A Way Through Wounds

Kneeling before the hideous lizard, Zerin grappled with the creature, his hands locked in a tug-of-war with the sheathe clutched tightly in its formidable jaws. Each pull only caused the beast to react with an even deeper growl, its menacing eyes fixed on him with unwavering intensity. With each attempt to shake Zerin's grip on the sheathe, the lizard's movements grew erratic, leaving a glistening trail of its saliva to coat the sheathe in its slick film of mucus.

Zerin's nostrils curled up in disgust.

"Fine, you can have it…"

He flicked away the lizard's viscous saliva off his hand with a shudder. The creature's relentless determination to cling to the sheath struck him as peculiar—the creature's strange attachment to the item, raised questions about the mysterious significance of the item in its possession.

'What is so special about an empty sheathe anyways?'

He scratched his head as the lizard curled itself back into a ball in front of him, shielding its precious item.

He stood up shortly after with a sigh, his strength finally began to come back to him. A few hours ago, he was greeted by the Priest when he awoke, he was also questioned, which Zerin told everything that transpired, even the visions. To his surprise the Priest listened without any issue or questions. Zerin looked for answers in the only way he knew how, he searched through the runes. The red runes shined before they aligned themselves, finally becoming legible.

Name: Zerin.

True Name: —

Rank: Aspirant

Soul Core: Dormant

Memories: [Crimson Needle]

Echoes: —

Attributes: [Guided will], [Acolyte], [Blood Ties], [Been There, Done That]

A specific attribute stood out,

[Blood Ties] (Dormant)

"The blood of the fallen may hold tales to be told."

The attribute he previously discarded as useless, provided all the evidence he needed to prove himself that what he experienced was real. He also noticed some text he glossed over carelessly the first time, hovering right beside the attribute, it read: (Dormant).

Swiping his hand through the shimmering runes, Zerin watched as they dissipated into fading wisps of light. Settling onto the edge of his bed, a perplexed furrow creased his brow as he sat thinking of the current dormant attribute and its implications. His initial focus was centered on the dormant element of the attribute itself, but a troubling realization began to form—the absence of an emotional response to everything he experienced. Expecting a surge of visceral reactions—perhaps disgust, hate, or even fear—But Zerin was greeted with a disquieting void instead.

After fruitlessly scouring for answers, Zerin was satisfied with believing this was some sort of side effect that would eventually disappear with time. But what also helped him get over this mental barrier was the sudden intrusion into his room as he heard his doorknob being turned and opened.

Wisteria stood in the doorway, stopping suddenly as she saw that Zerin was awake.

"Uh… Sorry to bother you Sir…"

'Sir?'

Perched on the edge of his bed, his features etched with a subtle hint of confusion at the formal title she had bestowed upon him. As she advanced into the room, a graceful stride marking her entrance.

"My name is Wisteria."

She engaged in a graceful bow, she lowered her gaze in a gesture of respect before gradually rising to meet his eyes once more. As she straightened, a shimmer of unshed tears pooled in her gaze.

A wave of utter confusion washed over Zerin.

"What?"

Her voice trembled with emotion, she repeated her words once more. Tears continued to well in her eyes before they gave way, tracing a silent path down her cheeks. With a soft sigh, she brushed the tears away before she spoke.

"My name is… Wisteria…"

With a voice filled with detached indifference, Zerin posed the question that lingered in the air like a heavy mist.

"Why are you crying?"

His words, though laced with detachment, held a thread of concern that wavered beneath the surface. Before she could respond, he interjected with a firm yet gentle reminder.

"And we talked about this, just call me Zerin…"

Pausing mid-motion, her delicate hand frozen in the act of wiping away tears, she cast a gaze upon Zerin, her eyes widening as if she saw a ghost.

"You remember?"

Her hand fell to her side as she took a step forward.

A flicker of frustration crossed Zerin's features, his brows furrowing in confusion as he struggled to make sense of what she was saying.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Drawing closer with a tentative step, she hesitated briefly before a sudden impulsive motion propelled her towards Zerin, the force of her movement catching him off guard. Startled, he instinctively recoiled, a faint reaction of surprise crossed his features as she landed in his lap. Her arms enveloped his neck in a tight embrace, her body felt like a furnace, contrasting her cold tears that fell on the back of his neck.

