《Catalyst Of The Divine》


 Symphony Of Tattered Hearts

    "I was once helpless and believed that because I could do no harm, I would do no harm, and I called that moral. I was once afraid of my own potential and called that humble. It was only through the lawless entropy of the frontier and then on the frontlines that I truly came to understand the truth: the power of ideology, faith, and belief. This means holding yourself to a standard that you can only imagine. It means that the whims of your personal sentiment do not discriminate when discerning the righteous from the damned.


    But these higher causes, these virtues, these principles, are the enemies of love. Man kills himself for honor; man kills another for justice. Love does the same thing, but I think these are far crueler. When you kill out of principle and not sentiment, you make the most treacherous thing¡ªarbitrary. And I believe the greatest evil you can commit against the Earth, God, and yourself is indifference, as this world was bestowed upon us."


    So I choose to love, to live knowing that I will suffer, because this is the cost of the gift of passion, the gift of love. I refuse to deny my humanity. Principle is what ties us to the divine, not to the image God made us in"


    Someplace, somewhere, somehow. In a warm cottage, a man takes solace only because he has a wife, daughter, and son to come home to.


    Camila sits there, the mundanity of the day beginning to weigh on her face. Camila''s mom interrupts her idleness with a hand on the shoulder. The warm hearth behind Camilla''s mom casts a great shadow on her heart. Camila was different, skin as pale as the tundra, the blue sky reflecting off it... Veins stretched across her skin like a nebula, eyes as pitch black as the cosmos, nails as hard as a tempered sword, and fangs sharper than a court Jester''s wit. Camila''s mom looks at her with a muted tone of concern on her face. "Camila? Would you like to join us for supper?" Camila turns away as if her heart were laid naked and bare upon her face. "No, you know how I feel about that," Camila says, her voice shaking as if the very proposition moved the foundation of her being, her same heart collapsing in on itself. A pensive look possesses Camila''s mom"Everybody loves you, Camila, despite the fact that you eat." Camila interrupts her mom, Laila, in a somber tone as if she were pleading, her voice as dry as the winter air, "Please don''t say it," she says. The embers from the hearth danced within the still silence. Camila''s mother kisses her on the forehead and leaves. Leaving Camila to eat in solitude and quiet, with each bite of her meal reverberating through Camilla, reminding her of what she is not.


    In the cottage''s main room, John, Camila''s younger brother, approaches Camila with uncertainty, but his curiosity overtakes him. "Camila, what are you drawing?" John asks. "It''s a way to water our fields so we don''t have to rely on the whims of nature," Camila responds, a


    ---


    A look of excitement flashes across Camila''s face. John looks perplexed. "We''re not arbiters or enforcers, so how can we not rely on the whims of nature?" John teases Camila, highlighting the whims of nature in a dramatic tone.


    Camila laughs softly. "Well, John, water flows downward; that is a fact. It pulls upwards as we drink water. What if there was something that could imitate that? I was thinking about using the river, but the water level is below the field, and we bathe in it. People have been getting sick. If we can come up with a way to pull the water up from the well constantly, we can both water our fields and have clean drinking water."


    John takes a moment to process everything Camila says, his eyes darting back and forth as he pieces it together. "Why haven''t you presented this to the judge? This would change everything, not just for our village but for the entire fief¡ªno, the entire world."


    Camila laughed, tossing and rolling as if consumed with the madman''s insight. "Easy there, megalomaniac. Let''s try to solve our issues first." John''s boisterous joy quickly fades as soon as it arrives. Camila''s face shifts back to neutral, as if someone flipped a switch in her.


    "I''m not a megalomaniac; I''m just the finest fighter in the village," John says with false boisterousness.


    "Is that what you say after the girls in the village laugh you out of the tavern?" Camila retorts dryly.


    "Camila, whenever you''re having fun, it''s like you have a realization and just shut off," John says cautiously.


    "What do you know?" Camila asks rhetorically with a violent hiss, nostrils flaring. John''s eyes grow wide briefly, the dread bubbling up from his bowels, yet it feels like an eternity for Camila. Tears well up in her eyes. "You too, huh?" she whimpers and begins sobbing, interrupted by brief hiccups.


    John Grapples with the guilt in his heart "Camila, you know I''d do anything for you." But John''s compassion quickly turns to anger. "Why do you play this self-pitying game? I don''t know. It''s gone on for so long that it''s as if you like to hate yourself. Any man in his right mind should and would be scared of you. You are not harmless. Perhaps it''s time you embraced that fact. Accept it or forever be at war with yourself. The other boys my age and I have training in the morning, so come watch or don''t. It''s of no consequence to me because when it''s all said and done, you''re still my sister, and my blood flows through you." John walks away, leaving Camila to her own devices.


    While falling asleep, Camila''s beams of moonshine illuminate her pale blue skin against the brown fur blanket. She ponders her brother''s words: "My brother only wants what''s best for me. I''ve never really seen what he does. I''ve never even asked or displayed any curiosity, but he''s always asking me what I''m doing. w...a... I...t...." Camila drifts off to sleep as the fog comes over her consciousness.


    Camila''s peaceful slumber is broken by cold water on her face. She wakes up, looking around, as up is down and left is right. She tries to get her bearings.


    "Welcome back to the earthly plane, dear sis," John says. Camila stares at John as if she can see him, but she can''t; the idea of John pulling a prank on her as if they were children is just confusing.John looks at Camila, A mischievous grin stretched across his face . "Yes, I know... but I couldn''t allow you to run away, dear sister. Here are some of my old work clothes, and eat breakfast. You''re going to need it."


    "Christopheles, you will become knighted with this action. A test of loyalty," the arbiter states. "You must understand the burden of being the wall that defends our system of beliefs from those who would impose their will on the crown."


    The arbiter continues, "Explain why these peasants who rebelled against their lord shouldn''t be killed." The crowd stares at Christopheles with looks of anticipation and confusion. Christopheles looks at the crowd, then to the lord, and finally to the peasants. "I can''t decide," Christopheles says.


