One year on Substack and the Exile of Oran-Koh

A little discussion and a re-edit of the first story I posted...

On September 18th of 2023, that ‘coming soon’ post that everyone seems to have appeared on The Trials of Astra (and other short stories). I said on my Instagram that when I hit 10 subscribers, I would post my first story.

On September 22nd 2023, The Exile of Oran-Koh was posted. With 10 new subscribers (all good friends who chose to support me on a whim as I tried this crazy new thing out), I set out on a journey that I was both afraid of and unbelievably excited for. I’ve learned so much since then. Honestly, rereading the original story that I rewrote below really showed me how far I came. It isn’t well edited at all. It’s almost kind of funny that I thought it was good enough to be shared with anyone. By the standards I’ve set for myself now, the original post should not have ever seen the light of day.

But that’s the important thing here: It still did. Writing weekly stories/serials has done wonders for my skills as a writer. Most importantly of those skills, I’ve sharpened my critical editing skills. I’m so proud of how far I’ve come in the past year, and I’m so grateful for the nearly 200 people who have joined me on this journey. As much as I think it is a little embarrassing to go back and edit the first story I ever posted, I also think it’s empowering and freeing. If I never took the chance of putting this story out there in the poor state that I did, I never would’ve taken the first step I needed to be where I am today.

When I look back on my old writing, I see rapid growth that has come from practice, love, and feedback. I have grown as a writer because I reflect more when I edit. I think about the potential audience and not just the story being tucked away in google drive where it’ll be forgotten. The people I’ve met on this journey have made me a better writer because I think about them when I write. Seriously, I’ve found some amazing communities on Substack, but that’s not all.

I’ve begun submitting poetry and short stories to local publishers. I’ve seen success in that too! About 3 months ago, I was a featured artist in a local zine. The week I’m posting this, I had one of my short stories about mental health accepted for publication in an anthology book! Not only that, but those that have followed me on Substack also know that I finished editing my novel and I’m currently shopping it around with agents! In my mind, this is only the beginning of all the amazing things I have the potential to do. I don’t see infinite growth or money or any of that. I’m doing this because it brings me joy and fulfills something deep inside of me. As much as I love being a neuroscientist, it doesn’t fulfill that deep desire. That’s why I do both. Writing will never fulfill that need to understand the human experience, and science will never help me to fulfill that deep need to express what the human experience is to me. I want both in my life, and I’ve found a way to do it. Along the way I’ve learned more than I ever thought I would. I never thought the greatest thing about this would be the growth I personally experienced.

I’ve become a much better writer, and found a love for writing horror thanks to the fiction community here. I’ve found community in so many places that I couldn’t be more thankful for. There’s so many beautiful people that have given me a chance and so much there’s still left to do. In one year of sharing my stories, I’ve become a more confident writer, a more experienced editor, a part of many communities, and I’ve overcome a social anxiety that has strangled me for most of my life.

I started all of this because I wanted to overcome my anxiety about people seeing me. Seeing my writing. Seeing my creative endeavors. The idea of humiliation eating at me if anyone saw something I created was all consuming. It isn’t anymore. I tell people about what I write. I share my ideas and stories. I wouldn’t have dared to do that a year ago.

Writing helps me explore who I am. Sharing what I write helps me look inside and become more of who I am. It is so beautiful in a way that I hope I’ve gotten across to you.

Lastly, this year has been so magical and I just want to say thank you.

Even if you’ve only read this and have never read anything else I’ve written before, thank you for being here. Thank you to the absurd number of people who read my Sci-Fi Today post. Thank you to the people who fell in love with the world of Astra that has been in my heart and mind for over 5 years. Thank you to the people who quake in their boots at my strange horror. Thank you to every person who has ever shared a word of encouragement because even when my anxiety spikes at a stranger saying a nice thing to me, I’m so so so full of gratitude.

I’ll never be able to say thank you to everyone in a way that feels as genuine and powerful as it feels in my heart, but I really hope you still understand. Thank you.

With all that mushy stuff out of the way, in celebration of this monumental occasion, I’ve taken another shot at The Exile of Oran-Koh, the ancient myth in the world of Astra that tells the story of how many beautiful things came to be in this strange fantastical world.

If you were only here for the one year announcement, this is where I bid you goodbye. But if you’re here for a little story, how about we take a look at a new edition of a classic tale?

