Zaeyn

Refracted shimmers of watery light rained down through a massive stained glass dome, casting ethereal patterns that danced across the marble walls. The holy temple lay leagues below the surface of the Zy’ean River, veiled in an otherworldly stillness. Zoetik’s Rest exuded a sense of timeless reverence, suspended in hallowed anticipation for the royal ascendant’s arrival. Parallel rows of sandstone pillars stood tall and vigilant, like an armada of sentinels frozen in eternal watch; their intricate carvings depicted tales of Larmerian history, each design winding up the columns like living veins of artistry. In the heart of the temple rested a tremendous rectangular pool, its surface as still as glass. The water shimmered with an inner light, imbued with a faint aquamarine glow that seemed to pulse softly, as if alive with an ancient power.

Swathes of people congregated inside the temple. A heaping mass of bodies, the likes of which Zoetik’s Rest hadn’t seen for decades, all gathered in eerie silence. Larmerians held iron-clad respect for this sacred site, tampering it with senseless noise seemed sinful. So they waited, choking on their own excitement.

Suddenly, the glass dome was clouded by a brewing whirlpool, drowning the room in darkness, save for the light of stone braziers surrounding the pool. They emitted a steady, golden flame that flickered but never wavered.

With a deafening roar, the vortex spat Zaeyn out. His limp body plummeted into the pool, shattering its tranquil surface with a mighty splash. The Slipstream collapsed behind him, spiralling into nothingness. Murmurs and scattered gasps rippled through the gathered crowd.

The sobering bite of ice-cold water against his skin resuscitated his consciousness.

Am I alive? The crushing blow he suffered rendered him invalid. Agonising waves of pain flushed down his whole body like molten lava. He was trapped within a membranous, gooey cacoon. He flailed his arms, vehemently trying to break out and rise to the water's surface. I don’t think I’m going to make it out. No strength was left within him. His body was slowly succumbing to the severity of his injuries. Not even his adrenaline could give him the extra fight he needed to survive.

Onlookers watched on in terror. Pure, sacred waters sullied by the dark plasma all around him. The temple lit up with frantic chatter, disrupting the hallowed space. Concern for the Zaeyn’s safety was amping up as time dragged on.

They’re just going to watch as I struggle like this? His diminished life force meant he could no longer move a muscle. Every fibre of his being begged for air. His face warped in torture as he started convulsing in inconceivable pain. He braced himself for a bitter end. So, that’s it, huh?

A geyser of water started bubbling below him. The tickling sensation of air bubbles rising past him caught him by surprise.

In an instant, he was launched out of the pool. The crowd erupted in triumphant glee as a soft bed of water caught him mid-air and gently guided him to the very front of the temple beneath a statue atop a massive flight of stairs. A pair of hands grabbed hold of his shoulders and yanked him out of his cacoon prison, laying him on his side.

The roaring applause died in its infancy as Zaeyn threw up a pungent slurry of watery bile. Its dark hue was troubling. The projectile defiled the sacred floor, spreading like oil on white linen.

He thought he'd never seen light before; his watery vision was barely able to make out shapes. After spending so long in limbo, making acquaintance with reality again seemed an impossible feat.

Who is this? His sight finally managed to focus, and his eyes were still incredibly sensitive as he couldn’t stop blinking.

The first thing he could properly see was a pair of dark eyes. The heaviness in this gaze electrified Zaeyn. Instinctual respect and awe washed over him. His body registered who he was dealing with long before he truly realised. King…Khyracz?

“Who did this to you?” The grit in his voice could slice a boulder in half, but he maintained a certain poise, even in mundane speech. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much time to figure that out.

Zaeyn opened his mouth to speak and tried to prop himself up on his arms, but his strength gave out. He collapsed, falling into Khyracz's waiting arms, who knelt beside him.

“I-i-i’m sorry, I don’t know.” He feebly coughed the words up and relaxed deeper into Khyracz’s hold.

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“A treacherous crime has been done unto you.” Khyracz stood up. He carried Zaeyn with ease, his stoic face held high, a look befit to be sculpted into stone.

“We will find who did this.” He continued.

Khyracz began the descent. The flight of pristine marble stairs led directly to the sacred centre, where Zaeyn had nearly lost his life. His limp body swayed with each step, the faint jingling of his jewels ringing out against the tense silence. Below, the crowd stood spellbound in a mixture of terror and awe, their collective breath held as they watched their king’s every move.

As they descended, the statue of Mother Zyena atop the stairs grew smaller and smaller in Zaeyn’s view. She was immortalized in her final moments, posed bravely with a dagger pressed to her own throat. The glimmering blade she held was made entirely of sapphire. Zaeyn’s gaze lingered on the weapon, a pang of longing coursing through him. The Thief of Immortal Life. What I wouldn’t give to hold the real thing, to feel its weight in my hands.