Retreating slightly, her trembling hands sought out his face, fingers delicately tracing his features with a tenderness. A bittersweet smile graced her lips, a flicker of happiness dancing in her tear-filled eyes.

"You remember? You remember everything?"

Zerin responded hesitantly, he had no clue what she was talking about, but he nodded his head anyways.

Her hands cradled the back of his head as she pressed a tender kiss upon his lips, a moment that unleashed a torrent of emotions within Zerin. It felt akin to a reversal of the classic fairy tale trope, where the prince's kiss breaks the princess's slumber, yet here, the roles were inverted, stirring a whirlwind of feelings in Zerin's heart.

"I thought you were gone… I couldn't bare losing you again."

"Lose me? What are you talking about?"

She swiftly hopped back to her feet as she pulled him by his hand.

Dragged out of the darkened castle, she led him towards the guest lodgings.

The once-vibrant homes, bustling with laughter of families and the echoes of daily life, now stood as hollow as shells of their former selves. By the words of Wisteria herself, the people were taken into the air, but what he pictured in his mind was completely different from what she truly meant.

With a tug at his hand, she guided him to the site where the departed found their rest, a sea of bodies stretching the entire expanse of the tent that was set up for their shelter. In eerie symmetry, the slumbering figures rested in a similar pose, hands gently placed on their chests.

"I thought you said they were taken?"

"The creature in the skies took their souls for harvest."

Wisteria paused her words carrying otherworldly weight, before she went on,

"Their vacant souls will return back to their bodies, allowing the vacant soul to form new memories to continue the cycle"

"How long have you known? Why keep me into the dark until now?"

His eyes narrowed with a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"I couldn't, I wanted to… believe me…"

"No…"

Zerin's disbelief rang clearly, he could not believe the things he was hearing. This revelation struck a dissonant chord within him, questioning the very fabric of their existence. How could she so easily accept this? The realization of this world as a relentless mechanism, devouring souls only to recycle them for an endless loop, to him it was almost unforgivable.

"I am going to tell the priest everything you just said, but you must at least give me an explanation for why you held this from me."

-

-

-

Zerin's footsteps echoed through the silent corridors of the castle as he made his way to meet with the Priest, leaving Wisteria behind. He couldn't look at her the same way after what she had just said.

Raising his hand, Zerin's trembling fingers brushed lightly over his lips, a flush of color blooming across his cheeks.

'What a stupid reason...'

Descending the winding stone staircase, he navigated to the lowest floor where the air grew colder, a chill seeping into his bones as he continued down the narrow, clammy stone hallway.

Before the sturdy cellar door, muffled murmurs seeped through. Zerin knelt on the damp floor; his ear pressed against the weathered door. The faint sounds confirmed his suspicions. He summoned his staff and slowly pushed the door open. This time, luck was on his side as the door managed not to make the slightest noise.

Aware of a boundary he was about to cross, Zerin continued anyway. Peering cautiously from the doorway, the metallic coppery tang of blood assaulted his senses. In the center of the room, the Priest stood as straight as a needle, floating effortlessly above the ground, his gaze fixed.

Stealthily navigating the colossal tables that lined the out edges of the cellar, Zerin approached with caution. Gazing over the tables, he was greeted with an unexpecting sight: the Old man ensnared by sinewy tendrils of flesh, his voice silenced by a gag that stifled his cries, the source of the murmuring sounds that had echoed the damp chamber.

From the anguish etched on the Old man's features, Zerin observed his suffering. His gaze traveled downward finding the reason behind the man's torment. The void where his left arm once existed, severed at the elbow, was now replaced with a writhing mass of flesh, a grotesque manifestation that pulsed inflicting an unrelenting agony to the man.

Zerin watched the scene with complete indifference.