Inspired by a mixture of African and Indigenous American mythology (I love reading mythology when I have the time), I present to you the oldest chronological story in Astra…

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The thrum of preternatural energy that sent the strange foreign body tumbling through the cosmos was entirely out of his control. As perception became a new state of being, he found himself coalesced in brilliant blue and white flashing lights. The bright light that felt like a thrum and sounded like the gnashing of teeth became blinding as it consumed his vision. Too much light became too great a darkness. Too much sensation became numbness.

As an eternity of nothing came to an end, he heard what sounded like a massive body of water rushing up to meet him. He had forgotten darkness until he was faced with the night itself on the other end of his journey. With a resolute thud that shook the foundation of Astra itself, he landed in the blank Astral night.  Behind him, he could see the portal he had fallen through. The lights continued to dance in the grand circular pathway to a realm beyond this one. It slowly began to shrink, the loud screeches of the world beyond quieting as it sealed itself shut. The wails of the creatures beyond were like a finalized “And stay out!” ringing in his ears. As the portal closed, an ocean was revealed behind where it once was.

This is where Oran-Koh began. He didn’t know what beauty was, for he had only seen the objective eye of a god’s, but there was something special about this place. This mortal realm known as Astra. There was something beautiful in its controllable finity. Something wondrous about the art he could paint upon the ground beneath his feet. 

Feet?

He had never known a corporeal form, but there was something invigorating about having feet. And hands! He moved his fingers, the blackness of the night almost hid his hands from him, but he saw the shape that was him in the darkest spaces of the night rather than where he saw color. He could see he was a dark featureless mass with arms and legs and hands and feet. This was what he created to be here in this mortal place.

Oran-Koh had never left his home realm before. This was his first voyage beyond the Realm of the Ancients. His first ‘Astral dive’ as he had heard his sister call it. His sister - Vajra, the Dragon Mother - was the one who abandoned him - who exiled him - to this horrible fate in the mortal realm. Now he was trapped and at risk of ceasing to exist. If Oran-Koh had anyone to pray to, he’d imagine he would pray not to become trapped in this realm where his godly form was at risk of decaying into the land itself as they spent too much time on Astra. Something about this land made gods fall apart. They couldn’t survive for long, though how long he wasn’t sure. He had heard stories of such things happening to foolhardy gods in the past. It wouldn’t be the same for him. It couldn’t be. Though he didn’t know how much time he had. Maybe he had minutes. Days. Years if he were of a lucky divinity.

Oran-Koh steadied himself on spindly weak legs - legs that didn’t feel right under his heavy body. He imagined this body could easily change if he could will it so. Maybe he’d like to be some sort of four-legged beast. He was sure he could figure it out just now, so instead he focused on steadying himself atop a ground that sifted beneath his feet. He faltered again and again on what his mind told him was something called sand. Behind him something cold nipped at his feet, making him hop away in terror. That was water. He laughed at his own startle.

How ridiculous I must look!

He felt an emotion he could only describe as embarrassment. He knew his sister was watching him every moment. He knew his sister - the wretched goddess that she was - was mocking him from afar. She was the reason he was here after all.

Laugh now, he thought, but I shall return and impose my will upon the realm… as soon as I find my way home.

Though frustration clouded his first moments upon the mortal plain of existence, Oran-Koh did not last long in this form. Soon - though such relevant time cannot be fully quantified to mine or yours - he was taking slow single steps atop the sands, his body growing lighter with each step. He was getting comfortable here in this strange place.

He was a man by the loosest of terms. Man enough by the standards of Astra. Yet he moved like nothing of this world, and feared he didn’t fit anything but the broad classification that was vague enough for a dark mass of a god to fit. His sister called him brother. That was enough for him. So Oran-Koh would introduce himself as the man of the mortals, and maybe leave the god part out for now.

These were all the strange and confusing thoughts that battered his mind as he struggled across the sand. Without an endless world of collective thoughts and nothingness to bounce himself off of, his thoughts battered him like a ballista upon an old hut. He was at the mercy of his own mind. Had he become so selfish that he was focused on what would become of him and not the very world he fell into? Take it in! Take it in! He beckoned to himself. But all there was to take in was a vast darkness.

