My eyes reluctantly fluttered open, greeted by the presence of the silver-haired duke perched at the bed's edge. His verdant eyes locked onto mine.
"Good morning," his voice rang out, a sound of solace in the midst of my internal turmoil.
Although I managed to sit up, a heavy fatigue seemed to linger, tempting me to surrender to its embrace and retreat back into the welcoming folds of the bed. This feeling sought to consume me, an urge I fought against, even though every fibre of my being seemed to yearn for it.
"Would you care for some food?" Silrae rose, positioning himself before me.
"No, I'm alright," I gestured, my very energy drained to the point that even eating felt like an insurmountable task.
"Allow me to fetch you some water, then." As soon as he departed from the room, I succumbed to the bed once more, shutting my eyes. The kindness he extended felt undeserved, particularly in light of last night's events. It was a foolish mistake to let myself open up to him. Likely, he harboured no desire to be entangled with someone like me. Perhaps he should just cast me aside. The instant that notion crossed my thoughts, an unfamiliar pang of pain gripped my heart, an ache that I couldn't place. It did not matter. Slumber washed over me again, taking me to the realm of dreams.
“So, Asara, what did you learn from this book?” the familiar voice of my mother asked.
“I learned that the Paragons of Erathadites have a very complex religious system setup. They also seem to spend most of their money on the people, which I think is nice.” My mother seemed saddened by my answer. Her blue eyes stared downward at her feet.
“HONEY! I’M HOME!” the tenor-like voice of my father shouted. I immediately dropped the book and ran to the front door, hugging my father as soon as I saw him. “Well, hello there my little moonbeam. How have you been?”
“I’ve been well!” I twiddled with my thumbs. “Uh… when do I get to go outside?”
“Oh… um not tonight.” His voice was filled with a hesitation, something I would understand much later.
A chill-inducing touch gripped my shoulder, jolting me from slumber's grasp.
"Are you all right?" Silrae's familiar voice questioned.
"I am well. Why do you enquire?" I conveyed it through sign language.
"Your trembling and perspiration... Do you wish to share the content of your dream?" His unexpected offer to lend an ear caught me off guard. Surprises seemed to be his forte.
"No. I do not. It was merely a frivolous dream, devoid of significance." Throwing the blanket aside, I uncovered my legs and sat upright. Adjusting my position to face Silrae, I directed my focus towards him. "Please, do not ask about my dreams again." My gaze locked with his, an unsettling sensation engulfing me, for he had glimpsed one of my vulnerabilities. I had no desire to reveal such a fragile side to anyone else. Letting Zershoon bear witness to that moment once was already one instance too many.
"I am ignorant of the trials life has presented you. I am unaware if you shall ever unveil them to me. However, if the decision to confide in me arises, rest assured that I shall listen, without judgement." His voice resonated with an authenticity unlike any I had encountered before.
"Thank you," I signed, the gratitude sincere.
From the corner of my eye, I was taken aback by a smirking Wren, holding two bowls. "What would you like?" I asked, my attention shifting towards her.
"Oh... Is that 'What would you like?'" she mimicked, seeking confirmation, and I nodded in response.
"I'd like to share some of the soup the kids and I made with you and Silrae," she offered.
My surprise was palpable. Wren's unexpected presence, coupled with the prospect of a warm bowl of soup, caught me off guard. The idea of such a luxury had been foreign to me for the past three years.
"That would be wonderful," Silrae responded to Wren's proposal. She tiptoed closer, a hint of secrecy in her demeanour. She handed a bowl to me and then Silrae, accompanied by a wink directed at the antlered duke.
"Well, I must leave now. Enjoy the meal, you two," she said, her voice carrying a more melodious note than usual as she departed.
What could Wren be plotting? I oscillated my head, dismissing the need to dwell on her potential intentions. Steam wafted from my own bowl of soup. Its broth held a translucent quality, adorned with an array of vegetables. Fragments of chicken gently descended, finding their place at the bowl's base. As the broth scorched my tongue, I couldn't deny the pleasure derived from its flavours. It diffused warmth through my entire being, infusing a tranquil aura. Although I found solace in the soup, a pang of guilt lingered. I continued to consume it, this time taking a cautious approach, blowing on each spoonful before partaking.
The sharp sound of shattering porcelain resonated beside me, a discordant note that signalled an unsettling event. Silrae's hand clenched around his left arm, knuckles whitening under the strain.
