The day of the Ceremony began the same as any other. The king's eyes lazily flutter open, the sound of the bell above his bedroom door pulling him from slumber.
"Uhm... Your Majesty?" The king's servant shyly pokes her head through the door, her brunette ponytail slipping off her back and over her shoulder. The King groans himself into a sitting position.
"What is it, Viralia?" His voice was gravelly and low from a restless night of sleep, sending small reverberations through the room. The servant's shoulders tighten.
"Well, it's time to begin preparations, Your Majesty, Sir." Viralia watches the King carefully, noticing the bags under his eyes and his exhausted demeanor. He nods and the servant snaps, doors flying open as a small crowd of servants piles in. He shifts his legs over the side of the bed, flipping the covers off, and rises. He walks to the center of the room, and some of the staff immediately get to work. Two of them strip the bed completely, hurrying out the door to clean the used bedspread, while another two bring in an identical set and begin reapplying the sheets, covers, and pillowcases. The King grunts as he raises his arms, another group of servants moving to remove the King's sleepwear and don his intricately crafted, royal purple silk mantle. Viralia, waiting patiently on the side for His Majesty to be dressed, speaks up, "Sir, did you perhaps spend too much time in the Archives last night?" His eyes drift to Viralia, who, realizing she implied His Majesty had done something wrong, quickly attempts to stand even more upright than she previously was, stumbling through her words, "What I mean is that—"
"You are correct, Viralia. I did." He cuts off her trail of words, before his eyes flick straight ahead, staring at seemingly nothing. He palms the amethyst pendant bound around his neck, the one he hasn't been able to take off since his coronation. She gingerly steps toward him.
"Were you… Ah... Successful in finding what you've been searching for?" Her voice hangs in the air for a moment, the King's stare growing further.
"No," His Majesty hangs his head low. "Not yet." Viralia shifts uncomfortably in place. The final decorations of his mantle are secured.
"I apologize for speaking out of turn, Your Majesty, but I hope you find whatever it may be soon." The king's eyes narrow as he lowers his arms and turns to face Viralia, who desperately wants to look away from him but knows she absolutely can not, as per her orders.
"Yes. I hope so as well." His voice begins adjusting from his groggy morning croaking. He proceeds to exit his room, Viralia and servants in tow, following long corridors filled with ornate vases on railings surrounding a flourishing flower garden, and beautifully painted portraits of the previous Kings lining the walls between delicately etched marble pillars.
"We need twenty staff on disturbance containment and another fiftee—" Viralia's voice drifts into nothing as the King's mind begins to fill and he winces, raising his palm against his temple. "Your Highness, are you o—"
"Yes!" Booming louder than normal, Viralia freezes in place. He quickly recovers, "Yes, Viralia. Nothing more than a minor headache." She nods, before stepping in front and swiveling in place before the King.
"Very well, I will call the healer to meet you in the throne room."
She bows and hastily makes an exit through a side door.
The King makes his way to the throne room, where he is greeted by the Royal Healer, Kendrick. His Majesty quickly excuses all of the guards from the room to speak with Kendrick one on one. The King has always considered Kendrick to be one of his closest allies, or even friends. They knew each other well before they themselves were subjected to the Ceremony. Growing up no more than a few houses down from each other in the tradesmen district, just a step up from the peasants. "What seems to be the problem, M'lord?"
"Please, Kendrick. Drop the formalities. It is just us here." The King takes a seat on his throne and sighs deeply. Kendrick loses his preppy demeanor immediately.
"Alright fine, what's bothering you now Oswin?" He squats down and takes a seat gently on the floor. The King groans almost under his breath.
"I spent all night searching again... This is the eighth time this month, Kendrick. I almost don't know if what I'm looking for exists anymore.” He slouches down on his throne, smearing down his face with his hands. “The Archives are so extensive, and I feel like I just keep looking over the same sections, and—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Kendrick’s voice cuts off the King’s words, “I’m sure there is some knowledge about the curse somewhere in the Archives. There’ll be more time to look later.” He drones, having heard this same story countless times over the past dozen years or so. His Majesty rolls his eyes at him. “Regardless, Oswin, the Ceremony is going to be beginning soon. Now... I was called here for a reason, Viralia said you had a headache. Shall I?” the King nods and leans forward, Kendrick resting his hands against the sides of Oswin’s head. A gentle green glow sends tingles throughout His Majesty’s head, groaning in relief he lifts his head back up.