But he could see - of that he was sure! There was a moon in the sky, yes. He knew the handiwork of Omnibek - the lord of the moon and mortal dreams - anywhere. In the distance there were indeed the Fates - those strange creatures who twinkled an array of colors across the sky. They did not see the future, rather they bet on the infinite possibilities and in turn, often knew the probability of what was most likely to happen next. They were clever sprites of the cosmos, but they were never interested in him.

With arms like that of a great oak, Oran-Koh waved to them in the sky and called out “It’s dark!” with a hoarse voice that struggled to force the words from a throat only just beginning to form and become. They didn’t hear him. Or maybe they didn’t care to listen, for the Fates continued on in the sky, unchanged. Oran-Koh continued taking in the world and saw there was a deep green that covered the ground beyond the sand. Moss? Such words came to him from on high. Or was he creating them? What lucky thoughts for a god to have. He felt the soft and moist moss. It was such a beautiful thing to feel between one’s long thick fingers. His smile widened to meet his ears before he rolled down into it with a thud that shook the land. 

Sensation! Feeling overwhelmed the deity’s perception! Words and nerves formed as though they were never meant to have come from anywhere but his own mind!

This is why the gods come here! This is why the mortal realm is so loved! Where else can one feel such feelings and think such quiet thoughts? Alone.

But upon this moment, the strangest thing happened. He saw a light in the distance. A fire. Yes, a fire.

“My my, how life finds its ways in the dark.” His voice boomed and echoed off what he assumed to be the globe that contained all life. He was indeed finding his voice in the strange land of Astra. Oran-Koh took long strides into the night to search out the fire and found a people. Many people in fact! Oran-Koh wondered if this was the entire population of humans all coalesced around this fire. He was aghast at the way they looked. They were dirty, tired, scared people with little protection from the elements. They were frightened little things huddled together by the fire light, hoping the god looming from the darkness couldn’t reach out and snatch their light away. He wondered if he was the first creature they had seen that wasn’t of their own tribe. What monsters might lurk beyond their fire that flee from him, but prey upon them?

“Oh, little things! Why do you sit in the dark?” They cowered away from him, many fleeing into the darkness. Oran-Koh felt a pang of what he thought might be sadness for them. They were trapped in an eternal night with only the moon and the Fates to keep them company. His pity for them overwhelmed his soul and he became resolute in a new goal, “I can give you the sky. I can give you light.”

Oran-Koh reached down. The beings scattered like leaves taking flight from their tree. He scooped the light from their fire and left it as a cold icy blaze.

Then he sat, taking his fingers to the shape of knives and spoons.

Oran-Koh began sculpting. Their fire may have run cold, but the people soon saw this strange shadowy figure was of no threat. No, he became the holder of the sacred flame. The only thing that kept them alive in the cold dark world was now in the hands of a being of divine power beyond their comprehension. 

Under Oran-Koh’s gentle hands, the sacred flame began to grow. Slowly, the humans grew to trust him. They brought their meals, and sat amongst the tangled long legs of their firekeeper. They didn’t know what he was and they didn’t care. They wanted safety, and when they learned to trust this strange creature who loomed out from the night, they learned to fall in love with the obscene. With the mysterious. When they trusted in this strange being, they grew warm. They found light within themselves as they trusted him with the sacred flame.

Much time passed, and Oran-Koh never stopped building the fire. He kept it warm for his people, and he never ceased his great mission. After generations, the fire was getting too hot. As the light grew, the people needed to move further and further away from their god’s - for they knew now he was a god - divine gift. Astra was beginning to glow a hot metallic orange. Oran-Koh realized the world around him was burning. He looked to his people and shuddered to see the way they began to glow like neon charcoals as though they were infected with a plague of light of his own making.

“My children,” Oran-Koh called unto them, “I will leave today to bring you a beautiful tomorrow.”

The people watched as Oran-Koh wrapped around the fire like yarn, his head poking from atop as he slowly unraveled. The people of Oran-Koh praised him - as mortals often praise the powerful - and bowed to his everlasting love. 

Then he floated away, taking the sacred flame with him. Here he found space: the place between the realms. A place where the Fates bickered and the gods watched from on high. Here he in the divine beyond, was safe from fear of death or destruction. Maybe he wasn’t in his own realm, but he was no longer oppressed by the Astral earth. Here he couldn’t decay. Here he was more powerful than he ever thought possible. Here he would finish his divine project.

