And so it came that Elia and Rye were hanging over the big bowl of respite, treating it like a toilet bowl after a bender, waiting for the cause of that unplaceable dread to show itself. Cess and co. followed along at a careful distance. Karla gave her a thumbs up.
“You can do it!” she called from across the room. “Just remember: The gods are trying to kill you, but you can’t let them!”
“T-that’s not helpful at all!” Rye cried. “Oh why me, why me!?”
“’Cause the gods really don’t want every schmuck to be immortal.” Cesare said, hiding behind Mouggen. “The cycle of the grail must go on, life to death to life.”
Except for a chosen few. I’m smelling propaganda. Are you smelling propaganda?
Rye wretched into the bowl. She was feeling worse by the minute. The air was filled with static. Her hair was floating everywhere. She really should have gotten a haircut, it wouldn’t do to show up to a smiting looking like an old broom and – no, focus, she was going to die!
“What if they judge me and find me wanting? What if all my efforts weren’t enough? What if they mistake me for Elia!?”
Hey. Rude.
“You might die. Other than that, nothing much, really.” Cesare shrugged. “I guess the gods didn’t have undead in mind when they created tribulations.”
… well, there went all the tension. Rye was almost relieved when she heard the distant roll of thunder. She was safe inside the temple, right?
Her hand fizzed with static ants. She looked down and saw the bowl had opened to a cloud-covered sky.
“Oh bean–“ she said as a pillar-thick lightning bolt zapped her in the face.
There was a flash and a boom, then pain, then silence. The world devolved into odd shapes as she fell to the ground. Someone was rushing towards her, others waited for a second strike.
Her mind was drifting again. She felt herself lift from her body, up through a worried Karla and the roof above. The city appeared hazy in front of her eyes, like a waking dream. Through it all, the rumbling grew quiet as the haze of her own breath enveloped her, until there was nothing but darkness. In the distance she could hear music, voices high and low trickling down from mount Gatheon in a waterfall of choir notes. Long and low trembles hung in the air. They were waiting, but for what, for whom?
A single voice rose from it, the tone of an old crone echoing in the unseen pantheon as Rye’s eyes were cast open to see the city from high above.
The cycle of souls is coming to an end. The grail of ages lies toppled, and the golden halls of the gods grow gray with mud.
Flashes of pictures slashed across her vision. A pale woman turning her back on the mountain. A king kneeling in front of dark places. Empty castles, manors, and more with the occasional dreg dragging its heels in the dirt. The choir rose to make their disapproval known and the voice grew into a low, judging tenor.
A grave duty has been shunned, heralding the end of our age of light. Now, pretenders sit on the thrones of lords. The dark forest spreads its roots, toppling kingdoms and entire civilizations. Demons, once vassals under Worga, great god of conquest, return to march on our capital. Amid blood and tar, mortal demigods scheme and pluck at the foundations of our very order.
The dream flashed again, tearing her awareness this way and that. A woman who, below the waist, was a four-limbed lizard threw a massive head into the sea, the water bulging, rising to meet her. A man, massive in all proportions like an elephant, lead a legion through a mountain pass, ember-lines glowing in cracks beneath his charcoal skin. A congregation of red and white were meeting in secret with a slew of dripping knights, exchanging an embryo in amber for a goblet made of giant’s skulls before light and fire threw the room into disarray, and a familiar mane of feathers expanded to cover her vision. The choir railed, cried, boiled to a crescendo and suddenly stopped.
None shall reign supreme; all will be torn asunder as time and death, autumn and winter chisel at god and mortal alike.
Rye’s head felt as if someone was sitting on it. Her thoughts were squeezing out of her ears. But despite the moment of silence, the dread had never stopped building once.
And yet, there is hope. From the lowest depth, from eons passed and kingdoms long forgotten, a clear spring arises.
The maze grew out, expanding to the horizon and all she could think was ‘no.’
The undead, beckoned by their need for souls, rise from their millennial graves and with them heroes of yore.
The low voices were gone, overbearing baritones making way for hopeful sopranos.
Wulfred, loyal retainer of the lady of the hunt.
She recognized the armor, but not the face. He was there, but not, and it all felt so familiar but wrong, so, so wrong.
Yawen and Yolon, the great lover-magi.
Yawen was dead. A dreg. She knew it, she had found his essence stuck in a crystal ball.
Queen Nué, half-daughter of the moon; Karla, the outsider princess.
The woman was a bird and there were feathers and this was all not real.
The exile of Morgenthal, Brod, the giant.
Did she kill him, was he the one at the end of the maze?
And the last true follower of the old faith of our gods, The nameless riverside maiden.