“Thank you, and… I really do appreciate you sticking with me through all of these troubling years, friend,” He smiles softly toward Kendrick, who returns the fondness with a swift smack on the back.
“Are you kidding, the shit we’ve been through? I’d crawl through hell and earth for you. You’re practically my brother. Although I’d choose you over him any day.” He cackles and makes his exit through one of the many side doors that lead to various parts of your castle, his smile curling into a snarl as he leaves. Servants begin piling into the Grand Hall, preparing every vase, every painting, every plant, and every square inch of the palace to absolute perfection. Viralia walks in and steps before His Majesty.
“Are we ready to begin the ceremony, Your Royal Highness?” She bows before the King, who adjusts his posture to reflect his status. He closes his eyes and draws in the deepest breath he can muster, exhaling slowly and fully.
“I believe we are.” His eyes opened as the first of the doors swung open.
His breath catches in his throat as he watches the eighteen-year-olds begin to file in, then the seventeens, sixteens, and fifteens. All of the children that have already been subjected to this cruel punishment, but luckily they are safe from further torture. So long as they follow orders… just until he can find a way. The next door opens and children thirteen and under begin to file in, in descending order, all the way down to those who could barely walk at the age of four or five. Chatter begins to fill the room as the little ones struggle to restrain themselves, waiting for the last few to fall in line. Viralia, standing before the steps leading to His Majesty, raises her hand. Every kid’s attention is pulled to her, and she quickly clenches into a fist in such a way it’s as if all the air in the room was sucked out. Complete silence. She lowers her fist and clears her throat.
“It is time for the Royal Ceremony to commence!” She boasts loudly and clearly. The Grand Hall doors fly open, and the fourteen-year-old children walk down the middle aisle of the palace, heads looking left and right, scanning their surroundings. All of the kids on the older side begin commenting amongst themselves, almost like they are guessing which door each child will go to. Only once the fourteens reach the end of the carpet, just before His Majesty, does Viralia use the same motion as before to silence the room once again. Two servants step out of a fake wall-type door, carrying the ornately-crafted golden crown, heavily decorated with valuable jewels, the most valuable being the centerpiece of the crown, the Jewel of Brindovia. They place it delicately on a velvet cushion, on a pedestal a few feet to Viralia’s side and hurriedly move to take their place by the wall. She confidently grabs the crown and approaches the first child, placing it on the little girl’s head. The King stares at the child's head, who is blinded by the stained glass windows bleeding sunlight, watching the crown intently. The jewel begins to swarm with a rainbow of colors, swirling and blending until it rests on a vibrant orange color.
"Not them." He speaks almost with a sickened tone in his voice, but pulls his composure together, masking his disdain. The two servants who brought in the crown jog silently to the child as Viralia lifts the crown off them, their faces full of anxiety and curiosity. The look distorts into panic hearing the king, as she is lifted against her will and carried through the door to the right, not knowing what will happen to her. The next child steps up and the crown goes on. An emerald green color consumes the gem and the King nods his head with a soft, "Yes." Viralia removed the crown and they were escorted to the door on the left. The line continues to move as the King accepts or denies the children. One by one. Red, then blue, then yellow, red, orange, green. To those unaware, it almost seems incomprehensible. The Jewel determines the usefulness of the wearer's Specialty and assigns it a color designation, at least, that's what purpose they gave the crown where the gem is embedded. Red means the wearer is in no way gifted with a Specialty, they are let loose back to the poor district, blissfully unaware of any wrongdoings of the kingdom, unaware of magical abilities at all. Oranges and Yellows indicated the wearer does indeed have a Specialty, though it is either not very effective or not powerful enough to be useful. They are taken to the room on the right and slaughtered. Greens and blues were the sweet spots, powerful and effective Specialties that would be highly beneficial and sought after. Purples were quite rare and were the most dangerous. Most Parasitic Specialties fall into this category, being immediately taken to the room on the right, and they must be dealt with immediately and without prejudice. They could destroy a kingdom if left alive.
Stolen novel; please report.
