[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1049139125908930620/1196524339445633025/246.png?ex=65ca6620&is=65b7f120&hm=c9c7a70d4e54770c5c884061b0270d321995999869e324e53d3bfb439b6bf436&]
I hate my life. Oh gods, I hate my life.
As so often happened lately, Maiya found herself wondering just how much Fate hated her for things to end up this way. The past week had been full of her most trying days ever, packed with blood rituals, ceremonial blood soakings, and other unspeakable obscenities.
When she’d done her fire performance, she’d hoped to gain enough bargaining power to haggle for her life. Perhaps even to be allowed to stay within the Children of Ash so she could avoid embarrassing herself in front of Ira.
In a stroke of cosmic irony, it seemed her fire gig hadn’t even been necessary. It was just the cherry on top—that she’d awoken at all after touching that tree trunk had been the true miracle.
No one who ever had ever lived. At least, not until her. The cult deemed those people to be scorned by the Prana Swarm, to be cremated and forgotten as soon as possible, lest their taint spread.
Who could have guessed they’d not only forgive her, they’d actually worship her instead?
Yes, it was all well and good that she was now a celebrity within the organization she’d been tasked with infiltrating. The tone of Princess Ira’s most recent letter made it sound like she’d jumped for joy at Maiya’s success.
A genius! The most valuable asset in the Empire! She’d gone on and on praising Maiya for gaining such a high station within the Children—something no one in recorded history had been able to do.
While flattering, said organization was a cult of deranged blood ritualists, and Maiya had now become one of them. How quaint that she once thought the blood baptism was bad. If only she’d known what was in store for her…
It was a cruel irony that the more power Maiya gained, the more freedom she seemed to lose along the way.
Back in Brij, she’d been powerless, and yet, her only expectations were that she help with chores and that she diligently ply herself to her studies.
No swords hung over her head, ready to come down with one wrong move made. There was no royalty demanding she risk her life infiltrating a crazy cult. And there were no disgusting blood rituals.
Maiya looked at her blood-soaked hands, having just spread the innards of a dead Ash Beast around the Childrens’ temple.
I hate my life.
Who was it that said with power comes happiness? Whoever it was, Maiya wanted to wring their neck.
Yes, Maiya’s bank account in Sonam had ballooned to a dozen serics. She’d been offered a place of her own—something of a small mansion—within Sonam’s Royal Quarter, complete with a staff full of maids and butlers of her own. It even had a sweeping view of the vast city.
Or so she heard; she’d never had the chance to see it.
What good was wealth and power if she couldn’t even enjoy it?
After Bahurai, everyone had returned to the Childrens’ compound under Jatan Forest, just a stone’s throw from Sonam. So close, and she couldn’t have been any further. Maiya hadn’t had a single spare moment to slip away and return to the city.
The princess wanted to meet immediately, but Maiya’s new ‘Blessed Chosen’ duties had taken priority. Maiya had to make preparations well in advance, informing a half-dozen Rectors and even a few Vicars—the highest level priests. Even then, the Children insisted she be accompanied by a guard. She’d agreed, only because she was planning to give them the slip the moment they entered the city.
Maiya was counting the days. Just a few more weeks, and she could visit home. She could see Neel again.
But before she could do any of that, she was to meet with a far more unsavory character, first. The Blessed Chosen—the ultimate leader of the Children of Ash. Their most hallowed member, second only in holiness to the great Prana Swarm itself.
Or at least, that had been the case until Maiya arrived. Now, she was suddenly a prophet, equal in status to the Blessed Chosen, and slated as the successor to the title, for which she was now being groomed.
What exactly that entailed, she couldn’t say. Only that the leader of the Children of Ash put reclusive hermits to shame. Nobody she’d ever talked to had ever seen them. No one knew their gender, or even what they looked like. For all she knew, she could’ve met them already without even knowing.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Kin’jals intelligence network didn’t even have a morsel of information about his identity. They suspected that the title of Blessed Chosen rotated somewhat rapidly, though for what reasons, they only had guesses.
What Maiya did know, however, was that she was going to wring the Blessed Chosen for answers. Answers about that tome she’d found. About what it’d done to her. And about the true purpose of the Children of Ash.
For as much as she wanted to pass them off as a band of crazy cultists, Maiya had begun to suspect there was more to them than met the eye. Secrets hidden behind secrets. Like that chamber with the vines and the tree.
“Well? Where is he?” Maiya asked impatiently as she paced around the large hall. It was the same chamber where she’d undergone her blood initiation, and every moment she spent here made her skin crawl. That it was underground, three stories in height and built to accommodate several hundred people, only made the space feel even more uncomfortable for a meeting between two people.
Perhaps the Children felt that only such a massive room was fit to hold a meeting between their two most important people.
