Birth Of A Nightmare

In a cell, with rats scurrying about and moss congealed against the stone walls, there sat a girl slouched against the wall, breathing in the humid air as she tried not to suffocate from it.

"My mother always told me to never betray my love of the present for the love of a vision."

"My mother left me on the road."

"Mine left me at a mining outpost!"

"Mine was good for nothing," the prisoners said, as they sat against the dilapidated walls.

The mildew lined the corners. One of the prisoners turned to Saoirse.

"If your mother was so great, what are you doing here?"

Exhaling, Saoirse whimpered as she wrapped her arms around her knees, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Her brow furrowed as the light bled into the cell where they sat, illuminating her abyss black eyes and translucent skin.

"I see," one of the prisoners muttered.

There were heavy footsteps—each one echoing louder than the last.

Saoirse felt the dread bubbling in her stomach, a deep, sinking feeling.

I am going to die, she thought.

The walk to the town square was agonizing—the weight of what was about to happen crushed her.

When she finally accepted her death, a pyre emerged among the heads of the people gathered in the town square.

Then Saoirse began to shout:

"No! You mean to burn me!"

She struggled against the guards… and then stopped. She accepted her fate once again.

They tied her to the pyre, and she hung there as the people shouted:

"Monster!"

"Demon!"

As the torch was thrown, the people began to cheer.

Saoirse flinched, expecting pain—but when her body was lit on fire… she did not burn.

Silence echoed throughout the town square. The people's complexions turned ghastly.

"This could only mean one thing," the Arbiter stated.

The skies began to hurl themselves against the ground. The wind picked up. The torchlight flickered in the raindrops.

The clergy members gathered around, sitting in awe.

"Get her down from there."

Saoirse stared forward, her eyes hollowed out as they took her down from the pyre.

She walked—shocked by the malevolence she had just been regarded with.

Nobody ever gets anything they want through loyalty to the present, she thought to herself—hatred welling up in her bloodshot eyes.

Across the aqueduct, where Saoirse resided...

---

 The regents haught on their throne, as they gazed upon their dying civilization… the weight of their words crushing whatever spirit the people had left in them. The decay disguised by ornate buildings and sprawling statues that betrayed their sunken eyes and wretched complexions 

Thus the town wept "You who once made me, in your image, through your aspirational essence, what has become of you?" 

 The people, seemingly aware of this… condemnation, scurried about hunched over, to avert themselves from the gaze of the statues and heights of the towers. The long lifespan of the empire had estranged them from its purpose.

 to the west of the city, a castle built into the base of the mountain was a bastion, the last whisper of nobility. Within that castle, there was a chamber, and in that chamber sat King Syphus.

The chamber was lit with various colors, each contrasting against the marble floor. On that floor, before the king—who slumped on his throne with the most lackadaisical of dispositions—stood an arbiter, draped in robes decorated with golden accents.

There the king the weight of the crown showed on his countenance through his weary eyebrows frowning lips and tired eyes.

"I've allotted this time to the clergy and, by extension, to you, to voice grievances. You may speak," the king said, waving his hand dismissively.

"My king—or rather, our king—we come with a proposition, one on which the longevity of our nation hinges."

"In the deepest study of our highest members, we have discovered a blight within the human mind; nestled so deeply, it may even be considered primordial in nature."

"Go on," spoke the king.

"A proclivity toward decadence and hedonism with the surge in population."

"And what do you propose to solve this?" the king asked, deep in contemplation.

"There is no solution, my king. This is predestined, based on the gods' blueprint. The people have grown fat and comfortable due to your noble rule. They no longer see a need for authority or a king. They've become used to order, to structure—"

The king interrupted, "They have become blind to the role it plays in their lives."

"And so, the earth must rest, the soil must... the cycle of life must continue—"

"Through our deaths," the king finished.

A deep melancholy possessed the king. "I've done everything in my power for the longevity of this empire. I conquered all their gods and made them bow before ours. But even in conquering their gods, I suppose we have to face ourselves in the end, don't we?" Slouching further in his chair, the despair weighed heavily on him, almost as harsh as the crown he bore.

"I'm sorry, my king. I'm afraid your reign will be the last. But that's not to say you can't make the fire burn bright, even for just a little bit longer…"

The king glanced at his son, Julius, Aralius Marcellus, and lastly, his daughter Clementine.

"When will I know this empire's days are numbered?" the king asked.

"When the people cry for freedom," the arbiter said. "From the gods, they feel confined but don't understand that they need to protect themselves from each other."

"But this rebellion can never be satiated. The desire for liberation will never end. One day, they will cry to be freed from even life itself—freed from the pain and suffering it entails. And then all will be lost to time. The human soul, in its desire to be liberated and freed, will stagnate and trap itself in vice.

In a cathedral that sat on the edge of the city:

"Girl, what is your name?"

A priest stood before her, his robes dragging against the ground.

Saoirse mutters.

The priest scowls.

"The sight of you is an eyesore enough. You'd do well to speak up when you are being addressed."