    The arbiter nods at Christopheles and callously states, "Well then," before snapping his fingers. A column of flame erupts, engulfing the peasants, the lord, and his family. Christopheles'' eyes go wide, and he falls to his knees.


    "If you cannot take responsibility to both save life by taking another and take a life by saving another, if you lack the will to act, then you lack the will to bear the burden that being commissar entails," the arbiter says in a monotonous tone. The common folk and the nobles begin casting stones at Christopheles.


    Christopheles looks at the arbiters and the people in the crowd; scorn radiates from his eyes. Fire in his sternum fills him with frenzy, but his composure tempers his fury. He stands up tall before what these people revere as deities. "It is not the peasants or the lord that should have died; it is you," Christopheles utters, the weight of his words as heavy as the will of the people behind him.


    The arbiter tilts his head. In his usual tone, he asks, "How so?"


    Christopheles responds, "Is the heart of the people not a derivative of the ruler''s deficits! You people hermitize yourselves, deprive yourselves of life, view it as the greatest evil to indulge in, and yet you dictate the lives of those who love and live. These people are deprived of life, so when you tax them and yet bring neither the nobles nor the peasants any solace in their security, they rebel and condemn each other, but not the people who set the foundation for them. You had everything so you thought it fit to not want. They had nothing so they thought it fit to want. The people will always represent the deficits of the rulers, as a heart desires what it lacks. As for the nobles, they are a rope strung between polarities and priorities, preventing the flow of causality from falling apart. I believe you played a role in this too, since this fief is under your protection. The responsibility falls on you as well."


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    A moment passes. The light begins to bend and warp around the arbiter. The arbiter''s hand reaches for his dagger against his will, thrusting it into his jugular. Blood rains down, splattering on the ground, a requiem for the lives that were taken. One arbiter steps forward, the sun gleaming off her gold beads into Christopheles'' eyes. Her animosity and loss manifest as a single tear on the ground. She looks up at Christopheles and says, "In time, you will understand how and why... Seize him."


    ---


    Camilia heaves the cold air that grates at her lungs and throat as she plops herself on the ground. Her respite is interrupted by the sound of her name being yelled. Camilia perks up her head and darts around, looking perplexed. She spots a boy running down the village towards where she is sitting.


    "Camilia, the judge wishes to see you; he says it''s important," the boy says between heavy breaths.


    On her way to the judge''s residence, she ponders on what he could possibly want; her mind comes up blank. When she arrives at the judge''s house, she''s met by her mother and guards. Camilia glances at the judge, then to the guards, then to her mother, and repeats it all again.


    "Mother? What''s happening?" Camilia asks, her voice tinged with confusion and concern. Her mother turns away, and Camilia knows what her mother is feeling but she can''t understand why.


    The judge''s voice cuts through the silence. "Camilia, what is this?" The judge asks, holding up Camilia''s drawings and notes.


    Camilia looks up with confusion. "It''s a water pump," she replies.


    The judge folds his hands behind his back. "And what does this water pump do, Camilia?"


    Camilia''s eyes light up with excitement. "It moves water up from the ground. I was going to combine it with the water wheel so that it would move water by itself."


    The judge takes a good look at Camilia and says, "Very well then." His heart pangs, but he cannot fight off an endearing smile, a smile sprung from paternal affection. She will never know who he is or what he did for her.


    Camilia grins and giggles, her unkempt hair as unruly as ever. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks.


    "All the people in the village are my children, regardless of their strange inclinations or origins," the judge replies with a chuckle. "How is the training with your brother progressing?"


    Camilia puts her hands on her hips and postures up. "I''m on the path to becoming the finest fighter in the village," she says proudly.


    "Oh lord, I see you''ve absorbed some of your brother''s constitution during the time you''ve spent with him," the judge says with a smile before taking a pensive look. "Camilia, what do you want to do with your life?" he asks, uncertainty in his voice.


    Camilia''s eyes become glazed. "I don''t know," she stutters.


    "Have you ever thought of becoming a general or even a magus?" the judge suggests.


    Camilia looks at the judge with confusion. "How would I pay for the education?" she asks.


    The judge smiles. "Well, Camilia, with this you may even be able to become a noblewoman."


    Camilia pauses for a second. "Oh... Ohhh... Oh... What about my brother and my mother?"


    "They are happy for you and they are going to help you produce it," the judge reassures her.


    Camilia processes what the judge says, freezes, a tear fights up her tear ducts, and a frenzy of warmth fills her heart. She panics and clutches her sternum. Camilia thinks for a second and realizes... it''s the love her family has for her.


    In a dank, decrepit cell with mildew lining the corners and rats scurrying about, a prisoner slouches against the corner of her cell. She is broken, betrayed, and anemic. The light slowly inches towards her chamber. She waits with anticipation so pungent it chokes her. The footsteps echo within the desolate expanse of her mind, so deprived of stimulation. The prisoner thinks to herself, "Have they finally come to execute me?"


    The footsteps grow louder, and the doors screech open. A man stands there, his posture radiating sternness. " Clotho Borales, your audience is demanded by the clergy." Clotho squints, trying to inquire why, but she can''t; her throat is as coarse as sandpaper. The man looks down at Clotho. He raises his hood as her eyes adjust to the light. "What has become of you, Clotho?" A tear comes down the man''s face, and he carries Clotho out from the cellar. He gives her water and puts her on his back, carrying her out of the cellar as she nods off to sleep.


    Clotho wakes up in a room with ornate curtains and carved gold with elaborate engravings decorating the edges and corners of every item in the room. She thinks to herself, "Somebody wants something from me." Once again, she hears footsteps, this time they seem confident. She notices the time between the sounds of the steps and thinks, "This person seems to be walking with some purpose¡ªa sense of urgency, probably a servant or a high-ranking noble." The door opens, and a high-ranking noble with a silver-lined cloak and extravagant attire appears, with almond-colored hair.


