Otherworldly - A Shadowed Awakening

Peak of Autumn, Week 5, Day 2

Adeline grew around me as we traveled further into the heart of the city –the buildings towered only through the drastically changing altitude. In reality, they never went higher than a few stories and the occasional tower. But the mountain Adeline was placed on was a volatile thing of solid rock. Based on the field guide, it had taken a century for the city to become so filled out. From outside the wall, barely any of it had been visible when we were up close to the gates, and approaching the city meant being surrounded by dense forest –at least the way we came, so I’d had no idea the city was so tall.

Now, as we sifted through the busy morning traffic, I could see Adeline in her glory. In this area, there were only a few street vendors, but several people were outside their stores shouting to walkerbys. In the light of day, the magelights announcing our presence stood out. The rest of the city lights were dormant, awaiting night to return to life. So many people were lining the streets and looking out for the carriage. It was still unsettling, it wasn’t the kind of thing one could get used to after a single instance.

My stomach did a flip the first few times I caught someone’s eye, and they began focusing ever more on me. Eventually, I slid back and drug Noir to me, trying to ignore the crowd outside. I still couldn’t hear them due to the enchantment, and that somehow made it worse. Once again, I was frustrated that I hadn’t asked how the silencing magic worked. There were no books, and I needed something to focus on.

Ah, screw it. I closed the curtains of the carriage.

[Shadow Animation]

I felt the cool magic flow from my chest, but instead of directing it either to Noir or Haze, I chose to attempt to use another form. The options had been a wisp, an infusion, or a small weapon. I felt the shadows in the carriage begin to curl as I called on the third option. A small portion of darkness separated itself and hovered in front of me, spherical. The Skill had a limit –it was what I could make with my [Shadow Manipulation] level. Currently, it was still at level three. Not even at the competence threshold –despite the fact that it was a Skill I knew intimately, if not exactly from elsewhere. It hadn’t been so structured there, with my form and use limited by an arbitrary number. Still. I should be able to create a small weapon –if a crude weapon.

I focused my eyes on the sphere, carefully picturing a bladed weapon in my mind. The amount of shadow I could use to craft it was limited to 100 cm^3. What an odd measure. Though shadow moved similarly to a liquid, it made sense to use a volume roughly equivalent to a cup of water. I let the image of the sphere morphing into a dagger fill my head. As the picture in my mind shifted, so too did the sphere hovering in front of me. I had pictured a sharp blade with a hilt and a cross-guard. What I got was a dull blade about four inches long with a stub of a hilt, rounded roughly. It was an ugly thing, but it was as close as it wanted to get to my will.

I thought about what I could have it do. It was still hovering in front of me, and I wondered what would happen if I didn’t tell it to continue to do so –if I could fill two words with enough intent that it did continue to do so. What if I needed to stop it? Previously, I was unable to cut off the mana providing the construct's life. Perhaps now I could.

I steeled myself.

“Spin.”

The crude thing jolted as mana filled it, and as it turned its blade down, it plummeted to the floor, making a light clattering sound. My eyes immediately snapped up to the window facing the two knights driving the carriage –the curtain didn’t shift. But the blade didn’t stay still. It brought itself up and balanced on its rounded tip. And it spun –precariously rotating in an uneven manner, but it did spin.

I watched it for barely a minute, anxiety filling me. This was a risk. What if I was caught? Forget having a knife I should not be in possession of, and the true worry was being caught with an elemental affinity. That would reaffirm the Count and Countess’ vague comments regarding my [Class]. I would never be free.

“Stop.”

I watched as the knife froze in place, and I reached out my hand to grip it. It maintained its shape, and I could feel the physicality of it.

“Spin.”

It remained lifeless in my hand, and I tucked it into the back of my shorts. I could feel the knife pressing into me, and rather than the cold feel of metal, it was a gentle, warming sensation. It was soothing in a new way.

I pulled open one of the curtains again in the hopes that looking at the sky would help calm me. Because for all the anxiety that filled me, below my skin was a slow anger. I had no desire to perform the Affirmation. No desire to commune with the Gods. To plead with them to prove my Divinity. To rely on them to validate my birth. My status, for which I didn’t care, was hanging in the balance. But I had no idea what would happen were I to refuse. And so this was the lesser of two evils.