His voice echoes against the walls, the painted windows illuminating the chamber in an array of colors.

"Saoirse," she states sternly, her eyes glazed over.

"Do you have any idea what has been done?" the man remarks.

Saoirse remains silent.

"Centuries of faith and order... belief brought into question in one afternoon.

You're not even human in the slightest... yet the god that we worship chose you."

Saoirse looks up, the sunlight melting into her ash-brown hair.

"My… mother was a human…"

The priest's gaze softens.

"Your mother adopted you. You're merely a monster in human skin."

"I see," she whimpers, as a tear hits the ground.

"It's not a crying matter. No need for tears.

What matters now is that you're no longer a street urchin. You must carry yourself as such," he sighs.

He offers her his hand.

Saoirse glances at him, slowly giving him her hand.

"Henceforth, I will be your guardian. And when I am dead, I will have seen to it that nobody will question your legitimacy again.

We will begin your education tomorrow."

"Sister Amiliya," Saoirse sees a woman in her peripheral—leaning against the inside of the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Let's get this one a bath... and some porridge."

The room is lit by a warm hearth, the embers dancing toward the heavens—yet caged by their brief lifespans.

Sister Amiliya sits across from Saoirse, who eats her porridge slowly, her crimson eyes shimmering in the candlelight.

"How does it taste?" she asks.

"Good," Saoirse replies dryly, with a soft smile.

"Good... well, there will be plenty more."

Saoirse finishes the last of her porridge, then drinks the broth from the bowl.

"If you keep eating your food like that, you and I are going to get along just fine."

Saoirse giggles.

"Come. Let me show you to your room."

The next day, Saoirse is woken to the sound of a bell at dawn, in the courtyard of the cathedral.

"Good morning, good morning! You adorable little imps—get washed, get dressed, and eat by the time the sun has fully risen. Otherwise—well... we will have to do unthinkable things to you lot."

The children stand there—some curious, some frightened, some not paying attention.

"Greetings. I am your instructor. You may refer to me as Father Cornelius. I will be in charge of your physical conditioning."

A woman enters the courtyard.

"And I am in charge of your military education. You may call me Victoria—no need for formalities."

"And I am Augustus," a man says softly. "I will be overseeing your academic progress in regards to the sacred texts."

Saoirse glances at the other children.

"When your name is called, you will step forward," they say in unison.

"Julius..."

There is a pause, and a boy with raven-black, fluffy hair steps forward.

"John..."

A blond-haired boy with a bun steps forward eagerly, his gaze fixed on the teachers.

"Arceus..."

A moment passes.

"Acreus," they repeat.

He gets pushed by another kid to the front—half asleep.

"Yeah, yeah."

Victoria sighs.

"I can already tell this one's a troublemaker…"

"We are all troubled in some way," Augustus remarks.

"Name a child who has never gotten into trouble—such a child does not exist."

Saoirse steps forward, soaking in the countenance of everyone before her.

"You will be a member of the Church of Elanor from this day forward. Kneel and drink from the sacred water, and be born anew."

Eunuchs with cut tongues bring a chalice and bow, handing it to each of the children who stand before the members of the church.

They each take a sip of the water.

A moment after Saoirse takes a sip, she feels a cold wave wash over her—freezing, though the sun is beating down on her. The hair on her skin stands up. The borders of her mind begin to open. She is pulled further and further away from the physical plane...

And there—the pantheon greets her.

She floats before the vast expanse. She hears a voice reverberate throughout her mind.

The choir sings to her, but not in voice—through resonance, through emotion.

She feels like she was robbed of something.

Like she was told to obey something lesser.

And for that, she would not stand.

It is a deep hatred, with muted sorrow.

She feels that, if let loose, she would tear the pantheon asunder.

Then she hears a voice:

"This is what we guard the realm against.

What path will you walk—Essence or Spirit?"

"You may choose two."

"What's the difference?"

"Essence: the elements. Matter. Physicality. The material.

Spirit: the mechanisms that govern the elements.

And Mind... Mind is the union of the two."

"You, daughter of the night and heir to the earth, are capable of wielding both—in time. But that time has not yet come."

"You can choose to create, or to change.

But all roads lead to the same destination."

"I... choose change."

In an instant, Saoirse finds herself back before the members of the Church.

Thunder crackles around her, and winds bellow.

Where the two forces meet, the heavenly flame erupts in a kaleidoscope of colors.

She glances at the other children beside her—

Bricks fade in and out of existence around one of them.

Another's eyes are abyss-black, with ice crystals dancing around him.

"Remember this well: this is the closest you will be to your power within your lifetime.

Your mind and heart have struck a chord with the divine through the sacred water."

"You have achieved resonance. Now, you will learn to dance the song of the universe."

The children get excited.

"But know that this is not a privilege—it is a burden.

Give to your nation, and your nation will give back to you."

"Everyone here is an orphan of some kind.

I hope that here, you will find a family."

More eunuchs emerge, handing each child a chalice...