyes open again?

I’m terrified. But even more than that, I’m ashamed.

Eclipsin 2nd, 4777

Tonight’s going to be epic.

We’re playing one of the biggest venues of the tour—massive stage, insane acoustics, sold-out crowd. The kind of show every musician dreams of. And I’ve been planning something special: a surprise pyro effect during “Burn the Sky.” I spent hours setting it up, tweaking the timing, making sure it’s flawless. When it goes off, it’s gonna blow Rex’s mind.

He needs it, too. The guy’s been in this weird, brooding headspace lately, even more than usual. I mean, I get it—touring is exhausting, and dealing with me can’t be a picnic. But tonight, when he sees those flames shoot up on cue, he’ll have no choice but to crack that stoic exterior. Maybe he’ll even smile. Hell, I might faint if that happens.

The whispers are quieter today. I’m not gonna lie, it feels like a win. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe I’m finally starting to beat this thing. Or maybe—get this—I just needed a good distraction. Who knew the cure for existential dread and auditory hallucinations was obsessing over pyrotechnics? Thanks, science.

Anyway, I feel good. Really good. My head’s clearer, and for the first time in weeks, I’m not jumping at shadows or snapping at everyone like a rabid dog. It’s like the fog is finally lifting.

Rex and Kriia still give me these side-eye glances, like they’re waiting for me to combust or something. Can’t really blame them; I have been a bit of a nightmare. But tonight, I’ll remind them why we’re out here doing this.

This show is going to be legendary. The crowd’s gonna scream their lungs out, Rex is gonna lose his cool when he sees the pyro, and for once, everything’s gonna feel right again.

And hey, if the flames accidentally singe Rex’s eyebrows off… well, that’s just a bonus.

Eclipsin 5th, 4777

What have I done?

The fire… it spread so fast. One moment, the crowd was screaming in excitement, their energy electric and feeding the stage. The next, their screams turned to panic, to terror. Smoke, flames, chaos—it’s all a blur in my mind, fragmented and broken like a smashed mirror.

I remember the pyro. I was so sure it would be perfect, that it would blow Rex’s mind and leave the crowd breathless. But something went wrong. Or maybe I went wrong. My mind feels like it’s full of holes, memories slipping through the cracks. I keep replaying that moment in my head, but it’s like trying to watch a shattered movie reel.

People got hurt. People… died.

I can still see their faces, distorted by the flames. Some were terrified, running for their lives, while others… others were laughing. Twisted, horrible laughter, echoing over the roar of the fire. Was it real? Or just another trick of my broken mind? I don’t know anymore.

I saw Rex, just for a moment. He was looking at me—no, through me—like I was a stranger. Like I was something dangerous. And Kriia… she wouldn’t even meet my eyes. That look of betrayal, of fear… it’s burned into my memory as vividly as the fire itself.

I ran.

I didn’t know what else to do. The smoke, the heat, the chaos—it all swallowed me whole, and I ran. My legs carried me out of the venue before my brain could catch up. The shadows were everywhere, crawling along the edges of my vision, twisting into grotesque shapes that felt too real to ignore. And the voices—they were louder than ever, screaming accusations, calling me a monster, telling me this was all my fault.

Maybe they’re right.

I can’t remember how I got out. I only know that I didn’t stop running until my legs gave out beneath me. I woke up… somewhere. A cheap motel, I think. The walls were stained, and the air reeked of mildew, but I didn’t care. I was too afraid to leave.

It wasn’t until today that I finally checked my phone. Rexar’s messages were there, a flood of frantic texts, each one worse than the last. He said he saw me leave the venue, but I haven’t responded. What could I even say? “Hey, Rex, sorry I burned down the place and killed people. Let’s grab lunch soon!”?

The voices won’t stop. They whisper every horrible thing I’ve ever thought about myself, clawing at the inside of my skull. And the shadows—they’re still here, slithering just out of reach, mocking me with their presence.

I can’t shake the feeling that something is chasing me, something I can’t outrun. Maybe it’s the Oblivion. Maybe it’s just me.

But one thing is clear. I can never go back. Not to the band, not to Rex, not to Kriia.

….I’m not sure who I am anymore, but whoever I was died in that fire.

[awed-frog]

My God, @bardiclore, you are indeed a Ravenclaw. Kudos and thank you so much! I can’t believe you basically solved my current existential crisis without even breaking a sweat? Dafuq and teach me? I believe you’re right - it must be that passage, and I want to say that tumblr quote is not so much a translation of it as someone forcing down the entire book in a blender with some glitter paint and then Pollocking the shit out of it on their computer screens, but to be fair it probably made sense within its context? Or: I hope so.

Anyway, if anyone out there is following this thrilling saga, I’m still not exceedingly happy because this is indeed Inferno, Canto VIII, and what’s going on is that Virgil and Dante are approaching the damned city of Dis when a bunch of demons patrolling the walls notice Dante’s actually alive and start to bitch and curse at him. Virgil steps in, says he can explain everything, tells Dante to just shut up and sit down and that he’ll talk to the demons himself, and Dante promptly pisses his pants like WTF and Are you fucking kidding me and I’m not staying here alone and You old bat, in case you hadn’t noticed: those things want to gut me and eat me, so. 

(Which, okay: he’s got a point.)

And that’s when Virgil reminds him their journey will go on, because God wills it so. Non temer; ché ’l nostro passo / non ci può tòrre alcun: da tal n’è dato - literally: Dont’ fear; since our passage nobody can take from us: it’s been given by such (implied: high authority, ie God). So this tumblr translation is not that bad, but without context it takes on a completely different meaning? Because I always read it as an invitation to be brave and ambitious  or something, but the original is more about submitting to God’s will than anything else? Virgil is not saying, Let’s go on and God will protect us. What he means is more along the lines of, Man up and follow the path God has traced for you, moron. Because Dante, he actually wanted to go back at that point. A city full of demons - he hadn’t signed up for that, but it doesn’t matter to Virgil, and it doesn’t matter to God: the only way out is through. And so, as ever, my takeaway from this would be - divine gifts are never what they seem, and as for trusting dead poets - yeah, don’t do that. Especially if they’re Romans.

Inferno, Dante Alighieri