“Please, we beg your patience, Blessed Prophet,” the Vicar said, bowing repeatedly. “The Blessed Chosen will be here in a moment.”
“I have already arrived,” a thunderous, deep voice boomed. His voice echoed off the walls, and the fact that Maiya couldn’t see him only added to the drama. If the man was trying to make an entrance, he’d certainly achieved it.
“Begone,” he commanded. “Leave us.”
The Vicar bowed deeply and rushed out of the hall, slamming its great double doors behind him.
Maiya waited in silence for the man to make his appearance.
As with most temples, there was an area dedicated to the seating of the audience—just a wide open space where people could sit crosslegged on the ground.
Instead of an altar worshipping the various gods, however, an enormous wooden statue stood in the position of honor. The Childrens’ interpretation of the Prana Swam sat prominently in the center of the room, rising nearly to the roof. If Maiya hadn’t known it was wooden, she’d never have guessed—the deep red hue hinted at just how many blood dousings it’d been through.
And, standing under the statue, was a large, clean-shaven man. A very large man. Somebody who looked all too familiar, in fact.
Maiya’s voice caught in her throat. “The Silent One?” she muttered.
The hooded leader approached her with long, confident strides. Even his gait was identical.
The man drew to within ten paces and threw back his hood.
Maiya simply stared at his face for a solid ten seconds, uncomprehending.
“S-sorry,” she said at last. “I mistook you for someone I know.”
He was not the Silent One, though he looked so similar. The heavyset face, the bushy brows. They were almost identical.
“Would you, by any chance, be related to—”
“Blessed Prophet,” the Blessed Chosen said, cutting her off. “Your time is precious. As is mine. We have important matters to discuss. I recommend we not tarry.”
“R-right,” Maiya said, off balance. His uncanny similarity left her incredibly confused. Confused and frustrated.
The resemblance he bore to the Silent One was uncanny.
Did the Silent One know? Is that why he disappeared so suddenly?
Much to her worry, she hadn’t seen her big friend in days; he’d vanished the moment they’d returned from Bahurai. Not only did she fret over his safety, but he’d disappeared at the worst possible moment—when she’d needed her friends the most.
Since there were no chairs or table, the two stood. An awkward way to have such a meeting, though Maiya supposed this, too, fit the nature of the organization.
“Blessed Chosen,” Maiya said in her smoothest voice, “I apologize. It is an honor to meet you.”
The man gazed at her with intense eyes. The same eyes as the Silent One. Except, with a predatory gaze she’d never seen from her friend, the gentle giant. As if the Blessed Chosen were contemplating whether he could kill her right then and there.
He probably is. I represent a direct threat to his position.
Maiya didn’t flinch.
“Tell me everything. What happened to you back there. I need to know.”
“Er, alright…” Maiya said, her stage voice slipping. The Blessed Chosen was just about the opposite of everything she’d expected. She’d been fully prepared to meet with a mad zealot—the maddest of them all. What she’d gotten was a stoic, rational individual that didn’t seem at all like he had any screws loose.
In a way, it was far worse. While she might’ve recently gained authority within the cult, having a competent leader at the head of the snake would prove far more difficult to oust.
Ira, I’m afraid this isn’t going to be easy.
“I… that room,” Maiya said, meeting and matching the Blessed Chosen’s own gaze. “With the vines. When I touched that trunk, I blacked out. Though, it’s odd. I feel like there was more. As though I was waking from a dream. A long and terrible dream. Do you know what that was? What is its significance to the Children?”
And why does this cult really exist? She didn’t add. If this person truly was as capable as his demeanor suggested, she’d have to play her cards carefully. The moment he suspected she was a spy would be the end of her.
“You feel nothing, then? No different?” Maiya thought she saw an earnest hope in his eyes. As though hoping she’d agree.
“I…” Maiya paused. She’d been about to say she was fine, and yet… Even a full week later, something felt off. Wrong, somehow. She’d initially attributed it to the stress of recent events, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“So, you do,” the Blessed Chosen said, before Maiya had replied. Apparently, her carefully hidden emotions had slipped onto her face. “I see.”
The Blessed Chosen hid his emotions well, though Maiya could sense the displeasure in his voice.
“Is that bad? I deserve an explanation, don’t you think?”
“You deserve nothing. They seem to have finally taken action. But all is not lost. Not yet.”
They? What is he on about?
The Blessed Chosen looked like a man who’d just been handed a death sentence.
Gears clicked in Maiya's mind, and her eyes widened. “It was you, wasn't it?” she muttered. “You were the one who had them move the pool that would've cushioned our fall.”
Before she could react, the Blessed Chosen had already left, his large frame slipping through the equally large door, leaving Maiya with more questions than ever before.