I could hear the heavy paintings of my comrades, stumbling over a foot in Elysium and another in their living flesh. The air, a brazen snow, tainted our flesh of a bitterly numb frost. The ground, a moving sleet of melted cold, dawdled our surviving pace. The only light we had for guidance, a sheer flicker of fire in the hands of Yulia. Her face was darkened by the gloomy obscurity of the flame, although fluorescent golden hair gently fell down her back uplifted by the howling wind. She steadied her hands fixated before her, summoning the light for us all, as to not falter the brightness of the flame. Her pace was fastened, each footstep plumbing and raising from the snow below. She, unlike all of us, was the unshakable symbol of the crown, the inquisitors we were meant to be. But even so, like all of us, I could tell she was in pain. Like all of us, she mourned this hell that befell upon us, she had to, as, like us, she was humans. Slowly but steadily, we fastened our pace, the dying walk we exerted ourselves to preserve. 

A heavy thund crushed upon the snow, I turn back to find the frail body of Liam the youngest of us, his frontal figure sinked into the snow. Our pace freezes, our stares enveloped by the figure of Liam. He does not stand up, instead lies shivered into the melted pond. Was this what we were meant to be? Sacrificed pawns for a better cause? Each of us had risen from dust to silver, we were polished to shine for what we were worth, had we gotten rusty to be discarded so?

I bend down, resting my hand upon his shoulder, he shows no apparent response, instead, reigns a deadly silence as if he were passing through the gates of the netherworld. I wrap my arms around his, lifting a figure whose eyes death had taken possession of. They were shallow and doll, were it not for a set of shrieking breaths, I would have taken him for dead.

I wave for us to move on, and then proceed myself. I walk, carrying over me the weight of a shattered hope, and the apprehension that within his body there could be nothing. Perhaps he was already dead.

The only horizon we peer at, a pale soft white, ongoingly stretching as far as the eye can see. A tiring sight, the only thing to be seen during long days of traveling, long days of shame. I recall the days we walked the path of high esteem, proud inquisitors bearing the banner of our queen, before, in foreign territory, being held as enemies to the throne, and thus branded as heretic to be slain.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

My pace drifts along the shallow bed of ice. I recall, the wandering fragrance of Ilsa, a redolence of drifting coffee, the town whose hope fluttered about, peaceful lives residing with a peaceful land. I let out a faint sigh, thinking aback on the life I had, I knew, I wasn’t to be polished, but to be kept within the sanctuary for us all. And yet I was starving for what seemed to be more than that little circle of ours, now I find myself weak, a truth.

The moment I took up the sword for my banner, the moment I had risen up to become a bigger part of this world, I knew, I would suffer. I exhale a heavy panting. I found myself carrying more than I could handle, neither I or my comrades were powerful enough to stand up against the faithful of. 

 “Wait.” A broken mutter shot through the air, the frail sound lasted a second before disappearing into the mad callings of the place. I halted my pace, letting the rest of our troup move on ahead. My presence a thing of the past, I felt a heavy push laying on my shoulder, Liam’s footsteps sank into the snow below. It seemed, he struggled to push on, as if all the force he had left, he put all into this one action, breaking from the aid I so much tried to supply. Gently he withdrew his arms from the support that I offered as if not to graze the samaritan he owed so much to. “Thank you, I’ll take it from here.” I hear, before any image I had of him fades into the blizzard, together with the troupe.

The shallow marionette was not so dead, it seemed. Perhaps I was the entity, whom death had grasped.

“Elena, you’re not dozing off are you?!” A distant shouting echoes throughout the snow blast, I shake off my thoughts, an anxiety holding me back. From the distant sound, I make out remote blurs in the icy coverage. Four figures grow noticeable, one amongst them stands out as if boulders and stones were left to be measured and compared, a proud and proper standing overwhelmed the bear of our group, his temper seemingly not worsened by the case we found ourselves in - Lambert. As I grew nearer towards them, a merry smile took out from Lambert’s look, Yulia too smiled, it was genuine, although a faint tiredness drifted across. I forcefully drew my steps forward and faster. “Sorry, let’s move ahead.” I let out. I felt a slight guilt running through my chest.

We set off once again, this time with the grumbling of Esben apparently maddened by the dull walk, we had done so for days, perhaps he was at his bounds mercy.