    The noble looks at Clotho. "You served King Raphael, correct?" Clotho nods. "It has been brought to my attention by my sources within the court that there is a conspiracy against the crown by the clergy. This weighs on my mind heavily because I know what this empire, built upon the back of your deeds, did to you. And yet I dare ask this of you: if you would obligate yourself to the crown¡ªno, the people¡ªonce more, I would give you my vessel. I am but a bastard and have no achievements to my name, nor strength or intelligence like my brothers."


    Clotho musters up a whisper. "Yet it seems your soul has no less vitality, no less essence. I will not take your vessel, child. It is the Great Mother''s gift to you and not yours to give." Clotho smiles warmly. "My child, you need not graft my soul to your body to bestow my divine spark upon you." The prince smiles pleasantly. "Good answer It was never necessary to begin with" the prince remarks . There''s a procedure that grafts the soul of a person to a homunculus. you will be freeing yourself and damning yourself to a seemingly eternal existence on the earthly plain you will never see the weight of your deeds not because you will not be a witness because you will be detached from the mother and give yourself over to the father and you will return to her when you find your heart once more" an uncharacteristic serious tone possess the prince. "Alternatively I will allow you to live out your days in peace in this very castle but know you damn us all" clotho finally musters up the strength to speak over here decrepit state "I will aid you" She states, her resolve set.


    The morning sun peeks over the horizon, illuminating the sky in streaks of seemingly endless shades of purple, orange, and blue. The birds begin to sing, and the morning bell for the villagers to meet for breakfast tolls. In the longhouse, John converses with his best friend William.


    "You know, William, the morning bell brings bittersweet dread. It''s full of dread because of the long day of work ahead, but at the same time hopeful because it means we weren''t raidedby bandits or befallen by a plague. It is also bittersweet because I know I have to see your ugly mug as the second thing in the morning after seeing that beautiful sunrise." William looks up from his food, which he was seemingly enamored by, while letting out a soft but hearty chuckle. "And here I was thinking I wouldn''thave your tongue up my arse today after besting you in a sparring match, but here you are," William says.


    John opens his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, feigning endearment and hospitality. "Here I am, like a fly drawn to shit. I''m just fulfilling my role in nature, trying my best to remove vile vagabonds like yourself, whose only redeeming quality is that they allow new life to grow." William and John stare at each other briefly before a girl named Meredith interjects. "Well, why don''t y''all stop flirting with each other and eat your food," she says belligerently. John and William both break into laughter. John and William both say to each other, "Eat your food, you cunt." And so they eat.


    After breakfast, the villagers meet up at the newly built wheelhouse attached to the also newly built automated water pump. John feels someone violently grab him and is startled. It''s the judge. "John, where''s Camila? Today is meant to celebrate her. How could we announce the water pump''s completion without her here?" John looks at the judge, confused. "What do you mean she''s not here?"


    John reflects on the previous days and notices that during training, Camila did seem out of it and hasn''t been interacting with people as much. John looks at the judge with a contemplative and distant stare. "She must be sad about something. I''ll go talk to her," he says. John walks into the house and finds Camila in her room, sobbing. John sits beside her on the bed. "Camila, what''s wrong? All the villagers are excited to see your invention, something we''ve all invested our sweat and time into. Don''t you want to see the fruits of your labor?"


    "Yes, John! I do, but at the same time, I can''t bring myself to look at it. I don''t want to leave you guys. I cherish you all, and it''s like I''ve just discovered the world again. I finally began talking to the villagers, only to leave again," Camila begins sobbing and sniffling.


    John grabs Camila''s hand and says to her, "Camila, life demands we move on. You¡­us being separated from the family was inevitable, by choice or circumstance. You see, eventually Mom and Dad will grow old, and even if we are by each other''s side, we will have to get married¡ªyou to a lad and me to a lass, unless you''re into lasses."


    A laugh bubbles up from Camila''s chest, and she says, "Of course not," to John. John gives a mischievous smile before returning to his previous demeanor. "Understand, dear sis?" Camila nods her head, tears flowing, and hugs John, clinging to him as if he were her lifeline and the world were turbulent waters. John cradles Camila awkwardly. "You crybaby. Now, why don''t we go test the water pump you designed?"

 Those Who Betray Themselves

    "Christopheles, you will become knighted with this action. A test of loyalty," the arbiter states. "You must understand the burden of being the wall that defends our system of beliefs from those who would impose their will on the crown."


    The arbiter continues, "Explain why these peasants who rebelled against their lord shouldn''t be killed." The crowd stares at Christopheles with looks of anticipation and confusion. Christopheles looks at the crowd, then to the lord, and finally to the peasants. "I can''t decide," Christopheles says.


    The arbiter nods at Christopheles and callously states, "Well then," before snapping his fingers. A column of flame erupts, engulfing the peasants, the lord, and his family. Christopheles'' eyes go wide, and he falls to his knees.


    "If you cannot take responsibility to both save life by taking another and take a life by saving another, if you lack the will to act, then you lack the will to bear the burden that being commissar entails," the arbiter says in a monotonous tone. The common folk and the nobles begin casting stones at Christopheles.


    Christopheles looks at the arbiters and the people in the crowd; scorn radiates from his eyes. Fire in his sternum fills him with frenzy, but his composure tempers his fury. He stands up tall before what these people revere as deities. "It is not the peasants or the lord that should have died; it is you," Christopheles utters, the weight of his words as heavy as the will of the people behind him.


    The arbiter tilts his head. In his usual tone, he asks, "How so?"


    Christopheles responds, "Is the heart of the people not a derivative of the ruler''s deficits! You people hermitize yourselves, deprive yourselves of life, view it as the greatest evil to indulge in, and yet you dictate the lives of those who love and live. These people are deprived of life, so when you tax them and yet bring neither the nobles nor the peasants any solace in their security, they rebel and condemn each other, but not the people who set the foundation for them. You had everything so you thought it fit to not want.