"Damn it. Why now? I thought it was over," his voice muttered, a tinge of panic underscoring his words. Blood trickled from his nose and ears, evidence of an internal struggle manifesting externally. He leaned precariously to the right, his equilibrium faltering.
Reacting instinctively, I surged to my feet, my arms bracing to catch him before he could collapse. In the commotion, the bowl of soup I held found its unintended canvas on the bed sheets, the contents splattering in chaotic disarray. An overwhelming sense of helplessness took hold as I was unable to fathom what was transpiring.
"Please, avert your gaze. The sight can be rather... jarring," he managed to utter, his forehead scales emanating an uncomfortable heat. The agony etched across his features was palpable, his body contorting in response to an unseen torment. The blood that initially emerged began to darken, taking on an ominous hue.
Resisting the urge to avert my gaze, I ventured to wipe the inky blood away from his upper lip before it could spread further. An inadvertent touch of the tainted blood seared my hand, an immediate burn that caused me to recoil.
"Do not touch it!" he yelled.
I pressed the back of my hand against Silrae's feverish forehead, recoiling instinctively from the searing heat that radiated from his skin.
"Get Erisa," he struggled to form the words, his voice strained. I nodded hurriedly before bolting out of the room. The corridor sped past me in a blur as I rushed, a wave of helplessness coursing through my veins. My legs trembled beneath me as I eventually came to a halt. What should I do? Where is Erisa? How can I aid him? The world around me seemed to whirl, and in my disarray, I crumbled to the ground. Tear after tear streamed down my cheeks, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Losing Silrae was inconceivable.
"Asara?" Wren's familiar voice called out, her approaching footsteps reverberating with urgency. Her heels clicked insistently against the floor until she knelt before me. "What's wrong?"
"Silrae... he's—he's... Something is happening to him," I stammered, my voice a fragile thread. The sound of my own voice was a revelation, both startling and surreal.
"I'll fetch Erisa. You go back to Silrae. Everything will be all right," Wren's arms encircled me, her heartbeat against my ear a calming rhythm. "I'll return shortly." Gently, she helped me to my feet and then vanished from my sight.
Finding my way back to Silrae, I discovered him sitting up, his lips and ears stained with black blood. I settled beside him, my hand hesitantly reaching out to touch the ominous fluid and wipe it away, the burning sensation on my skin secondary to my concern for him.
A pink streak of light materialised in the room, a wash of relief flooding over me as I recognised Erisa. Wren's smile offered comfort. Erisa's gaze flickered toward me before settling by Silrae's side. Swiftly, she divested him of his shirt, her hands descending upon his chest. An ethereal radiance emanated from her palms, and miniature bursts of lightning danced around her fingertips. As her efforts continued, his once-glossed-over eyes regained their clarity.
“Was it another attack?” he asked.
Another?
“Yes, Asara was here to help you though. She made the process of getting you out of the attack easier,” Erisa explained.
“What do you mean I made it easier?” I cocked my head to the side.
“Your magic is beginning to unlock itself,” Erisastated. She pulled out a cloth and wiped Silrae’s nose and ears off, cleaning the remnants of the attack.
"I'm well, in case you were about to inquire, Lady Asara. I regret that you had to witness such an event amidst the recent troubles," Silrae expressed, his hands moving in sign language to convey his words. As he concluded, his grip encompassed mine, the physical connection serving to alleviate a fraction of my anxieties. Yet, the comfort was fleeting as he released my hands after a moment, shifting his attention to adjusting his shirt. My gaze remained locked on him, observing as the modest scars scattered across his torso were concealed once again.
"Would you be interested in a tour of the city, Lady Asara? It might offer respite from your contemplations," he proposed, his inquiry hanging in the air.
I nodded. If I am ever to leave this city, knowing the quickest way around it is ideal. A wanderlust feeling washed over me. It seemed strange to spend half a week in the same place for so long, and to not have seen much of it other than the temple, a tavern and Silrae’s castle.
“Can we visit somewhere that offers food and drink that is not soup?” I glanced at the mess on the bed sheet that was already being cleaned up by Erisa.
“Yeah, I know just the place. It’s called Siren’s Song. I think you will like it.” Silrae smiled and stood up. He held out his hand to me, to which I accepted. Wren snickered in the back corner. It was a nice sound to hear. Even after the pain of possibly losing Silrae, Wren made it better. If she wasn’t here I could have lost him.