An hour passes as the Ceremony continues, having gotten through nearly half of the children. The King drones through his judgments, ready to be done with this. Then a boy steps up, and the crown goes on. The King, having lost his will, looks through the boy, almost spacing out. The Jewel begins swarming with color once again, but, snapping him from his trance, it doesn't immediately assign a color. He begins to stare hard at the Jewel, watching the interlacing colors with extreme focus. Orange, no blue, now it's green. Blurring as they shift faster and faster, the Jewel begins to glow. The King begins to see images flashing, as he is sucked through his mind. Random recollections of others’ memories. An image of seven silhouettes, each with a different color of immense aura radiating off of them, begins consuming his vision. He lets out a small croak of a sound and realizes no words begin forming, their presence has silenced even him, the King. White light fills his vision and as he squints, he can faintly make out a green outline of a figure, and as it draws nearer he sees the figure is nothing more than a tracing of a woman, made entirely of green pulsing energy. He can not discern any features at all from her and stands, gawking in awe, as she reaches forward with what would be her index finger, and touches the amethyst pendant around the king’s neck, causing the slightest chip in the gem.
A sudden rush takes over His Majesty, As he is slung into a timeless existence in the confines of his mind, he lands in between two shelves in a library. Taking in his surroundings, it dawns on him that he’s actually in the Archives of his kingdom, but something is off. There isn’t a single candle lit in this windowless space, yet it’s still bright enough that he can see unaided. As he walks to the end of the aisle, he looks to either side and sees an infinite expanse of shelves, all stocked full of unseen journals, encyclopedias, and tomes, seemingly every piece of history has been precariously documented and stored in this expansive space, looking up he sees they seem to reach the highest point of the sky, every section full of dates in time.
His Majesty bellows out a loud, “Hello?”, his voice resonating off the neverending void of books before him. A sound, almost as if a whisper in his ear, pulls the attention of the King, who snaps his head to the direction it came from. It calls once more and the King starts helplessly stumbling toward it, drawing him down rows and rows of shelves before a speeding green light passes him down one of the aisles. He falls forward as he tries to run after the light, jumping up desperately to follow it, only catching glimpses as it turns corner after corner. The King exasperatedly gasps for breath, never having to move this much before, running further and further into the endless maze of skyscraping shelves, until he turns the next corner where the mysterious glow floats gently in place. Approaching the light, it moves toward a battered journal on the shelf. His Majesty guardedly reaches toward the journal and the green light dissipates as his fingers first make contact. He pulls it from the shelf and walks to the edge of the aisle, instinctively grabbing a candle as well as a tinderbox hung next to it off the end. After a few strikes, he lights the tinderbox and pulls a sulfur-tipped match out, igniting it and setting the candle alight. He hangs the candle back up and slides his back down the shelf, slowly regaining his breath, now realizing the candle wasn’t necessary, but he leaves it be. It’s comforting in a way.
He stares at the front of the battered notebook, noticing there is not a speck of dust on it, but also nothing discernible on the surface itself, just a faded plain brown cover. Opening the journal, he is greeted with a language that he has never before seen. Turning to the next page he finds more of the same letters and symbols. He begins to flip frantically through the pages, trying to find anything that makes sense to him but it’s completely unintelligible. He flips to a page with a drawing of a woman wearing a full set of golden armor, depicting her mid-battle, an enormous blaze spewing from her hands as she is soaring over armies of soldiers. Some writing is around the drawing in the margins, and as his eyes flutter from one note to the next, he lands upon a certain string of symbols that draws him in, he… understands this one, symbols that could hopefully start to lead him to what he’s been searching for. It’s a name. Her name. He knows it is, but has no idea just.. How.. he knows. Infernia. Just thinking of the name causes the King to feel a warm aura. An image of the boy from the ceremony flashes through his mind as the name rings around in his head.
A gradually increasing wall of sound breaks his trance. Glancing to either side down the rows, he sees the shelves in the farthest part of his perception violently begin rising or sinking into nothing, darkness following just behind. The sound roars like a waterfall, as, one by one, the shelves begin creaking and groaning, closing in on the King from both sides. It dawns on him as the shelves closest to him begin to shift that this mental construct he’s in must be collapsing. Just as the last shelf shifts, bringing with it a deafening grinding sound that disorients the King, does he shout, jolting back into reality. His body reflexively inhales deeply as the trance breaks, it felt like he’d been there an hour, but only a moment had passed here.