    They had nothing so they thought it fit to want. The people will always represent the deficits of the rulers, as a heart desires what it lacks. As for the nobles, they are a rope strung between polarities and priorities, preventing the flow of causality from falling apart. I believe you played a role in this too, since this fief is under your protection. The responsibility falls on you as well."


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    A moment passes. The arbiter''s hand reaches for his dagger against his will, thrusting it into his jugular. Blood rains down, splattering on the ground, a requiem for the lives that were taken. One arbiter steps forward, the sun gleaming off her gold beads into Christopheles'' eyes. Her animosity and loss manifest as a single tear on the ground. She looks up at Christopheles and says, "In time, you will understand how and why... Seize him."


    The humid cellar groans and creaks as the foundation shifts with the earth. Christopheles, kneeling, prays to his angel for guidance, yet he hears no response¡ªonly footsteps. Shortly after those footsteps, the woman who had told the guards to seize him appears.


    "Christopheles Araliues, I presume? Son of the Western Duke and friend of the prince?" she asks.


    Christopheles glares at the arbiter. The arbiter throws her hands up and then clutches her heart. "I am not your enemy; I''m actually quite fond of you," she says, smiling and leaning in. "As a mutual friend, I do hope we get along."


    Christopheles lets out a smile he was struggling to suppress. The arbiter straightens her posture. "My name is Saoirse, and you''re quite the looker, dear Chris."


    Christopheles responds sternly, "We do not, and we will never, have that type of relationship, Saoirse. Don''t regard me in such a way again."


    Saoirse looks down to the side and begins fidgeting with her hands. "Just making this easier for you, Chrissy."


    Chris looks at her, confused. "Making what easier? My execution?"


    A serious look appears on Saoirse''s face. "No, your royal coronation. You''re the man who slayed an eldritch sovereign without lifting a finger."


    Christopheles looks at her in confusion. "I thought the clergy liked the current king."


    Saoirse pauses. The foundation of the dungeon shifts and groans once more. Saoirse leans with her back against the wall. "No, the clergy favors him, but necessity does not."


    Christopheles realizes she is not here to harm him. "Enlighten me, Sister Saoirse."


    She turns her head to the side. "The countries around us are divided into warring states so we can undergo great societal change without having to worry about being invaded. However, our diviners¡ªor seers, as you call them¡ªforesee that their societies will emerge drastically different from ours. Meaning, in the end, they will be allies and we will be the other¡ªthe enemy, the alien. We have told the king, but he must not respect the opinion of those who set the foundation for the society."


    Saoirse says sarcastically, in a mocking, dramatic tone. "I don''t sound like that."


    Christopheles says broodingly, "Saoirse remembers how she used to tease Christopheles when they were children at the castle, and her playful demeanor breaks. ''Levi¡ªNo, Prince Levi and his whole family are in great danger. We are in great danger,'' she whispers." " Listen not too long from now. A group of arbiters are going to come and get you, do not mention me being here. I''m telling you so you know what''s at stake the country''s future hinges on you."


    "Farewell chrissy"

 Shattered Reflection

    In a dank, decrepit cell with mildew lining the corners and rats scurrying about, a prisoner slouches against the corner of her cell. She is broken, betrayed, and anemic. The light slowly inches toward her chamber. She waits with anticipation so pungent it chokes her. The footsteps echo within the desolate expanse of her mind, so deprived of stimulation. The prisoner thinks to herself, "Have they finally come to execute me?"


    The footsteps grow louder, and the doors screech open. A man stands there, his posture radiating sternness. "Clotho Borales, your audience is demanded by the clergy." Clotho squints, trying to inquire why, but she can''t; her throat is as coarse as sandpaper. The man looks down at Clotho. He raises his hood as her eyes adjust to the light. "What has become of you, Clotho?" A tear comes down the man''s face, and he carries Clotho out of the cellar. He gives her water and puts her on his back, carrying her out of the cellar as she nods off to sleep.


    Clotho wakes up in a room with ornate curtains and carved gold, with elaborate engravings decorating the edges and corners of every item in the room. She thinks to herself, "Somebody wants something from me." Once again, she hears footsteps, this time with confidence. She notices the time between the sounds of the steps and thinks, "This person seems to be walking with purpose¡ªa sense of urgency, probably a servant or a high-ranking noble." The door opens, and a high-ranking noble with a silver-lined cloak and extravagant attire appears, with almond-colored hair.


    The noble looks at Clotho. "You served King Raphael, correct?" Clotho nods. "It has been brought to my attention by my sources within the court that there is a conspiracy against the crown by the clergy. This weighs on my mind heavily because I know what this empire, built upon the back of your deeds, did to you. And yet I dare ask this of you: If you would obligate yourself to the crown¡ªno, the people¡ªonce more, I would give you my vessel. I am but a bastard and have no achievements to my name, nor strength or intelligence like my brothers."


    Clotho musters a whisper. "Yet it seems your soul has no less vitality, no less essence. I will not take your vessel, child. It is the Great Mother''s gift to you and not yours to give." Clotho smiles warmly. "My child, you need not graft my soul to your body to bestow my divine spark upon you." The prince smiles pleasantly. "Good answer. It was never necessary to begin with," the prince remarks. "There''s a procedure that grafts the soul of a person to a homunculus. You will be freeing yourself and damning yourself to a seemingly eternal existence on the earthly plane. You will never see the weight of your deeds¡ªnot because you will not be a witness, but because you will be detached from the Mother and give yourself over to the Father. You will return to her when you find your heart once more." An uncharacteristic serious tone possesses the prince. "Alternatively, I will allow you to live out your days in peace in this very castle, but know that you damn us all."


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    Clotho finally musters up the strength to speak despite her decrepit state. "I will aid you," she states, her resolve set.