“Come to the temple tonight please. There is an important mass going on that I would like you to witness,” Erisa called to me as I left the room.
If the gods and goddesses were real, the question echoed, reverberating through my thoughts like a persistent whisper. Why did some souls endure more anguish than others, while an unfair sense of favour seemed bestowed upon the select few? Were we naught but marionettes, subject to their whims and caprices?
As if in response to my silent musings, a peculiar voice invaded my mind once more, an enigma shrouded in its utterances. Its cryptic revelations grated on my nerves, a puzzle whose solutions seemed perpetually out of reach. Irritation at its haughty demeanour surged within me; no entity, however divine, held absolute omnipotence. Such arrogance was folly.
"No," I communicated through signs to Erisa, turning away from the direction of the voice's persistent call.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"Resistance is futile. You shall attend the gathering, for I have matters to unfold before you," the voice persisted, an unwelcome presence in my mind.
Silrae intervened with an enthusiastic outlook, eager to entice me. "It promises an experience like no other. Trust me, Asara."
With an exasperated huff, I signed, "Five minutes, Silrae. Only five minutes."
Silrae's sombre admission reverberated with a pang of sadness. "Even if I'm not the most devout, my ailment stands as testament to their existence."
Wren chimed in, imploring in her tone, "It could be enjoyable. Plus, you'll witness Zershoon performing on the grand stage alongside Kharisa's prominent artists."
Erisa, her voice a whisper, shared her perspective. "Perhaps it's time for you to glimpse the divine intentions. The Goddess of Death herself may speak to you."
Reluctantly, I conceded, "Fine. I'll contemplate it. Let's just go, Silrae." Without further ado, I made a hasty exit, footsteps echoing behind me. The city's zealous religiosity weighed heavily, an imposition that seemed to demand conformity. All around, an unspoken expectation hung in the air, that I should embody a role I was not cut out for. The burden of my parents' death only intensified these pressures.
"Child, do not carry the guilt of your parents' fate upon your shoulders. Their demise was the fanatical devotion of the heretics, a twisting of faith to the extreme. Mortals often misinterpret the will of gods and goddesses, each interpretation tainted by imperfection," the voice intoned, its tone weary as if exasperated by mortals' perpetual folly. A mortal itself, yet draped in the enigmatic aura of something more.
My legs buckled beneath me, surrendering to an overwhelming surge of exhaustion. Flashes of vibrant light danced before my eyes, each pop of colour adding to the disorientation. A pair of hands seized my shoulders, their grip firm. Waves of nausea churned within me. My eyelids grew heavy, their descent unstoppable. Breath eluded me, slipping through my grasp like sand.
Then, unexpectedly, the sensation of lips pressing against mine shattered the haze. A liquid trickled into my mouth, compelling a reflexive swallow that jolted me back from the brink. Gradually, my vision cleared, and the world reassembled itself. Silrae's form materialised before me, his face hovering just inches from mine. Beside him, an emptied flask lay discarded on the ground.
Awkwardly, I inched my back against the wall, still grappling with the lack of control over my unsteady legs. The sense of agency gradually returned, like a tide slowly reclaiming the shore.
“How much water have you drunk since you arrived in the city?” Silrae asked. He placed his hand on my forehead, hissing slightly. “You have a fever. Makes sense, considering the events that have happened so far since you have arrived.” His left arm rested under my legs and his right was behind my back. With ease, he scooped me up and held me towards his chest.
“Where will you take me?” I squeezed the sign out in the awkward position.
“I can take you back to the room where we came from, or to my private quarters in the temple,” he offered, his smile a gentle curve. A subtle flush graced his cheeks. It's reassuring to know that he's also feeling a hint of embarrassment, even if our reasons differ. Exhaling softly, I considered my options. Returning to the room we had left wasn't particularly appealing, and the idea of his private quarters carried its own set of uncertainties. What if...? A sudden surge of fear rippled across my features.
Swiftly, I disentangled myself from his proximity, a flash of panic contorting my expression. The shift in Silrae's countenance, from a bearded stranger to his familiar appearance, mirrored my disquiet. My hand instinctively sought the daggers that were no longer sheathed at my sides. What if he...? The unsettling thought loomed, casting a shadow of doubt.
Reacting to my unease, his hands extended toward me, but my retreat was instinctual, driven by the shadows of past experiences. My back met the wall, an involuntary retreat that conveyed my internal turmoil.
