Vetia

A daughter was born in the priest's home. At her birth, the entire town of Vetia rejoiced. The flowers bloomed, the sun shone especially bright throughout the winter. It would rain heavily and, as soon as it stopped, be replaced by a humid heat. The farmers attributed the success of their yearly harvest to the priestess. The temple welcomed an endless sea of worshippers who came to celebrate the birth of the priestess. But as the congregation gathered together, dancing and singing, they approached the steps of the temple only to be turned away.

The worshippers stood in the heat of the sun until the cold blood moon rose into the sky. And then they stood out in the cold. Patience was a virtue. That was a vital belief. But towards the later part of the night, many grew restless. They banged on the gates of the temple. They cursed and made noise. They grew violent, so violent that the priest, who watched it all from above, grew disturbed by his followers.

They slowly pooled around the walls, threatening to break in if they were denied the blessings of the priestess. The priest warned them not to come to his doors with rage, for if God should see it, they would bring bad luck. But they did not pause their riot.

Troublemakers. Disbelievers. Terrorists. The priest called them all sorts of names. But his words were of no importance to them, for they had been blessed with a priestess. So when they yanked the gates open, the priest had no choice but to guard the room where his daughter lay. He hurriedly bolted the door shut, guarding it with all his might. Regardless of his efforts, the crowds pulled him aside and forced the door open.

They found the wife of the priest cradling the child in her hands, her eyes blazing red, her face streaked with tears and sweat, her unhealed body sprawled across the floor in an awkward manner, dressed in a black cloth. The woman broke into a scream as the people pushed forward.

"Give us the blessings of the priestess!"

"Why are you hiding the truth?" questioned another.

The mother, who had been cradling the child, was startled. She cast a glance at her child, pale and cold, before she looked up at the crowd, who had maintained a delicate boundary between them.

"The priestess is dead!" cried the priest, who had pulled himself out of the crowd.

"She has died from unknown causes. Our god has taken back his blessings," cried the priest, only to be met with groans and shrieks. The mother of the priestess began crying once more and pulled her daughter into the nape of her neck. She could not bear the sight of her daughter's blue lips. She was in mourning, and it was no better to be reminded of it.

"God has withheld his blessings!"

And with that, they all fell to the floor, praying and making amends for their sins, as if the death of a child was a result of their vice. They fell to the ground, some bowed in despair and clutched at their hearts. The words in the air cut into their hearts. A dead priestess. A prophecy unfulfilled. With the death of the priestess would come the death of all of Vetia.

In her embrace, the mother felt a gasp. And then the baby cried out in her ears. The mother held out her child, a weak little thing, scratching her face with her pale fingers. They all bore witness to the miracle performed. The child, once blue, now grew pale, then a bright orange color.

And when the eyes of the baby opened, it spoke words of sincerity that expressed divinity.

...

He had no pulse. Lilia was getting rather impatient. Nobody dared to step forward and get Hanno. They had all scattered as soon as the boy had fallen from the roof. Even though the boy had not bled, his eyes remained open, his face drained of all color. Lilia came rushing to his side as soon as she heard the screaming.

She held his head in her arms. She spoke no words; she only stared into the distance. It remained that way, mother and son plastered in place since evening. The servants simply stared at them from their places. The cook from the kitchen window, the cleaner from the living room window, all gazed into the throng below.

A wind blew in their direction. A sudden darkness took over the Galloway Manor, as if the sky had suddenly willed for rain, long withheld. All of them were seized by a sudden drowsiness, and they fell to the floor in unison. All except Lilia, who remained fixated on the nothingness before her.

Pitch-black darkness. She was enveloped in its cold stare. All of a sudden, mother and son were thrust into a space where there was no direction, nothing beneath her feet, nothing above her head. Harbinger stood before her with his tattered cloak, disarmed. His gaze was empty of any feeling.

He did not speak a word, yet he spoke. "I've come to fulfill my promise."

Lilia stared at him with a pained frown. And for the first time, she unfroze, her grip on the cold body tightening. "You can't do this to me," she croaked through her cries.

"It's not my decree,"

"It's not fair!"

"You are no judge of what is fair and what is not," the Harbinger scolded her with a sickeningly loud echo.

Lilia looked at her son. She had prayed for years for this miracle, she had taken care of him through her own illness, she had sacrificed everything for her prayers to be heard. And she was blessed with the boy in her arms, only for it to be taken away.

"How long do we have?"

"He is slipping away," Harbinger stared at her with sudden urgency.

"He isn't supposed to," said she, panicked and irked.

"He won't."

Lilia was suddenly overcome with rage. Unfair. It was all unfair. "Why?" she asked softly. "Why has he decreed this? Why would he want me to sacrifice for my son?"

"Your soul is dear."

"Then why take it?" she begged him, despite the feeling of dread that shadowed over them.

Harbinger turned on his heel, ready to leave. He turned his neck only to say, "He is tied to another. Your god is not cruel to take away both guides of humanity," before walking away.

When Hanno opened his eyes, it was only for a moment that he saw it happen. His mother stood up from beside him, his head slipped onto the hard concrete once more, and then she walked in the direction of the hooded figure. Not once did she respond to his calls. Not once did she turn around to answer his questions. And he fell unconscious once more.

It was nightfall then, when they all awoke to the sight of the mother and son. One breathing, one not.