The Maiden. The Old Maiden. The heroes returned and half were already gone, dead like so many dregs.
‘No’ Rye tried to scream, ‘NO!’
She bucked under the weight of it. It was too much, all too much and the weight of it all threatened to crush her.
All will rise. All will carry our burden and march to Loften, where dead gods lie, where all things come to an end. Arise, ye forlorn undead. Mend the grail and bring peace back to Loften.
The choir was working hard to oversell this moment as memorable, as glorious. But what glory was left in this rotten world? What hope was there if even the gods tried and failed? Nothing, there was no hope, no happiness, only dread and drudgery and death, so much useless death.
Rye would die soon, she felt it at her very core. She’d become not herself, not Elia, not anyone. And no matter if that ungodly mixture took their best parts or their worst, they too would one day fail and then she’d become a dreg.
Mindless existence didn’t seem such a bad prospect anymore. If only she could say goodbye to her family one more time, say goodbye to Sam. Maybe she would finally hear her true name, not the nickname given to her by Rye’s parents. It was forbidden to call her people by their name; the empire forbade even the mention of any part of her culture.
Why was that so? Who drew the line in the sand and declared ‘you are praised, yet your name be forgotten’?
She didn’t know, didn’t care to know, not now. With the final dregs of consciousness, she prayed against reason, wished even that at least Sam had fulfilled her dream.
You have survived a heavenly tribulation.
All things have a price.
You are an undead. Your tenacity has slightly increased.
Gather the shards. Climb the mountain. Let us be whole again.
Rye woke blearily, surprised it was her and not Elia at the reins. Her haze surrounded her on every side, repeating that message again and again. She sucked it in and winced. Her lips were dry and her throat scratched something fierce. When she tried to move she realized she was stuck, pinned under the embrace of Karla who had fallen asleep at her bedside.
The girl stirred.
“Oh, you’re not dead.” Karla yawned. “I figured as much when you didn’t start smelling.”
“The grail… gods… Karla I, you…”
“Careful now. You hit your head on the bowl something fierce. Can you stand? Shall we go and heal you at the waters?”
“No. Yes, but…” Rye shook her head. “Karla. Our empire, the world, is it really…?”
“Broken? Scuffed? Slightly in trouble. Yes, all of that and worse. Nothing we can do about it though, nothing at all.” She nodded vigorously. “Nobody who’se ever climbed mount Gatheon returned. Noone knows if the grail is even still up there. Someone might have stolen it, and that’s how we’re in this mess.”
“You’re… awfully calm. Does this happen a lot?”
She shrugged. “I’ve witnessed a dozen tribulations. They’re from a time when people only had one life. It gave better rewards, or so I heard. Where I come from, the aristocracy gets first pick of the greater souls. We’ve consolidated a lot of power that way, but I’ll be the first to say that it’s a paper hypertiger; they’re all duels this and wine that. Everyone wants to be seen as powerful, to crush their enemies with the weight of their purses, but barely anybody cares to put in the effort.”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Is that why you wanted to leave?”
“That, and the suitors. I had many, old, wrinkly men and some women. Auntie Clara said if I wanted the choice then I’d have to deal with the rejections. Let me tell you, people who have a hundred or thousand dregs at their beck and call take the ‘no’ of a young princess as a ‘maybe’ and ‘maybes’ as a ‘most definitely soon’.” Karla nodded, wringing a wet towel. “It was getting very stuffy. I’m just glad my aunt hasn’t sent any assassins after us.”
Rye twitched and Elia spoke out. “Do I have to worry about her trying to get rid of you?”
Karla giggled. “No, silly, to kidnap me back. Also, to kill whoever thinks they can ‘steal’ a princess and cross the pact. No one does that and gets away, besides maybe rubber-pirate-man.”
So, the assassins were out to kill people like Rhuna. Or like her. Great. As if a timer on her life wasn’t enough, there were apparently also assassins out there, in the city filled with ungodly monsters, hordes of undead, and people pretending to be gods, if that prophetic episode was correct. Gods, it was the end of the world. Everything was screwed seven ways side-on.
“I’m never getting back home.” Rye felt her heart crick a bit, but forced herself to be calm. “So, I’m immortal now? I don’t feel very different.”
“It’s just the first step. Congratulations, you’ve stopped aging. You’ll notice it in a decade or so. Until then your body will only be healthy and immune to any mundane disease. You’ll probably grow a bit, or develop some weird obsession with mangos.” She shrugged. “Immortals are weird like that. Can you see a notification telling you to climb the mountain? Good, that means it worked. Don’t listen to that artifact of the past though, don’t trust your handy haze. The gods always wanted to have an eye on everyone who attained immortality. Nowadays, well, there are too few live gods left to care.” Karla shrugged, then turned to her with a very smug face. “Sooo… did you hear the prophecy?”