As they neared the base of the stairs, Khyracz leaned closer to Zaeyn’s ear, his voice a low murmur. “A blighted ascension could stoke grievous flames of fear among our people. Forgive the theatrics,” he said, his tone carrying a faint undercurrent of regret. “But they must see their king undeterred.”

The king paused for a moment, fixated on the pool’s bizarre hue. The holy waters had been tainted by a malignant plasma, its gelatinous form dissolving and staining the once-pristine surface with a charcoal sheen. I’ve ruined the most sacred waters in all of Larmes, all the king has left of his mother.

His dark eyes swept over the crowd, silencing even the faintest whispers. The temple seemed to shrink under his gaze, the air thick with unspoken questions and mounting dread.

The crowd stood in solemn clusters along the raised stone platforms beside the pool. Their forms were bathed in the dim glow of the braziers, appearing as spectral onlookers.

He gently placed Zaeyn on the surface of the water, allowing him to float like a sombre relic of tragedy. He shut his eyes, focusing on his newfound weightless bliss and sank into the recesses of his mind to avoid the gnawing sting of eyes, a potent mix of concern, fear and disgust. I should get used to these stares, it’s all I’ll ever recieve from now on.

“Fellow children of the river, we need not fear for the ascended.” The king's voice dropped an octave deeper when addressing the public; the bass in his voice filled every crevice of space in the temple.

“Despite appearances, my greatest grandchild has never been better,” he continued, stepping out of the water with deliberate grace. Bet he forgot how many greats there are. It’d be impossible to remember, too, when you are that old. It’s three, though. He stood tall at the base of the stairs so everyone could see him. He commanded absolute attention over the entire room.

“And we need not fear for these waters! Though they may appear tarnished, no impurity or filth could truly taint them. They are imbued with her lifeforce.” He gestured to the statue behind him, turning briefly to steal a quick look. A quiet, fond smile flickered across his lips; he let out a heavy sigh before facing the crowd once more.

“Our Maturo, Mother Zyena, sacrificed herself for the good of her people. She gave her final breath to end the Final Famine and bless these lands. We repay her by honouring her memory. We repay her by celebrating her legacy!” His voice softened slightly, rich with reverence, as he extended an arm toward Zaeyn. “And this, my people, is her legacy. Zaeyn Zynaria, he carries her light forward. The Maturo are eternal, their lifeblood woven into the fabric of our world. Zaeyn is no exception—he is proof that her sacrifice endures, that her will remains.” Shaping up to have quite the legacy, isn’t she? I couldn’t be more of a blemish on her name if I tried.

Pins and needles ran up and down Zaeyn’s legs, prickling his skin like countless sparks of lightning. The sensation spread, surging into every muscle until his body felt locked in place, charged with an unbearable, electric energy. This is too much to bear!

The pool began to glow. A sharp hiss of steam exploded. The putrified waters evaporated, sending long wisps of onyx fumes into the temple air. The divine energy coursing through Zaeyn’s body purged out all impurities surrounding him, restoring the hallowed waters to their former glory. I can’t move! I can’t breathe! What is this…this power? It’s burning me alive!

Once the clear waters returned, the temple’s aquamarine tone deepened into a richer, more vivid hue. The light beaming out of the pool painted the entire temple in elaborate shades of blue, as if the place were completely submerged in water.

Scores of people in the crowd dropped to their knees, hands clasped in fervent prayer to Mother Zyena, believing the radiant waters to be a message from beyond the grave. Others, gripped by a foreboding inquietude, edged back cautiously, their wide eyes darting between the glowing pool and the king, as if searching for reassurance.

The king's facade slipped ever so slightly as he stared at the spectacle, his confusion tinged with abhorrence. “He…ascends?” The words dribbled out of his mouth.

A chorus of disembodied voices echoed throughout the room, crescendoing into a spinetingling maelstrom. This language felt unknowable, almost unreachable, yet everybody could grasp its depth and meaning through transcendental understanding.

When the temple's walls began to shiver, many people had begun evacuating by then. The ground beneath everybody vibrated incessantly, making it difficult to run. The light from the water strobed rapidly, revealing a mind-melting pattern of intricate glyphs that wove themselves across every surface. Defying spatial logic, the glyphs shifted and pulsed, their otherworldly movement warping the space around them.

A steady hum of arcane energy surged violently through the air. The glyphs grew brighter, weaving faster and faster. The voices unified into a single proclamation:

“A divine message ready to be answered.”

WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?! Zaeyn’s panicked thought screamed into the void as the energy coursing through him reached an unbearable peak.