    The dank laboratory is dimly lit, with exotic creatures in vats and limbs hanging from chains in the ceiling, and the wailing of starved, malformed beasts in cages. A magus meticulously gathers the items needed for the procedure, and an emaciated old woman lies on the operating table among it all. The prince stands outside, impatient. The magus gives Clotho a look of reassurance.


    "Lady Clotho, this operation will consist of me chanting to achieve resonance within my mind, body, and heart to call upon Yargulash, the Lesser Great One of Death, to graft your soul to this vessel. The consequences entail stillness within the mind and heart for movement within the body. You will be robbed of your divine spark for lives to come and will know no love, no pain, no joy, no suffering¡ªonly lust, only pleasure, only clarity, only logos, only principle. The union of the Mother and the Father will be separated within you. Do you understand what you are sacrificing?"


    A tear runs down Clotho''s face. "My humanity for lives to come, for the nations for centuries to pass. I understand that because of this, I will not be able to witness the weight of my deeds, but I will experience the weight of them for many lives to come."


    The magus looks at Clotho and begins chanting. The light around the magus begins to bend and contort, and Clotho begins to feel her mind split, her heart break, as her soul is separated from her body and placed into the body of a creature with four arms, a tail, and wiry legs with hocks, and feet shaped like those of a deer''s. However, no fur is present.


    Briefly, Clotho feels herself die, and then she opens her eyes. Her mind is empty. The fear she had before is there, but it no longer compels her to act, and her rationale is, too, but it no longer stops her. Clotho looks at her hands and recites a verse from the Tabakha:


    "A heart and mind that''s not at war with itself is a lifeless one. Movement, be it towards order or decay, feeds the cycle of life; however, stagnation destroys it."


    And so, Clotho accepts her fate and no longer experiences the joys that came with walking the earthly plane.

 Omen For The Damned

    The stench of rotting corpses filled the air, each one malformed and grotesque, permeating the foggy surroundings. Dew clung to the grass, and the pestilence spread across the land as far as the eye could see. "What... What happened here?" a young squire asked.


    "A tear in the veil, boy," Knight Sergeant Cornelius replied, sadness etched on his face. Cornelius looked at the village, imagining the children playing, laughing, and running through the streets.


    "Sir," one of the soldiers called out as he ran up to Sergeant Cornelius. "There are horse tracks," he said, relief evident on his face. Cornelius''s weariness, anticipation, and hope were reflected on his face.


    "Alright, men," Cornelius said, "let''s find these survivors. And let us pray that we make it in time before the beast¡ªor God knows what." The men mounted their horses and rode off, hoping to grasp at any chance of salvation.


    The sun''s rays pierced through the tree leaves, as if condemning John and Camila. Distant sounds were muffled behind the shrubbery and the legion of trees merging with the horizon. Regardless of their direction, they knew they would be facing time itself.


    Sitting by a campfire while John cooked, Camila and John shared a tense moment. "Camila, finding food won''t be an issue. We need to find a river quickly, otherwise¡ª" John broke into tears. "They are all dead." He tried to regain his composure, but his restraint began to crack. "Mother¡ªFather," he whimpered. Camila paused and attempted to console him with a hug, but he pushed her away. John''s sobbing subsided abruptly as he buried his emotions deep within his heart.


    "Camila, let us hope it doesn''t rain. If the fief''s central authority does not hear from this village, they will come. They would already be on their way; however, if it rains and they don''t see the horse tracks, we will die of dehydration, which we are already beginning to suffer from."


    John and Camila woke to the sound of horse hooves, their eyes lighting up with relief. "John, we''re saved!" Camila exclaimed. John smiled warmly. "It''s been five weeks. Thank God."


    The sound of horses and shouts grew louder until a unit of men emerged from the horizon. John and Camila stood up as a man wearing chain mail and gambeson, with the crest of the Watcher''s Eye embroidered on his cloth, approached them.


    "My God, how¡ª" He looked at Camila and then at John. "Boy, how old are you?"


    "Fifteen," John replied.


    "Fifteen, you say? Well, you''re built like an ox, I tell you. And you took care of this young lady?"


    "My sister," John said.


    "Yes, I see. Well, anyway, we''ll get you two back to civilization, mark my words. But the magistrate of the fief will most likely have some questions for you." With that, they walked towards the vast plains, unsure of the dangers that awaited them.


    The embers danced towards the heavens, illuminating but also casting shadows on Cornelius''s face. John returned from hunting, each kill a token of appreciation for his own survival. Cornelius looked at John.


    "Why do you call that creature your sister, boy?" he asked, glancing at Camila, who was sound asleep.


    "She''s not a creature," John replied dryly.


    Cornelius looked at John with concern. "If you knew even half of the truth, you wouldn''t be so close to her. That''s like a wolf playing house with a bunny."


    John leaned in. "What are you talking about?" he asked defensively.


    "Easy there, boy," Cornelius said, emphasizing "boy." "Listen to my story, and I''ll give you your options regarding the lass."


    Realizing the gravity of his situation, John conceded. "Very well then."


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Cornelius smiled warmly. "Your sister is what we call a vampire¡ªa blood drinker. Some folks who are a bit paranoid call them ''the terrors of the moonlight.''" Cornelius chuckled at the term.


    "If you read any historical text, you''d find they were said to be descended from the cosmos, from a distant world, and were barbaric. But I believe all that to be nonsense. I mean, look at her. I don''t think she''d hurt a fly. But others won''t be so open-minded. After all, humans are tribal, and as far as we''re concerned, her kind is rare."


    John realized that Camila had never been outside the village, and perhaps that was for the better. Cornelius''s face softened. "The second thing is, what is that contraption moving water up from the well, and who made it?"


    John pointed to Camila. "She did."


    Cornelius stated, "Well, with this, she might be able to bargain for her life. But I can''t say the same for her freedom." After their conversation, John went to sleep while Cornelius stood guard.