“Stay back!” I signed, hastily and fearfully. My words won’t stop him. Someone help.
“Hey, it's just me. You’re safe here,” Silrae’s hands signed to me. “What’s wrong?”
"Nothing," I responded. My face was a dead give away of the lie I just told. I did not want people pestering me any more today, yet it felt like I failed in that regard.
"I am here for you. I don't mind listening to what's on your mind," Silrae said. It was strange that he would offer such a thing, considering we just met last night. He’s been nothing but strange with his kindness. He was getting too emotionally close to me. It will end up hurting them later on. It always happens when someone gets too close to me. I have to distance myself. Again a pang of hurt weighed heavy on my heart.
"You and Wren are some of the first friends I've had in a while. I'd hate for something to happen to you both. You don't have to tell me today, but I would like to know some time in the future, more about you both." He held his hand out to me and helped me up. I nodded, disappointed that I failed at distancing myself.
I did not want his pity. I stood up.
"Are we heading out to explore Kharisa?" I signed. My brows furrowed. I tapped my foot against the floor expectantly. I needed something to drown out what I just experienced. Silrae mentioned Siren Song. Perhaps it will have ale that can do the job I need it to do.
“So drowning your sorrows is the path you’re going to take?” The voice in my head was condescending me again. “I take it you’re thinking the ale will drown me out too? You’re wrong about that. I’m stuck with you forever.” A groan escaped my lips, prompting Silrae to look at me.
“Nothing,” I signed. “Just ready to see the city and the restaurant you talked about earlier.”
“Oh! Yeah, let’s get going. I have to make a stop at the temple first.” Silrae signed his response.
I followed after Silrae, running to catch up to him.
His steps were quiet. This was a curious thing. Usually, his steps echoed in the halls because he wore heels. Maybe he is just being polite since he is in a place of worship? Not much to worship when all the gods and goddesses are greedy bastards who only care about themselves. What do people even see in them?
“You know, you should be careful with what you think in a place of worship. You are in my temple, Priestess.” I pushed the voice to the back of my mind. It meant nothing. It was just my imagination.
Silrae stopped in front of a small group of children huddling outside the door to the temple. A purple tiefling boy was lying down in the centre of the others. Blood, black like how Silrae’s was earlier, coloured his lavender skin. Silrae pushed through the crowd to get to him. Kjar screamed in pain.
“Hey, I am here. Breathe in and out slowly. I know what you’re going through,” Silrae said to comfort the child. Black tinged the blood on Kjar, but it did not turn black like Silrae’s. The boy thrashed around in pain, and the other kids gaped at the sight. I walked through the crowding children and ushered them away from Kjar. I pointed to a room that we would stay in until the duke gave the all clear.
“Is Kjar going to be okay?” an elven girl asked.
I did not know how to respond to that question. The way Silrae was yesterday suggested that this illness is a lifelong condition. Kjar would suffer from it until his final day.
“If only you knew what you could do.”
“And what would that be?” I responded.
“Accept me first.”
I laughed slightly. I would not accept some mysterious thing into me.
“He will be fine for now. Silrae is with him,” I signed. The children looked at me, confusion filled their gaze. I suppose not everyone here understands sign language. I glanced around the room for some paper.
“What’s she saying?” a girl asked.
“She’s doing something weird with her hands,” a brown tiefling pointed out. I sighed, exhausted by the children. How did my mother do this? Whenever I was anxious, she hummed a song. I smiled as the idea clicked in my head. The stone floor was cold to the touch. Goosebumps appeared on my legs. A soft tone echoed throughout the room as I hummed. Silence washed over the anxiety ridden children. Their eyes turned to me. It’s a little off key, compared to how Mother sang it, but it’s calming them down. With that in mind, I continued the song. The children settled down in a circle around me. Some clapped their hands to the beat of the humming. Others snapped their fingers together. There were some out of both groups that whistled. The anxiousness the children experienced went away. They had bright smiles on their faces as they added to the song. Look, Ma, your song still brings comfort to others. A warm feeling coursed through me as the song came to an end.
“What is the name of that song?” the girl who spoke earlier asked.
“It’s…” I hesitated to form the words with my hands. I pondered the question. My memory was now betraying me. What is its name? Then it dawned on me. The song had no name because my mother told me I could name it. “A Mother’s Melody.”
“A good name for a song,” Silrae said from behind me. Kjar was hiding behind him.
