Desire

The Reverand's eyelids reeled back, revealing a sincere frown that adorned his face. It was as if the thing he wanted to hear least had thrust itself in front of him. Of course, Perses didn't miss this.

"There's three, aren't there, a third blessed. Machia knows them, and Hectate saw them once. Tell me, who are they?"

"I apologize Perses, but I do not know how to answer."

As if holding back a snarl, the tight, scrunched-up face of the Reverand told Perses everything he needed to know. He didn't have an exact answer, so he simply stood up. The old man, whilst short, did not tower over him by any means, nor did Perse's actions fluster him.

Despite that, the old man was forced to avoid Perse's gaze as he sighed and cupped his chin, hiding his expression. He then used the other hand to wave lazily as if signalling surrender.

"Hold on a minute, Perses. As much as I would love to answer your question for you, I simply do not possess the authority. If you want to know, you will have to meet with him, the king. But Perses, you must have noticed I've been trying to avoid such a situation. I believe you should reconsider."

Struggling to keep up with the events and further agitated that the truth was still distant, Perses refused even to consider his warning as he stared unflinchingly towards the Reverand.

"...very well. I did what I could."

Standing up in a single reluctant motion, the Reverand passed by Perses slowly. He then opened and passed through the door, yet stayed to hold it for him without sharing even a word.

'Seems there's no more use in talking.'

Callously, Perses followed behind him as they entered the grand hall. They had spent quite a while in the small back room, enough for the extravagant light to have faded. Perses noted the dark sight of the cathedral was far more menacing than its lighter counterpart.

He had a chance to observe this as the Reverand had stopped at the large entrance door to whisper with a pair of handmaids. Perses was distracted by the window pains that accompanied the great hall with awe, now armed with an understanding of how they had come to be.

However, the more he looked, the more confused he became.

'The windows, they're different now.'

It was not accurate to say they had changed. Many of the windows still painted a picture of traditional light and holy men and women surrounded by it. However, on occasion, a dark black creature could be seen in the background. It possessed no eyes nor any other human features. Its outward appearance was simply a rigid black shape.

Despite its dark, ominous appearance, what really invited attention was a single oval silhouette of grey sat amid the black shadows in every instance without fail. Yet, in each glass image, the grey mass was different in both size and shape; it bulged untangled within the shadowy mass.

Before Perses could study further, he noticed the Reverend's gaze as the handmaids hurriedly left his side. Without any indication, he turned and left out of the large, burly wooden door. Following him out of the grand hall, Perses took one last nervous look at the art adorning the windows before the door closed with a clang.

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"Machia, can you keep going? It might be time."

Lightly panting, Machia went to sit clumsily on a thick tree trunk. All around him, trees lay butchered and devastated, lying lifelessly on their sides.

Much of his body, including his matted black hair, was drenched with an even thicker black liquid. This gave Machia an even darker, intimidating visage than usual. The dark shadows that gathered around his tired eyes didn't help.

Suddenly, hot, steamy water doused him from above before he could collect his thoughts enough to respond. It quickly turned to cold water, relieving him of the heat as he wore an annoyed expression.

He waited until this involuntary shower ended before responding.

"No, Circe. I will keep going."

Circe, who stood behind the exhausted man, sighed resignedly. Despite constantly expressing her disbelief over the past few days, this time, Circe couldn't hide a flicker of adoration that escaped her eyes. 

"Machia, how many days has it been, four? If we're not going to use my trump card, then you should at least get some sleep, should you not?"

"Circe can you keep watch and fend them off if I do."

The small women flinched at the man's sarcastic demeanour. Dismissing his words, she chose to sit next to him silently, not bothering to respond.

"We've been over this, Circe. To stand a chance, we must erase as many of the fiends as possible before we use your trump card. If I'm at full strength. Maybe I can finish this thing all on my own. I'm not so weak anymore. This has been years in the making."

Despite feeling a little hurt, she couldn't help but find herself smiling at the soaked man's words. Looking forward at the carnage surrounding them, she began to speak.