We arrived at an over-sized building, its face was twelve columns, each with a statue of the Divine carved into them, placed directly ahead of a set of steps that led up to three sets of doors. The center doorway was twice the size of the other two and was clearly the main entrance. The doors were currently propped open, and I could see people milling about on the steps and within. On the edge of the church, there were two towers that shot up to oversee Adeline, and as we grew closer, I could see two towers in the back of the church shrinking behind the face of the building. More statues were sporadically placed on the stairs, some were leaning across a half dozen steps in a laying pose, and others were standing up as if climbing.

It hadn’t been too long of a trek to the church, in all honesty. [Quick Calculation] told me there were still ten minutes before the crude knife I’d tucked behind me was set to dissolve into the aether. As the carriage slowed, I tucked Noir and Haze back into my bag. Gingerly, I pulled out the knife and stared at it. It was still radiating that same soothing warmth. Maybe I simply hadn’t noticed Noir gave off the same feeling, and that is why I had come to rely on him so much for grounding. Or not. I shifted Noir and Haze out of the way and slid the crude weapon to the bottom of my bag.

As a knock came from the door, my back straightened, and I dug my fingers into the soft fabric of my bag.

“My Lady, it is time.” It was an unrecognizable voice, so not Sir Limrick, or Klein, or even Arlen. It was one of the others.

I let out a slow breath and called out my acceptance.

As the door opened, the gravity of my situation became clear. No longer were there people simply milling about. Now there were several dozen people flowing from the main entrance of the church and lining the steps. They left a large gap for me to walk through. They all had thin, golden chains hanging from their clothes that marked them as priests. It was the only similarity they all had. One was in a flowing blue robe, another in all the shades of the Dreya. A few were in shining golden fabrics. There were two in white –and a single priest in black. The complexity of their outfits also varied –even amongst those in the same colors, and the level of modesty ranged as well. One specifically came to mind, a man in flowing pants but no shirt –save for the body chains hanging across his shoulders and sparkling in the morning light.

Behind the row of priests were even more onlookers who had filed out of the church with them. There was a crowd behind them. Most looked like regular citizens, but there were several well-dressed men and women up by the doorway that looked as if they could be nobles –or at least wealthy merchants.

Anxiety and anger were at war within me. This time anger won out.

I have no desire to call upon the Gods. And now I’m a spectacle for all to witness. I hissed in my head.

Still, I steadied my furiously beating heart and began descending the steps down from the carriage. As I did, the knight –whose name I still did not know but was the one without the scar, held out his hand in a formal gesture. Gripping his hand with my own, I stepped down the remainder of the way. He fell back behind me as I stepped forward, and the carriage door closed. The other two knights in ornamental armor appeared next to him as I glanced back.

I looked up the steps of the church and saw an elderly man donned in a grey getup, with chains of silver and gold draped around his shoulders and waist –they even hung down to line the outer rim of his pants. Beneath the chains, his clothes were fitted at the ends –like the wrist and waist but flowed at the elbow and shoulders. His pants were fitted the entire way, and his shoes were a matching gray leather.

I felt it then, the aura of the priest in gray. It assaulted my own aura of [Otherworldly], and a shiver went up my spine. Rather than the oppressive force of the Countess, this was like a pebble trying to pierce a piece of fabric after being lobbed from half a dozen feet away. It wasn’t extremely violent, but it was rough enough that I noticed it. It pulled forward thoughts of lies being pierced by arrows and truths being held up in righteous flames. It was unnerving.

This was the priest of Abelia, Goddess of Truth and Lady of High Noon.

I steeled my spine. There was no escaping this. I stepped forward. The crowd was silent –out of anticipation or respect for the church I didn’t know. As I climbed the steps, I heard the heavy steps of the knights behind me. My bag bounced at my hip, and I wondered if I should have left it behind. But that wasn’t going to happen, so that thought evaporated as soon as it appeared. The knights behind me gave me strength to continue on, even when the eyes following me made me want to empty my stomach.