'It's what he deserves…'

The sinewy piece of flesh that bound the Old man's voice was abruptly lifted, defying gravity as it hovered in the air, peeling from his face with eerie fluidity.

"I think I've been very lenient, now provide me with answers to my questions."

The Priest's commanding voice spoke out.

The Old man's words tumbled out in a flurry, a messy torrent of desperation and fear.

"I-I shared everything with you! And leniency?! What concept of mercy do you grasp, you abomination!"

The Priest's response cut through the air like a blade, his voice ringing out with sharp intensity.

"Abomination?!"

The piece of flesh that was removed then was transformed into a spear within an instant.

"You fed my kin the flesh of your pitiful offspring... And yet, I am the abomination!?"

The Priest's voice dripped with venomous loathing, each word laced with a seething contempt that reverberated through the chamber.

"I should carve your organs from your feeble frame and offer them to the serpent, you wretched soul!"

The Priest's condemnation bore down with a weight that stirred tremors in the cellar, each syllable made Zerin's heart lurch.

Fear etched itself visibly on the Old man's face, he attempted to retreat from the menacing spear. Bound by the sinewy tendrils that pinned him against the wall, his struggle was futile. With a swift motion, the Priest drew the spear back, poised to deliver a fatal blow to the man's skull. Zerin stood unwavering, accepting the outcome with a sense of grim satisfaction. In his eyes, it was a fitting end for an old bastard.

"How about I do the same?"

The Priests halted, his words dripping with twisted enthusiasm.

"How about I offer your flesh to your beloved foster daughter, the one you hold even more dear than your very son?"

The Priest's words carried delight, relishing in the fear and desperation that formed on the Old man's face.

"Better yet, I'll do it while you can still draw breath, so you can watch…"

After hearing all of this, Zerin reached his limit, he has heard enough.

"That won't be necessary, this old bastard doesn't care about anyone but himself…"

Zerin didn't really care for the fate of the Old man. As long as his death was as gruesome as humanly possible, but he drew the line at unnecessary suffering of others, shocker…

The Priest's voice cut through the tense air without a glance towards Zerin, his question hanging ominously in the dimly lit cellar.

"Then, what do you believe is the fitting punishment?"

As the Old man's voice broke out in a desperate plea.

"My lord…"

Zerin's gaze bore into him with a mixture of disdain and the deepest scorn before he pivoted back to face the Priest.

The spear then morphed into a grotesque mass of flesh, as the Priest sent it forth swiftly covering the Old man's mouth, silencing him.

"We will escort him and the people that were 'taken' into the woods and we will find the goddess and she will settle our issues herself."

The Priest's head shook in disapproval, a gesture showing his rejection and skepticism.

"That notion is preposterous."

The Priest scoffed, his tone laced with an air of authority.

"You have yet to harness the intricate art of weaving the blood threads, and what misguided belief would make you think the goddess would help us solve any of our mortal affairs?"

"Do you believe she is incapable?"

"Absolutely not! The goddess is beyond such mundane matters. Bringing the people out in the wilderness would only pave the way for catastrophic loss of life"

His demeanor unwavering as he emphasized the danger of this course of action.

"I thought you held no regard for the people?"

Zerin confronted the Priest with a pointed question, challenging him.

"That's correct, I harbor no care for them. However, I refuse to witness your demise. The serpent will not grant you another chance."

"You claimed you could handle him, did you not? Why don't you follow through on that promise? I have faith in your capabilities."

His words cut through the tension, a hint of skepticism coloring his tone as he entrusted the Priest with the task at hand. Zerin's unsettling calmness added another layer of madness into the mix.

"Are you sane, boy?"

The Priest questioned as it turned its full body towards him.

Zerin nodded at his question.

With a resounding exhale, the Priest then spoke.

"Very well then… But you must step up and claim your rightful title as Lord, the people will not willingly follow me for obvious reasons.

A faint smile tugged at Zerin's lips, his gaze drifting to the dusty floor beneath him. Zerin murmured to himself.

"No matter how much I detested this, I had a feeling it was going to come to this eventually."

A soft whisper brushed against his ear.

[An attribute has been altered]