    The town was erected with gothic architecture, as if men were trying to claim the heavens for themselves¡ªan evocation of beauty itself which gazed upon the ugliness of their souls. thus the town spoke: "This is the will of the human heart. In the face of its own hideousness, it strives to create heaven on earth, so it may love itself through its own designs."


    Camila and John''s jaws dropped at the sight of such beauty. They looked at Cornelius, who chuckled. "I was expecting a more dramatic reaction from country bumpkins," he said.


    John and Camila stared at him, speechless. Their moment of awe was interrupted by guards surrounding Camila. Cornelius addressed them. "At ease, men. This young lady is with us. We have been instructed to escort the survivors of Yambleg Village to the magistrate, and these are the survivors. Understood?"


    The men stepped aside. They were greeted by an arbiter as they approached the town administration building.


    "Hello, my name is Saoirse," she said enthusiastically. "I am the administrator from the clergy assigned to this fief." John and Camila looked at Saoirse, puzzled. "What''s a clergy? What''s an administrator?" Their confusion was evident. John and Camila exchanged looks with Saoirse, then back to each other. The townsfolk began to stare at Camila. Saoirse noticed this development.


    balled his fist against his chest and nodded before dismissing himself and his men.


    Saoirse directed the children into the building. "Are you going to ask us about what happened?" Saoirse shuddered. "I am not inclined to make children relive their nightmares; just know that, for the time being, you are under my protection." John and Camila stared at Saoirse, confused.


    "So you''re adopting us?" Camila asked.


    "Well, I can''t in good conscience let a creature of the night roam the streets unaccompanied," Saoirse teased Camila. Camila scrunched up her face. "What do you mean by ''creature of the night''?" she asked, emphasizing the words.


    The bell tolled with each strike, resonating throughout the town from a tower that seemed to scrape the cosmos, reminding man of their mortality and igniting a spark from which all thoughts and feelings emanated.


    John couldn''t resist laughing. "Sister, I''m sure that''s not what she means. She''s probably referring to your origins," he shouted over the bell.


    Saoirse nodded. "I believe that conversation is long overdue, but a bath is the more pressing matter," Saoirse said as they entered the building.


    After their baths, John and Camila were greeted with plump chicken, the aroma of which stirred their most primal instincts. They tore into the meal, and if Saoirse didn''t know any better, she might have mistaken them for a pack of ravenous hounds. When they finished, they sat unabashed by their gluttony, for what is a heart''s worth if it does not want?


    Saoirse smiled warmly, and John and Camila felt her radiance. Suddenly, they blushed, becoming aware of their own sincerity.


    "Now that you''re all fed and content," Saoirse said, "I''m going to have a meal of my own." Her tone shifted to seriousness. "Camila, I believe it''s time we addressed what you are."


    Camila wiped the blood from her mouth and smiled innocently. Saoirse looked at her. "I''ll be blunt¡ªunbecoming of myself, but necessary for the situation. The original vampire was a parasite that had washed up on the shores to the west some time ago. It possessed its host, merged with it, and then assumed control.


    Camila, this process happened to you when you were a fetus. Everything about you is completely ethereal. Vampires are smarter, stronger, and can achieve resonance far easier than the average human due to their seemingly closer ties to the 12 pillars of reality. But because of their nature, they cannot reproduce their own blood." She paused. "And thus the nature of the conflict between humans and vampires. Naturally, humans won in the end, being more self-sacrificing due to their larger numbers and empathy. We made advancements and eventually hunted your kind to near extinction."


    "Any questions?" Saoirse asked, returning to her usual warm smile.


    Camila, her resolve set, addressed Saoirse. "I''ve come to the conclusion, after the last five weeks, that I am a vampire and not a human, and I am content with that." Camila felt a sense of closure, knowing that whatever she once was was now a part of a greater whole.


    Saoirse smiled with understanding. "Very well, but for your own good, I must ask you to wear a veil . The less you are seen, the better." Camila nodded in agreement.

 Sins Of The Father

    Saoirse looked at Camila as if her heart were gutted and laid out on the table before her. "So," she asked, "if I asked you to kill and hunt your own kind to prove your loyalty to humanity, would you do it?"


    Camila turned her gaze away, a look of shame crossing her face. "I''ve never killed anyone before, not even an animal."


    "You will need to serve many years before the king and the clergy recognize you as a citizen," Saoirse replied. "But I believe in you, Camila. Although your kind is extinct in this country, they run rampant, terrorizing the land in less developed vassal states. You''re the only one of your kind I have seen who isn''t, for lack of better terms, animalistic. But I see you for who you are as well, not just what you are."


    Camila nodded. "Thank you."


    "We will begin training you and your brother in the martial discipline of this nation tomorrow."


    John''s eyes were glazed, his mind seemingly possessed by the nightmares. A dark hatred briefly usurped his love for Camila, for she was one of these entities. "Will I have to witness what I saw in the village again?" John asked, his voice trembling.


    Saoirse glanced at John, her eyes cold and tinged with despair. "Every day¡­ every day," she whispered.


    John looked down, his mind a battleground of hatred and love, haunted by the nightmares of his past and the emotional turmoil of his present. "Go get some sleep," Saoirse said softly. "You''re going to need it."


    In the morning The halls echoed with the weight of saoirse steps that Mirrored the desolate expanse of her heart; which no song or jest can fill . however with a muted strength, her heart sung through her voice; she sung with the pitch of a bird that was once free now delegated to the confinements of bureaucracy. Thus she sung


    Symphony of a broken heart, which was betrayed by its own innocence, saved by its own corruption. One possesses a squalid soul, illuminated by the spark of divinity, which is perceived through my inner world, allowing me to gaze upon the shadow of my heart. Trapped between my roots and my leaves that sprout, I grapple with none other than myself .


    At breakfast, Camila and John sat there awkwardly. Camila tried to break the silence. "I heard you singing this morning as you were walking through the hallways, Saoirse. It was beautiful."


