Show them the way

Merrin stared at her, then scowled. There was indeed nothing he could do. Reluctantly, he nodded, uncertain of what her words meant, but settled back onto the black cloth beneath him. Despite the sister's soothing tone, his heart still pounded so forcefully that he worried those nearby could hear it. They must not. He could not afford to reveal fear…The one meant to safeguard others should harbor none.

At the sight of the Gresendent sister, many slaves recoiled in dread, while others edged closer to Merrin. Their terror was justified; his was not.

The Gresendent sister remained silent for a while, then finally, with a single step forward, she said, "Odd that you, who isn't a brightCrown, were born a caster."

Merrin frowned at the words that pressed hard into his heart. It was over. They would take him…Shouldn't he do something? But could he truly stop them? He was a caster, surely there was something he could do…

If there was, did you think you could win against a Gresendent sister?

Merrin's eyes lowered. Indeed, there was nothing he could achieve…

The sister continued. "However, a promise has been made. And I swore myself to the ten oaths. A broken promise would mean my words were a lie."

Just then, Merrin realized he was speaking to the sister who had allowed his death in exchange for the slaves' lives. He should thank her for that. But her words…Did that mean I was being allowed to stay here? A slave and a caster? An odd combination.

The sister raised her gaze, the veil over her wrinkling like pinched flesh. "However, the fact remains that you are a caster. One chosen by the symbols—marks of the Almighty. Though your order is yet to be known, it changes nothing…But, my words were spoken; now the matter is how long the promise was meant?"

Merrin gaped. "What? You promised I'd get to stay in the mines with them!"

"Perhaps, but was that truly the case?" The sister crossed her hands behind. "I said you could stay with them as a miner, but I never said for how long. So, in light of that, you have seven days before a caster would come to take you. You are an Ashman- your home is the cindry range, the territory of the Valor clan. Hence, depending on your order, you might be sent to the valor clan or remain in Nightfell."

Mists! Merrin clenched his jaw. "What order do I need to be in to stay here?" There was hope still.

"Here?" The sister glanced through the room, or at least it felt like such. "I apologize, but after seven days, you won't likely be returning to these mines. As for the order—becoming a veilCounsel would make you owned by the house of Noctis, while a Bladesworn, valor. Anything other than that would require the church to make the decision. "

Merrin's breath echoed hectically. He couldn't hide it anymore. His fear showed through the wet souse. "What if I were not a caster?" It seemed a stupid question.

"If you were not a caster, the fact remains—you accomplished something only one of their kind could. But if you were not, then you must be a fallen. And for a fallen to hold such a human form, it would signify that you are no acolyte, but a defiled fallen. That being the case, a venerate or sacred caster will be summoned to end you."

Those words sent a cold wave down his bones…Don't I deserve this? Don't I deserve to live with no obstacles?

Merrin felt tears bubbling in his eyes….But no. Not before them.

"…Uhm, not the sunBringer!" a soft voice suddenly said beside him. "They won't take the sunBringer!" Moeash's voice sounded weak yet reverberated strongly through the cave.

"Yeah! Who do you think you are coming here trying to take the sunBringer?" a slave within the crowd shouted—his voice was male.

"sunBringer?" the sister staggered back. "Is this profanity?"

No!

"Ma'rim!" Ron suddenly said, moving forward, hands folded into his sleeves. "These words confusing, hmm. They speak, not knowing meaning. Words spoken from sight, not knowledge. I plead you, well, forgive."

The sister glared at him. "I see," she said. "Very well, but speak such words nor the truth of yourself as a caster no more, or the church will have to cleanse it from your lips."

Many whispers flooded through the crowd, some sending odd eyes towards the sister. "We witnessed the sun!" another said from the crowd, this time female.

"That was no sun!' the sister retorted. "This was simply a snap into power. Unusually aggressive, yes, but not a sun." Her gaze felt hot against him. Those words, he knew, were meant for him. To cull any ego developed from that event.

She was right in her words.

Ron bowed slightly, his towering form revealing redundancy in the action. "This known, known to all. We thank for grace. Halo."

"Halo." The Gresendent sister said curtly, "Now." She glanced at Merrin—a shiver flooding his body. "You are an acolyte, chosen; however, do not attempt to cast till the official caster arrives in seven days. Danger exists in reckless indulgence." She said, turned, and left.

The light of the froststones barely shone over her.

And with that, silence dawned. While Merrin found himself breathless, countless eyes now pierced him, watching, awaiting a response. What was he to them now? A caster seemed less beholden than a sunBringer. Whatever a sunBringer was. Would they lose the reverence, passion, and desire for him?

She still took it without gaining me. The slaves would now have doubts. The ones he had saved at the expense of his life would lose faith.

He felt empty, hollow.

A voice broke through. "The sunBringer is different," Moeash said, eyes lowered, his rag still rubbing over Merrin's chest. "The sunBringer is not a caster." He said in a hushed voice, yet there was something else in them, Merrin sensed. Was it disgust? Disgust for casters?

I can't judge.

Moeash kept cleaning, his eyes moving to the crowd. "What did you people see? A caster taking minutes to cast or a miracle?" Tears flowed down. "The sunBringer is no caster. You've seen it; I have seen it. I know it's true."

"This is true!" Ron heckled. "Him, so much more."

Strange how he didn't call him a sunBringer like the rest. Why was that? Merrin suddenly felt a memory linger unattained in his mind. What was it? Did it matter?

A voice spoke from the crowd. "Yes! We saw the sun. We witnessed it!'

"Yes, we all did!"

What followed was a cacophony of screams, cheers. "Yes! They won't take him. We, the sun witnesses, would not allow it." There was laughter, joy, passion, and reverence. It was a beautiful melody that echoed through the cave. And how much he loved it.

Merrin watched the slaves chatter with boastful smiles and words…. And again, he vowed not to lose them. And more he adored Moeash for what he had done.

He had saved the faith that these people had in him, which in turn pushed away the abyss of despair that soaked in. That was more of a miracle than anything these people said he did, and he was greatly thankful for it.

His gaze returned to the crowd.

Show them the way.

Merrin's thoughts whispered, but it was no condemnation, instead, it was a voice of truth, of reason. It was something he needed to do. Thus, he did it so.

"You have birthed me, and now I raise you.

"Take us to paradise!" A man in the crowd said. His face was bony, eyes sunken, and lips torn. He crawled, hands searing against the floor, sending whiffs of burned meat. The man cared little for it and readily reached for Merrin, but was stopped by the slaves who chose to guard him.

"Time passes," the man said, his hands stretching far towards Merrin, yet his body was wrapped around by a slave. A slave that held him from what he desired….What was it?

Me!

"Soon, I would be too old to see or live. Time passes, bring us paradise. Let us see the rain and steam before death takes us…Before it takes me."

Merrin knew his weakness, but somehow, before those old eyes that knew only pain and agony, he gained strength. Pressing his hand to the ground, he leaned forward, breath held against a respire. "I promise you this."

The world was flooded with a greyness. Calming. Yet this was far important.

"My words were the same as I freed you from death as they are now. "

The crowd edged closer.

More. "You seek paradise?" he looked at the old man, and he quivered back. "Do you know where paradise is?"

What am I saying? He wondered, but could not stop. The same strange power that took him in the gray world surged. It gave him clarity of mind as though everything whispered knowledge. The world, a pool of words. An intuition of sorts.