After a grand insurmountable time, his work was complete. Oran-Koh had given his people - all people - a star. The sun of Astra was born, and remains high above us all to this day.

With his work complete, he returned to the ground where his people had since built a home. The land where he was first spit out had become a small village. At first he couldn’t read its name, but the longer he stared, the more it made sense. Euco. In the language of these people, it appeared to mean Father Star. Was that him? Was Oran-Koh the Father Star this land was named for?

As he wondered, he looked upon the city with great wonder and amazement. In this light, he could finally truly see the people of this land. He realized he had made a few misjudgments in the darkness. For example: they were rather hairy little things. He was not. He did his best to mimic them and blend in so he could take in these new surroundings. He did well to cover his head with a cap, and shrink to an acceptable humanoid height. He lacked facial features, but here in the daylight, he saw these humans had faces with plump cheeks and eyes full of wonder. The great sunweaver created a mortal image to model himself after so they wouldn’t think anything of him. He dressed in the nearby fashions. He walked amongst the crowds and almost danced as he struggled not to let himself float on the wind.

As he walked, he saw towers begin to be built towards the sky. It was as though time itself sped by as he watched them raise higher and higher. He was seeing what this land may become, and it filled him with joy and hope. He remembered the first time he came to this land and struggled to stay afloat in sand. So much had changed by his sun’s light. He didn’t understand their technology, but he felt the energy of their progress. He knew it was from his power that they built, and he knew they were thankful to him. Even if they didn’t know who he was. Yet.

That was when Oran-Koh noticed something. Many people here had a strange… glow to them. It reminded him of his people. Those who worshiped him all those years ago and sat too close to the fire. It took him quite some time to notice, but once he did, he couldn’t seem to stop noticing. They were beautiful neon greens, blues, and reds. He saw flashes of purple or pink. Even some yellows and oranges. They were different shades and tones. He saw when they were happy, they would glow even brighter. When sad, they would dull. These people were imbued with a grand and beautiful light. More importantly, they felt familiar to him. He felt a closeness to these people that mortal words could never fully encapsulate. But one word was close: Children. His children to be precise.

As he pulled himself away from his speculative visions of the future - a sure gift from the Fates he was sure - he began to notice drawings on the walls of buildings. It was a figure made up of heavy black lines drawn in charcoal. The figure looked like yarn tying together the sun, binding it together upon the Astral earth. It was him. Many who had the strange glow approached these charcoal drawings and bowed before them. They said prayers before the drawing. They praised the drawing and the sun as they bowed to it. These were sunkissed people. His people.

They were beautiful beings whose ancestors had stood too close to the sun as it was being brought into existence. They had a glowing aura unlike any other. Oran-Koh gathered these people using the rhythm of divine drums. He brought all of the town together and broke his humanoid form to present himself as their lord. Their sunweaver. 

He regaled them with the tales of their ancestors, and tales of the darkness. As he told his final story, he felt his time running short on this plane of existence. In a final hurry, he brought each of the sun-kissed beings to stand before him to receive his blessing. He kissed each one upon their forehead. With his final words, he taught them of the magics of the Ancients. Those who heard his words became the first holy ones of Oran-Koh and used his divine words to write the first holy book - the Tome of Oran-Koh. These were his words of salvation that promised them safety in a realm beyond should they ever fear for their mortal lives. As the world itself threatened to pull him apart, Oran-Koh was met with a portal much like the one that had spit him out. Instead though, this one beckoned him in. By the light of a million suns, his chosen people watched as their god left the mortal realm. With his final words he promised the people, and their children, and their children’s children, and all beyond even that who still loved him just as he loved them, salvation by his sunlight. For he knew they would all be of his light. Of his children.

They would all be the Children of Koh.

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Thank you again to everyone for one year of sharing my writing. I couldn’t be more thankful. For more fiction in the world of Astra, go ahead and tap here. For long time followers, you may notice some… changes made to that page that are not subtly letting you in on an upcoming event in the world of Astra. I’m both excited and nervous for that!

The spooky season is almost upon us, so if horror stories are your bag, may I recommend my horror story playlist here?

If you have the money and the inclination, consider leaving a tip (though no pressure as always)! And if it’s your first time around these parts, you can also subscribe here too!

I’ll see you next week where we’ll be returning to A Peacekeeper’s Oath! Part 5 is already edited and ready to go, so stay tuned and I’ll see you then!