    But the silence did not waver. Saoirse resumed her enthusiastic demeanor and clapped her hands together, her hood veiling her puffy eyes. I hope you kids are ready for your lessons You have read, Arrhythmic and my favorite alchemy


    Clashes of swords and the wails of men interrupt the heartfelt moment "It appears our guests have arrived," she says with malice hidden behind her warm smile."


    In the courtyard of the administration building, bodies lay seemingly chained together. At the head of this coiled hydra stood four men. Saoirse muttered to herself, "I hope the incantation they''re doing works." She removed her robes, revealing a web of intricate tattoos. On her forearms rested vambraces, and on her hip was a sleeve containing talismans. The men stared at her, the tension between them palpable. Saoirse broke the silence with a playful tone, "Hello there. The nearest whorehouse is in that direction. I''m sure if you ask around, you''ll find your way."


    The men remained silent. Saoirse took this as an indication of their stature. Finally, the tension was released, and the men charged toward her. Saoirse knew she had 30 talismans, but her spells would likely be disrupted at least 10 times before she could fully cast them. This left her with only 10 spells to divide among the four men, with no guarantee that more enemies wouldn''t appear.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    As they approached, Saoirse began chanting to activate the seals on her body. She pulled out a talisman, and the seals projected around her arms, merging with the paper talismans. A blazing inferno contained within a disc erupted, but without the incantation, the spell wouldn''t be able to be used at range . Saoirse by activating her taotoes, spewed fire from her feet, igniting the ground and burning her shoes. The men backed away, and one pulled out a bow, beginning a chant. Saoirse assessed the chant''s nature and realized it was a rudimentary homing spell.


    She could counter it with her own chant, but she needed to control the disc through a spell. As the men circled her, they recognized her strategy and rushed her. Saoirse held the disc with one hand, weaving and blocking with her vambraces while switching the disc between hands and chanting.


    When the man with the bow finished his chant, Saoirse pivoted, positioning the disc behind her back so the homing arrow struck him instead. The three men who had attacked her saw their blades melt against the flaming disc. With their lethality reduced, Saoirse decided to conserve her resources for potential future battles.


    A brief moment after her men''s incantations were completed; all the men she was fighting dropped to the ground unconscious.


    After the brief encounter, the men were rounded up; They were then placed in prison for interrogations.


    While a pungent eeriness choked them, Camila and John Were hidden; In their room in the closets; As they heard footsteps, Desolation began to permeate their consciousness; it was a fog that obscured and consumed all.


    The closet doors opened; They cowered before their fear as there was a bright sun; however, they were greeted with warm arms and outstretched. Sunrays peeked over the horizon, scaring the beast that dwelled within the night away


    "Camila¡­John." Cornelius says, his face shrouded by the weight of his dead men, "it''s safe now;" He stands there, his compassion shining through the congealed blood on his face.


    The next day, Saoirse summoned John and Camila to the central courtyard. The courtyard had a stone floor stretched across the center, with people walking to and from their destinations. A murder of crows was perched atop the arch of the roof, an omen for the death of the self.


    "Today," Saoirse said enthusiastically "I''m going to teach you about the basics through a series of lectures" Camila and John looked at her with confusion. Then they realized what Soairse was referring to


    "You''re going to teach us Magic?" they say, their eyes lighting up like a bag of gunpowder.


    Saoirse smiles. "Don''t get ahead of yourself" she says giggling at their excitement. "But for now, I need to see what I''m working with" She pulls two wooden swords from behind her back; "this is not a test of skill but a test of intuition. I don''t expect you to know how to wield one." Saoirse approaches John and Camila; Calmness radiating from her posture. She hands each of them a sword, then promptly returns to her position


    John and Camila pick up the wooden swords


    When they are in position saoirse instructs them to begin


    John assumes ox guard immediately; in response to this Camila goes to longshot guard, attempting to gauge John''s reaction and keep him from rushing in. John takes note of this; Respecting his sister''s blade moves his sword down toward Foof attempting to butt Camila''s weapon down so he can assume ox guard then thrusts his weapon forward and finish this duel, but Camila retreats her guard to behind her in the tail guard; As they begin feeling each other out they circle around each other slowly "alright I''ve seen enough" Saoirse chimes in "whoever taught you must have been very good"


    That leaves a large portion of combat out of the way, but what about the discipline of the four limbs Jhon and Camila look at each other confounded. "I''m kidding; we don''t actually call it that. We call it wrestling or grappling


    I will give you guys the basics


    Saoirse instructs Camila and John on Mount, Side control, north-south, and guard; She then instructs them on their respective transitions, and at the end of it all, she lectures them on everything that they can expect to learn going forward


    ": it''s all about positioning and getting into the correct position," Saoirse says " I akin it to a game of chess where each move position and variation of said position opens up an array of moves one can do; some moves even open up an array of fall back moves but just as the battle is waged through essence, the material the battle is waged through the mind the immaterial; everything I just described applies in the general''s tent in regards to warfare, as well as diplomacy and negotiations; all of these interlocked with each other and at the core of every conflict every fight, is a resource within the space you and the adversary, are occupying; the most important part of any confrontation is recognizing which resource you are trying to occupy and acknowledging whether it will aid you or harm you to obtain it. Right, that concludes this morning''s lessons; its time for lunch.

 Death Of The Self

    Camila John and Saoirse eat with much less ferocity; in the ghoulish, cold stone Dining room, which is only illuminated by the warmth of their banter and laughter, As the fire fades and the warmth with it. Camila asked a question, "John, why don''t you joke with me like you did with William? "Well, Camila," John says, "I don''t believe it''s okay to speak to lasses like that." Hatred flickers of Camila''s face " But murder is she bites."


    Saoirse, intrigued, asked, "What are you guys referring to" with a tinge of concern on her face maintaining her graceful composure.


    Camila tells her, "John murdered two girls when he was ten girls" Soairse asked "what did these girls do" John says, "They beat her up every day; one day they¡­ took it too far."