“Yes.”
“And did you also hear what it said about me?”
“Yes.” Elia grumbled. A small hiccup shook her. Rye opened her mouth next. “Why did it call you the outsider princess?”
“I don’t know! And I don’t care. I am destined for greatness and everyone who’s anyone knows it.”
‘And here I thought Elia had an ego,’ Rye thought.
With a bit of shooing and prodding, Karla finally accepted that everything was alright. Rye walked on unsteady legs to the bowl. The world may have ended, or been in the process of ending for quite a while and Rye found that she just couldn’t give a damn. The merge was happening quickly, they didn’t have all the time in the world. Maybe it would happen in a month, maybe next week. Likely not more than two ten-weeks at this rate. The first impression of the group of Nali, Mouggen and Kessare wasn’t great, but she was out of choices and out of time.
She took a big sip from the bowl of respite, clearing up the fog in her mind.
I think I know what it feels like to be squished by a grug now, even if I have no concept of what a grug is.
“I feel like I’ve just lived through one of your videe-games.” Rye stretched until her neck popped satisfyingly. Elia loved doing it and she could see why. The sound was addicting. “Alright Karla, I want to try something. Hit me.”
“What?”
“Hit. Me. I got a bit of tenacity for that tribulation and I wanted to see–”
Karla slapped her across the face. Rye staggered back, surprised, but felt nothing more than a slight tingle on her skin. “O-ok. Good. That was really good. Now do it again, but harder.”
“Alrighty. Anything for you, Elia.” Karla wound up for the mother of all slaps and before Rye could correct her, she was on the ground seeing stars again.
“O-OW. Karla, that really hurt.”
“Sorry. I may have been a tad overenthusiastic there. I thought you were Elia.”
Hey! Rude!
“It’s fine, it’s fine, she forgives you. Probably.”
“If it’s any consolation, I have killed a dreg before with that slap.”
That only made her feel even more trepidation. Never ask Karla for a duel, noted. Rye took her stuff which she still had to clean when she looked into her bag of shards and paused.
“Hey Elia, isn’t this enough for a rare boon?”
Wuh? I… goddangit, I remember counting and that we were just shy of enough shards–
Shard count: [Common] x6, [Uncommon] x24, [Rare] x1
–and I completely forgot to add the ones we got from the stygian pike!
“Are you–“
–thinking we should trade them at Mahdi’s?
“Yes. Yes!.”
They zoomed out the temple and down the hill where Mahdi was taking yet another nap. Shaking him out of his sleep was just as hard as the trade was easy. At four uncommon to a rare, she could only go up to seven rare shards that way. The rares required eight shards for a bone of boons, meaning they still needed four uncommon to trade. Luckily, at a ratio of three to one, twelve uncommons were enough, and the duo happily pranced about with their newly lightened shard bag.
Shard count: [Common] x6, [Uncommon] x0, [Rare] x8
A rare. Turn it into a die, I want to see what it looks like.
You have fused: Bone shard [Rare] x8 into Bones of Boons [Rare] x1
The die shone with that rare tantalizing blue, now common all across the surface. Green dotted it too every now and then. Elia thought it looked kind of like earth, except for the rarest of purples that disappeared as quickly as they popped up. There was not a single gray note in sigh, not after a hundred permutations of the symbols on its sides. They both breathed a sigh of relief.
“It’s so pretty,” Rye said. “I almost don’t want to use it.”
You know what we should do?
“We should–“
–use it in front of everyone else.
“They’ll know our boon and see how rare it is. Then, Karla will see us in an even brighter light and the others won’t have a choice but to trust us.” Rye gasped. “Elia, you devious little devil, I never knew you could be so subtle.”
I, uh… sure, I definitely didn’t just want to flex on them.
“Oh shush, I know you’re always scheming. Like me! I’m finding more and more things we’re alike in as time goes on.”
… not a good sign.
She groaned. “Oh come on Elia, is it so bad to accept that we were just a little similar, even before the whole merger business?”
To be fair, If I woke up being locked inside your head, I would also have threatened you with a sword.
“You’re never going to let me live that down,” Rye grumbled as she made her way back inside. There, she threw open the door-flaps and yelled at the top of her lung. “Here ye, here ye, I am going to roll a rare boon! Anyone interested in magic, statistics, or gambling, please assemble at the bowl.”