"You're just as frightening as you used to be, Machia. Back then, you were the same, always serious to a fault, either that or completely absentminded."

Machia furrowed his brows at the strange flow of the conversation but chose not to interrupt.

"But you've changed. You used to follow that... man. To a fault. Yet, here you are, leading a charge against the creatures of the sea."

Circe couldn't help but spit out the word man before regaining her typical withdrawn, calm tone.

"But to see that very same cruel prince Machia. Out here fighting with his life on the line-."

"Where are you going with this?"

Looking at her with a confused yet stoic agitation, Machia waited. Seeing that, Circe couldn't help but laugh at the estranged expression of the dark-haired youth.

"Don't be thick, I'm just trying to show my gratitude."

Machia looked unsatisfied by this response and held a questioning gaze.

"Gratitude, why, it's not like your part... will be easier than mine. I'm even surprised you made it this far."

Circe tilted her head, confused at his words.

"Huh, don't you realize, if it hadn't been for you, I would have been sent straight to the front lines, possibly alone. Criminal as I am my life is worth only that of the average guard. Without your assistance, I really would be dead."

"... That does sound like father."

Hearing the word father Circe could hold back neither a disapproving gaze nor a rebuttal.

"Really, why call him that? That bastard isn't much of a father to anyone, even you!"

Machia couldn't help but let out a sinister grin. It had been a long while since something had made him smile. The antics of the small woman had allowed him to forget the current circumstances, something he would have deemed impossible only moments ago.

"Yeah, that's true, alright, he's a real bastard. I can see why even his daughter wouldn't think of him as such. I can definitely see why you tried to kill him."

Circe couldn't help but smile ashamedly at the man's words. Machia's tense, tired, nervous attitude was now nowhere to be found. It had been wholly expelled and instead replaced by a macabre wide grin.

"Circe, tell me, do you regret it?"

"Do I regret it... I guess I regret not finishing him off."

Hearing her response, Machia slapped his leg with vigorous, mad laughter.

Circe looked nervously at the boy with a smile. She couldn't help herself when he had asked her that all of a sudden. She was glad to see such intense laughter, glad he'd seen it the funny way.

"Well, I guess you must hate him more than I gave you credit for Machia."

"Of course I do. Who wouldn't I? He's one sick old man, after all. I just hope Perses never has to run into him, haha. I wonder, though, which one of us knows that better, me or you? Hmm."

Machia asked with a gleeful immaturity. Despite Machia's intimidating, manic laughter, she couldn't let her question go.

"So then why? Why do you call him such a thing-"

"I do not call my old man father because he took me in. Nor is it because he raised or provided for me. And no, Circe, it's not any bullshit like because he cares for me. I could always have done those things myself. What he did was teach me why to be strong.

Circe listened closely with slight loneliness as the envigorated Machia began to dissolve into his former glum state.

"He taught me to be strong physically, but that's not all. He taught me how to be strong verbally. He taught me battle strategy, he taught me survival, and he taught me philosophy. Even with my abilities, he provided me with ideas on how to improve them or use them or other such things. But that never mattered. After all he showed me why."

"Why... what?"

"Despite all that I have suffered at his hands. He is the one that taught me why I need strength, he helped me ascertain what it was that I wished to protect. With that burden, that impossibly important responsibility I found my reason to live. My true desire."

Circe listened with apprehension as Machia's tone descended into unforgiving coldness.

"...I"

Before she could issue a response, Machia stood up. His drenched state had now fully reverted, thanks to the evening sun that shined off his figure. Turning his back to Circe, he offered only a few words as he began to walk.

"Grab your stuff. I found more of them. We need to get to them before they can group up.

"Alright"

"I won't be able to protect you if you stray too far, so be quick."

Without issuing any further warning, Machia began to walk away as he tread further from the forestry outgrowth, a sickening frown warped his face. Leaving Circe behind, he edged closer and closer to the now visible ocean.