Getting reoriented, His Majesty looks around to see the staff watching the boy in frozen horror, as all the color drains away and the Gem is left as a black stone. No one moves a muscle, a deadly silence covers the room. His Majesty looks at the boy and his eyes widen as a wispy orange glow, invisible to the naked eye, laps at the air like smoke. He feels the same warmth he felt just a moment ago. This boy… He has to be... The King knows he must act before any one of his people can react to the stone. He stands and walks down to the boy, who he has so many questions for. He knows he can't send the boy through the doors, and he most certainly can't let him wander the kingdom, they would find him out and end him. There's only one option he has if he ever wants a chance to meet this boy again. "Out." He knows this boy is probably going to hold a grudge against him. Possibly even resent him. But this is his only hope for survival, for a chance of learning who he is. He watches the boy, whose head spins from side to side, not understanding he's just been sentenced to exile. His Majesty, masking any hint of disgust he felt toward his actions, booms out once more, "Get OUT!". The servants remove the crown and scoop the boy up by his arms, moving swiftly out the grand doors at the entrance.
Viralia gawks at the King, who is still standing in place with clenched fists, having never seen such a visceral response from him. Pulling herself together, she steps forward and gingerly mutters, “Your Majesty?” She clutches her hands and teeters softly in place awaiting a response, noticing the pendant has a small chip in it. Shit, that's not good. I have to catch him after the ceremony so we can repair that. He finally draws a breath as if it were his first and releases his fists.
“Yes, my apologies, let us continue.” He saunters wearily back to his throne. Viralia waits anxiously as he calmly lowers down into his chair. As if His Majesty had flipped a switch upon sitting, Viralia promptly calls out.
"Next!" The line scuffles forward, and she places the crown on the next child. The gem doesn't shift, staying as black as onyx. Viralia steps forward and inspects the gem, giving it a little rap with her fingertip, her polite demeanor sinking into a frown. The child stands as still as possible, body shaking involuntarily. She removes the crown and examines it closely, but not seeing anything outwardly wrong with it she places it on the child again. Nothing. Her frown curls into the beginnings of a panic, thinking to herself, why the hell is this not working? We still have at least fifty kids that absolutely must be judged. What can we do... Maybe they could just lump the rest in with those who failed? There can't be any risk of Specialties bleeding into the lower class. But surely some of the younger ones would begin having questions. Questions that we wouldn't be able to give out answers to. What if we could somehow ensure they don't develop Specialties… some kind of procedure maybe? We don't really know what causes them though so we would be doing so blindly. And how will we get the ones in line out without letting everyone know something is wrong? I need to think of something NOW. Just as she is about to begin spouting a vague semblance of a plan, a booming voice echoes over the hall.
"We will be concluding the ceremony here!" The King stands tall in front of his throne, every pair of eyes in the room meeting his silhouette, "Those who have not endured judgment are free to return home. Everyone else may return to your daily lives."
Viralia turns toward His Majesty, fire in her eyes, mind racing, What is he DOING? He is going to ruin everything we've spent generations building up! Is this because of his pendant cracking? He shouldn't even be able to make decisions of his own free will. If we don't repair that now then we're all in trouble. Before she can perform any sort of crowd control, she turns back to find all of the children filing out, hundreds moving and talking amongst themselves, too many to stop. She snaps her head back to the throne and sees that it's empty.
A side door gently swaying catches her eye and she throws herself toward it, knocking down some servants in the way. Stumbling forward she passes through the doorway to see the hallway is empty. Sprinting to the end and looking both ways down the corridor she catches a glimpse of His Majesty's purple mantle slipping into a room, the Archives. She charges the doors and yanks at the handles but the doors don't budge. The bastard locked it. Damn it. I have to get to the other entrance before he does. She takes off again down one corridor after another, up a flight of stairs, and slides in front of the doors, catching the door handle to stop her momentum. She pulls on the doors, but again they don't move. Placing one foot on the door she heaves against the other, attempting to pry it open. Still no avail. Son of a BITCH! That damn goody two-shoes keeps getting in the way of the plan. He can't find out about Brindovia! She begins throwing herself against the door hoping to bust it down, but these doors are constructed to stop a battering ram. Gasping for air, she slumps her back down the door, until her bottom hits the floor. There's no other way in there… damn it. I pray to God that Kendrick hid those notes well enough otherwise Oswin could destroy this entire kingdom.