Soon enough, I was at the top of the stairs facing the priest who was to certify my status as a noble. I froze as I looked up to meet his eyes. They were grey like his clothes, yes, but they were more. They were rolling clouds, ready to wear down even the slightest untruth.

It was a tense moment before I remembered The Etiquette of the Noblesse. I bowed my head to the man, and the performance began.

“The Awakened meets the Master of Day. May Her heart shine on the Truth of my Sleep.”

The man smiled, “In Her stead, I, Regin the Grave, High Priest of Abelia, Lady of High Noon, Goddess of Truth, meet the newest Light of Dawn.”

As he spoke, his skin began to glow with a silver light.

“I hereby invoke the rites of Affirmation.” I felt the power fill the air, and behind me, I heard a rhythmic beating. Glancing back, it was the priests hitting their chests with their fists as they stepped forward to close the gap they had left for me to walk through.

“Enter, Light of Dawn,” His voice was no longer a deep, steady timbre –now it was overlaid with the light voice of a woman, “And may your Truth be Attested to.”

“May my Divinity be True as is my birthright.”

Never had I felt my voice feel so weak as in that moment –compared to what had to be Abelia’s voice. I swallowed as Father Regin took my arm in his own and guided me further into the church.

Behind me, the knights still tailed, but there were too many footfalls –the crowd was coming as well. To witness my Truth. A knot filled my stomach.

It was a slow approach as we passed pews already half-filled with fancily dressed people. Ah, these are the nobles. The main chamber of the church began just as wide as the oversized doors and widened as we went deeper in. The pews began wide enough for four, then six, then ten, and so on, until we were approaching the pulpit, and the pew looked wide enough to fit dozens of people.

On top of the pulpit, rather than a priest, stood an intricate statue made up of twelve Divines. I could only identify two on sight –the twin Gods, Brel and Grel, eternally bickering. I grit my teeth as I spotted them. The rest I could guess based on their positions –there was Druigr with his palms raised, reaching for the Red Sun. Scylla sat cross-legged off to the edge, her eyes looking toward the door. Frill, with her hands wrapping a bandage around Morloch’s ever-bleeding wound. Between the twin gods sat Mera, pushing them apart. Qwail was framed with a weave in his hands that Abelia, with her hidden face, was holding up and examining. To the far side were the honorary statues of the Ancients: Oberon, petrified in eternal pain, Maeve, his mother, wailing for her loss, and Kite, the God who formed the mountains to protect the suffering Oberon.

In front of the statue was a lower platform, empty of all but a bowl of water. In front of that was a blush-colored rug that Father Regin led me to.

“Kneel and Pray. For your Truth must be Affirmed.”

I took a deep breath, unwinding my arm from Father Regin afterward. And stood for a moment, wondering what exactly that meant. Pray out loud? Pray quietly to myself? There was a tantamount rule the book had said: never lie before a priest of Abelia. For obvious reasons.

I decided it was best not to pray out loud. It wouldn’t be anything kind.

I kneeled on top of the rug –it was actually rather soft, so it wasn’t too bad.

I folded my hands atop one another.

And I prayed.

May the Divines confirm I am noble. I guess.

It wasn’t very sincere, and I didn’t actually want to ‘commune’ with them, whatever that meant. But I hoped it was enough.

I sat, knees pushing into the rug, clasping my hands.

Nothing happened.

There was no sound, no gasps of awe. There was no light penetrating through my closed eyes, bright enough to be unable to be discredited. There was nothing.

I felt dread building in my stomach, and so I tried again.

May the Divine Light shine down on me.

It felt even less sincere.

Still, nothing happened.

I was about to give up, open my eyes and acknowledge that the useless Gods were just that. And if I was going to do that, I may as well say what I want.

I hope whoever brought me here is eaten by a sea serpent.

Then the world was awash with light, and my eyelids flew open.

“Child–” A dark, ominous voice called, and I watched as a black rip in reality formed in front of Morloch’s statue, a body beginning to emerge.

The voice –and body, were cut off when a new rip in reality appeared, and a woman, looking remarkably similar to the cross-legged statue of Scylla, hopped out and shoved the dark being back into the tear in reality he came from.

“This one’s mine!”