    "He made the monster they imagined me in¡­ a reality," Camila says, her voice dryer than the cold stone walls they live in; as hollow as the wide corridors.


    Saoirse chimes in, "I don''t believe martyrdom should be indulged in at such an early age, and I don''t believe murder should be indulged in at that age either.


    However, Camila and John, I have killed far more than you will within the coming decade¡ªnot because I''m right or wrong or for any reason like that, but to protect the things I love, and that includes myself. I think that self-preservation is the most natural of instincts. You wouldn''t do it for yourself, so someone did it for you.


    Never let anyone make decisions about yourself for you, Camila. You have to set the tone and assert your will; otherwise, people in the world will sort you according to their own will. As a result, you will never know the joy of knowing yourself. And John, it would do you well to learn the boundaries of your will and the cost of asserting it."


    This insight stabs John in the heart; The memories of the villagers executing his father and mother in front of him flash before him.


    One day, Saoirse told John and Camila that, as a reward for their hard work, she would grant them a day in the town without her supervision. She could sense they were growing weary of each other''s constant company. She gave them 100 copper coins each and told them to enjoy themselves in the town, but Camila had to wear robes and a veil.


    As John was walking out of the administration building, Cornelius pulled him aside the door and asked, "How''s the weather down there? Dry as the arid desert, I assume?"


    He chuckled. "You remind me of myself, boy. Probably had a good mother who took care of you, but what about the mother within your heart? How much of her do you neglect because you can''t see it in the mother without?


    " It''s why you have no compassion for what you deem to be evil, boy. I notice how you look at people when confronted with their darker aspects¡ªa hatred possesses you. Hatred." John glances down to the side a pang of shame wrenches his gut


    Well, today, John, I invite you to connect with the mother within, as it''s the greatest beauty to participate in the cycle of life." Cornelius spat and chuckled, "Unless you''re scared the girls will laugh you out of the whorehouse, boy."


    John''s pride was piqued. His Determination sewn together on his face.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    John and Cornelius walked to the brothel and had a discussion. The snow decorating their cloaks; the cold air igniting their throats and piercing the edges of their ears


    "I would have done the same, boy, I would have done the same," Cornelius said. But I wouldn''t have taken it that far. Human life is sacred, but it needs sustenance, which is finite; hence, we take human life. John pauses for a second, then nods his head in agreement, fighting his way through the crowd of people in the marketplace.


    Do well to remember that, boy. It''s just hive minds fighting other hive minds, each with their own god. But an old man who lived long ago asked whether an action is good because God dictates it, or does God dictate an action because it is good?"


    "That sounds like something Saoirse would say."


    "These are things I''ve learned through hard days of war. Saoirse is a warrior as well. No, no, Saoirse is far scarier. I fear the day when I get on her bad side."


    "You make it sound like you''re lovers."


    Cornelius rests his shakes the top of John''s head and ruffles his hair;the snowflakes dance around his angular face


    Cornelius gave a mischievous grin. "I wish, boy, but some days she almost gives in. But to see her betray her beliefs, her life''s work, for me... would crush my heart. So, I remind her of herself."


    "So the Arbiters dislike the flesh?"


    "No, John. They''re against the overindulgence in the mother at the expense of the father. Does it apply in the opposite way? Yes, it does."


    "Why?"


    "It knocks the soul off balance, boy. It''s one of the laws that govern this world. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. An indulgence in the material or the immaterial creates tension in the soul that launches it in the opposite trajectory with force equal to its displacement; at least, that''s what she tells me.


    However, Saoirse, your maternal figure, used to belong to this very whorehouse." John looked up. "When she was but a young lass, far too young to be exposed to such a thing. She''s working hard to restore the balance of her soul. You see, she got sick of it; she became disgusted and stabbed the man who was her regular.


    The man was a noble, so one day, the court decreed to burn her at the stake. When it came time to burn, she remained unscathed, without any talismans or tattoos. The clergy took this as a sign of great spiritual power, but despite this, her past is the only reason she''s not of a higher rank within the clergy.


    John paused for a second, letting every single word Cornelius said sink in,everything Cornelius told him. As he bumped into Cornelius, he was broken out of his thoughts.


    Here we are


    When Cornelius and John walked into the brothel, Cornelius chuckled, "You''re not getting cold feet, are you, boy?" John''s heart was racing, but his face betrayed nothing. "No," he said coldly.


    "Hello, John, my name is Meridia." She grabbed his hand eagerly. "You don''t think Saoirse would feel bad about this?"


    "She''s the one who told me to bring you here."


    And so John lay with Meridia, and he felt as if his soul, his very essence, was bound to her as they joined. When they were done, they lay there, bathing in the warmth of each other''s presence. But the warmth was replaced with coldness as an image of John''s mother and sister flashed before him, alongside the two girls he murdered. He threw up on the side of the bed.


    "John, are you okay?" Meridia asked. John quickly got dressed and began to clean up his mess. Meridia stopped him. "I''ll clean it." John put on his cloak and abruptly walked out.


    "Do come back," Meridia said shyly. With a muted determination, "I¡­really enjoyed you." John paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob, he contemplated embracing her once more, but he steeled and walked out


    In the bustling street, Cornelius sat there, resting against the wall. "Minute, man," John said while softly punching Cornelius on the shoulder, In jest; But a tear bubbled up from John''s eyes." that


    He begins sniffling. "She was sweet. She was sweet." He whimpers. "I see now that through killing those girls, I not only robbed a man of the chance to love them, but now I shared a heart with my sister and my body with Meridia."


    his crying intensifies Cornelius comforts him with a hug, and this time, unlike in the woods, he accepts, "I understand, son." I also realize I have been unfair to Camila. And


    "I used to see her as an angel, John says; and holding her to the standard of a god is the cruelest thing I could have done to her."


    Cornelius says, "Humans are not things to be cast out of your graces because they rebelled against the will you have for them." John says "yes" once again, and his sniffling ends just as fast as it began.