“Kjar! You’re okay!” a red tiefling cheered. The children all stood up and crowded the overwhelmed purple tiefling.
“Be a little careful. He had quite an episode earlier.”
“Okay!” The children quickly agreed to Silrae’s words of caution.
“I am glad you have introduced yourself to the children. It is very good for them to interact with those outside of the temple.”
“But isn’t she a part of the temple since she’s the Priestess?” Kjar popped up behind Silrae.
“I am not.” Silrae translated as I signed the words. “I do not know why everyone here thinks I am the priestess.”
“Oh! You don’t know the legend of Lucius?” the red tiefling piped up.
“I do not.”
“Time for a story then.” Silrae smiled. He sat down beside the children. He motioned for me to sit beside him, and so I did. A gentle smile made its way across his face. Red tinted his cheeks. “You all might have to help me along the way, since it's been so long since I’ve recounted this legend.” A giggle arose out of the children. He seemed at ease with the children. Kjar sat on his left side. Silrae’s hand grazed against mine as he readjusted it. I shifted uncomfortably away from him, though there was not much space for me to go.
Silrae took a deep breath in. “Once upon a time,” he started. “There was a tiefling’s skin who was blacker than midnight, than the darkest side of the moon. His parents named him Lucius, in honour of the Death Goddess’s black wolf.
Lucius was as ordinary as they got. He could perform magic when he was thirteen, resistant to fire damage, and he had a dragon. The only difference between him and the ordinary was his ability to communicate with the dragon and the Goddess of Death. He was called a liar and a blasphemer for how he spoke.” Silrae took a moment to pause the story. He was an exceptional storyteller compared to others I have listened to.
Silrae looked at me before continuing, “So Lucius decided he would leave his home village and set about to see the world. What he didn’t know was the religious turmoil that was going on between Yanism and the Paragon of Erathadites. The Goddess of Love, if she can be called that, set out to destroy the tieflings at any cost. Lucius was beaten and stoned at the first village he appeared at. That’s when the Goddess of Death came to his aid. She took control of his body willingly and saved him from the spiteful followers. They bowed down to Death, understanding of who their Empress truly was. When Lucius returned to his body, he was surprised to see the lack of bloodshed that the Goddess of Death did not create. Everyone in the village had not a hair harmed upon their head. They fell to their knees and bowed to Lucius, the first Priest.”
So the Goddess of Death went into a black tiefling? So what?
“Lucius started the line of Priests and Priestesses. The only black tieflings to exist are those descended from his blood. There were twelve in total. When one died, a new one appeared. Except when the twelfth died. None appeared after that war. She foresaw that this would happen. With the last of her strength, she gave an oracle. ‘While I may be gone, I am not lost. I will be the last black tiefling, for however unlucky thirteen is,’ is what she promised.” Silrae turned to me. “I know you do not want this role, and I understand completely. Don’t rush your decision on the choice though. Whatever you choose, I’ll support you.” He grabbed hold of my hand and pressed his lips against the back of my hand. The action confused me, but I was grateful for his words.
“Does something bother you about the story, little one?” the voice said.
“No,” I responded.
“Do you know who I am after hearing that story?” the feminine voice inquired.
“I have a guess.”
“I see.” With that, the conversation with the mysterious voice in my head reached its conclusion. Or perhaps, I was spiralling into madness. A chuckle involuntarily escaped my lips at the thought. The notion of losing my sanity was a peculiar prospect, and it hung in the air like a fragile wisp of smoke. The children, noting my unusual reaction, regarded me with puzzled expressions. Silrae, too, tilted his head in confusion. I let out a sigh as I stood up.
“Can we go?” I asked, seeking a change of scenery.
“If you would like to, we can. Did something unpleasant happen to put you in this mood?” Silrae inquired, his concern evident in his voice.
“No, I'm just eager to explore Kharisa and discover what sets it apart from other cities,” I replied. It was a peculiar sensation—feeling lost and found simultaneously, like a missing piece had been recovered. I tapped my forehead lightly with my index finger and then extended my hand outward, a symbolic gesture to gather my thoughts. Silrae offered a reassuring smile. The children waved their farewells as we exited the room, their laughter and footsteps echoing down the hall in the opposite direction. I sensed eyes on me, and as I turned around, I met Kjar's intense gaze, studying my every movement.
“You are our last hope,” the boy signed before darting off to join his friends, leaving behind a weighty declaration that lingered in the air.