Everyone of note assembled within the minute. The attendant was looking plenty intrigued, so much that Rye couldn’t help but think that a large part of it was theatrical. Of the four, Karla was as bubbly as always while Cesare and Mouggen appeared skeptical at first, until she showed the dice. Then, they were mixed, Cess whistling in appreciation while Mouggen scrunched his nose.
“Cheater,” he said.
“Oh, eff you.” Elia, finding herself in the driver’s seat, said. “I worked hard for this.”
“All boons are cheating. Real strength comes from the heart. And the sun.”
Cesare leaned over to whisper in her ear. “He’s just jealous ‘cuz he doesn’t have a single boon slot. Or know magic. He’s quite the poor priest.”
Elia guffawed. “Hah, sucks to be you.”
“Cesare, how can you declare that I don’t know magic? Maybe I was just hiding it all along? As for Elia-girl, I have no need to compensate. My skill is genuine.”
“Yeah, genuinely shi–“ she tasted something funny and then Rye booted her back out. “I mean, um, I’m sorry for you loss. We did genuinely earn it though. Oh, and I know how to get more slots. You’re free to ask questions if you’d like.”
“Peace, people, peace,” Nali said before peeking at the dice. “My, is that carved from ivory?”
“Um, it might be?”
“And where do they come from, do they grow from the ground? Or only in certain types of people?”
“People.” Rye felt slightly more uncomfortable holding it. “They’re the essence of a person’s achievements in life made manifest. Bless the gods.”
“The essence of a person,” the monk mumbled. “I thank you for your insight, miss Elia.”
“It’s Rye now.”
“Miss Rye. Now, to be given the privilege of holding a person’s essence in hands, what did you give up, and what did you gain?”
“Well, we took them off a bunch of corpses and fused them together like bits of clay…” Rye didn’t follow. “Um, if you’re trying to make me feel bad about using other people’s shards, give up. You won’t unsteady me by poking at my morals. I’ve already given them up… mostly.”
Nali smiled, but it was a sad one. “Ah, apologies. I didn’t mean to imply. I am simply curious and unknowing. Though, if you have forsaken your morals, perhaps you would like to be the one asking me.”
There was another telltale awkward silence. A clear snip broke it this time.
“Alright,” Cess said, “that’s enough professional curiosity, miss monk. We all want to see what this egg’ll hatch into. I’m guessing it’ll have something to do with your conjurations. Maybe you can make soft-ice pillows after this.”
“I think it will make you strong like Herculeon,” said Karla.
“Ah, is this a game?” Nali asked. “Very well. I think this will grant you wisdom untold, profound and ageless.”
Everyone looked at Mouggen.
“What?”
“Aren’t you gonna make a guess?” Cesare asked.
“Oh fine,” he grumbled. “I bet you’ll gain untold proficiency in household chores.”
“… that can happen with a rare?” Rye asked with trepidation.
“Oh, for sure. I knew a guy once who got a rare boon that increased his proficiency with fishing.” Cess picked his ear. “’Course, he dueled a sea serpent with it and won. Nothing’s bad if you know how to use it, especially with the right essence.”
He’s too optimistic. In one hundred bad boons, that applies to one of them.
Rye was nervous. Beyond nervous. She fingered her aurani coin, rubbing it for good luck. She and Elia had decided not to use it yet. As backwards as it sounded, they’d rather use it when they really needed it to ask the gods a more specific favor, or when it was time to give up a boon. All they had to rely on was their own luck now.
“Here goes.”
She flicked the die and watched time stop to a standstill. It bounced happily off the bowl’s rim, knocking back and forth between the stone and Mouggen’s body. These little things almost appeared as if they had a will of their own and Rye found it was more true for the blue one as it fell on his big toe, then bounced on every single toe on both feet before stopping on the floor.
You have gained a divine boon: Dream-haze projection
[Mind/Soul] Dream-haze projection [Rare] [Empty Slot] [Empty Slot]
Your mind has always been less constrained than your body, awake or asleep. You can strain your spirit to project parts of yourself outwards. The cost increases with the spiritual weight of the parts. Concentration increases maximum distance while flow determines projection speed and channels determine projection accuracy.
Rye’s eyes widened, but she didn’t rest for one moment. She focused on the new part inside her and, like a muscle, it twitched and spat her forward. The strain on her reservoir hit her immediately, but more than that her body felt weightless, felt free. It was amazing.
“Look, Elia, look,” she said and when she turned around, she saw her own face staring at her inches away from her… face.
Elia blinked at her. Rye blinked back.
“So they really are two people. Pay up, Cess,” Mouggen said and a grumbling Cesare handed him a swirl of souls.