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Their eyes peeled open with immense effort, the blinding sunlight stabbing needles into their battered awareness. Coughing weakly, they tasted the familiar flavor of stale blood coalescing with the dryness of their lips and throat.

Just how long had they been left unconscious and under the elements’ mercy?

Attempting to make sense of their blurred surroundings was utterly swamped by confusion. With the familiar wet-soil scent of the plantation being nowhere to be perceived, Enuill seemed to be propped upright instead, suspended by bindings securing their wrists and ankles to… Wood?

As consciousness began to stir back fully, their entire body began screaming in agony. The throbbing ache in their head pounded relentlessly, as flashes of the previous night’s horrors replayed in disjointed fragments. They were sure that the bellowing crack of the musket slamming into their skull was not the only beating they were subjected to even after everything faded to black.

Craning their suffering neck, Enuill’s eyes widened in disbelief as they recognized the sacred trunk of the symbolic tree. Ropes bound their limb against the aged timber, its surface marred by dried streaks of their own blood. Their revered Potomitan had been taken from its place… To be perverted like this.

The groans of exertion drew their gaze forward, where two of the pale overseers strained against the weight of the defiled icon, half-carrying and half-dragging it across the uneven terrain with the young guide dangling beneath. Bobbing shapes not far behind them resolved into more of their kind —a fully armed patrol escorting Enuill's brethren in a bedraggled line.

Despite their mind-numbing agony, Enuill instantly recognized the dejected eyes of their fellow enslaved —Mammy Moonlight among them, lips moving in silent pleas as tears carved streaks through the similarly beaten-down grime on her face. The familiar cadences of all their native tongues reached the child's ears, mixed with the jeers and insults slung by the four overseers escorting them by musket point.

A part of Enuill begged to ask for help… But with pained realization, they desisted from ever trying —it would only lead to a larger tragedy.

This was a Sunday, was it not? The irony wasn’t lost on the young guide. Look at how thoroughly and extensively the pales had been roused in the depths of their holy day.

And to what end? Enuill knew full well where that expedition into the wilderness would take them, but it was still a hard task to prevent their eyes from watering.

More than anything, Enuill resented how the centerpiece of their Hounfour was being desecrated so utterly in such a way. They certainly must have some awareness of its importance… So along with the guide, they were also trying to worsen the blow by defiling their spirituality itself —to break them all beyond mere physical torture.

The unfamiliar boil of hatred flared in the child's chest once more, trying to burn away any vestige of fear. They would pay for this defilement, by all the powers Enuill could bring themselves to bear.

Straining their bonds, the young child attempted to open themselves to the spirit realm like they had done the night before, their mind instinctively trying to recall the sensations of the Lwa’s inscrutable presence.

Yet they found themselves clutching at emptiness, their gift faltering at the most crucial juncture. The serpentine coils of emptiness had abandoned them, leaving Enuill more alone and powerless than they had ever felt before.

So the procession carried on undisturbed across the rugged terrain. Every step through the trees made their body sway, accentuating the bite that the ropes began carving into their skin. With every passing minute they regained more and more of their lucidity, bringing forth the suffering, searing their battered frame in a manner they were no longer able to ignore.

Not soon after their neck and head began resenting the effort to keep themselves upright, the men leading the march crested one final rise —making Enuill’s eyes subtly widen in wonder at the view.

It was a vision they had glimpsed before only through the worn-down photos adorning the slave quarters’ walls —Lake Aqueveque, one of the few names that Enuill ever bothered to remember. Now face to face with its waters, all images failed to capture even a fraction of the splendor unfolding ahead.

The breathtaking expanse shimmered under the mid-morning sun, vast mirror-still waters emanating a disconnected sense of serenity within them, despite all the harrowing circumstances they were caught in. It seemed more mirage than reality, with its glassy surface reflecting the vibrant emerald forest, rimming its shores in such pristine clarity.

Enuill had never really liked large bodies of water, however… Unlike those they had seen before, no briny scent or festering decay marred this place, nor did the shadows of floating fortresses interrupt the horizon —only the curves of lush green fringing the towering mountains, surrounding it in a protective embrace stretching down its outlines. White peaks pierced the flawless azure of the skies, with wispy clouds casting their shade across the verdant canopy.

Dominating the stunning vista, an islet boldly interrupted the middle like an apparition would, its uneven and tree-lined crests surrounded by turquoise waters —beckoning Enuill with an otherworldly energy of sheer raw and unspoiled purity to which they felt tiny in comparison.

The ripples of the sacred resonated inside their soul, leaving everything else to sink into gentler thoughts.

For this beauty… Enuill wouldn’t really mind dying for.

An illusion that was mercilessly shattered as their aching body was flung forward. They crashed against rough wooden planks with bone-jarring force, the groan of stressed timber echoing through them. As their vision was forcefully ripped from the landscape, they found themselves at the end of a long pier extending across the glassy depths of the lake.

The overpowering weight of the Potomitan’s trunk had been slammed down atop them, driving the air from their lungs to falter. Yet Enuill withstood the pain and cries trying to work their way out of their mouth —reduced to the torpor that had dominated their early existence, resisted only by the grit their teeth held.

Dimly, they perceived the figures coalescing into mismatched groups by the shorelines. There was a crowd of well-dressed people along the more common overseers and Enuill's brethren, sneering down their noses at the spectacle; and a single form detaching itself from the throng to strode out onto the pier’s edge with a cold sense of purpose.

Even from their prone vantage point, and all the blood rushing to their ears, Enuill’s gaze burned the man’s features into his mind, as they had also done many times before —the primly adorned wig, and the rich garments befitting one of such caste.

It was Master, who had arrived to pass his judgment.

His blue eyes glittered with disgust as they raked across the broken forms of his enslaved property. When that harsh gaze finally fell upon Enuill, there was a mixture of revulsion and fright echoing in the old man’s face, unnerved by the child's unmoving, inscrutable exterior —at least until he cleared his throat to address the gathered group.

“This… Aberration.” He began, words laced in disdain as he signaled the abused tree trunk, and perhaps also Enuill themself crushed beneath. “Is a particularly vile corruption that simply cannot be allowed to take root upon the Lord’s haloed path.”

His reedy voice was carried clearly across the hushed lake shore, as Master walked back and forth along the weathered planks of the pier with an indignant poise.

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“For far too long, we have allowed the indolent negro population to indulge in their pernicious pagan rites and unholy perversions.”

>> “I once held the belief that such leniency would instill obedience.”

Leniency? He had the gall to diminish their desperate efforts to preserve their humanity and identity as a mere whim of his leniency?

“But alas, I fear it has now reached the repugnant depths of seducing even the youngest heathen minds with the lures of heresy.” Master continued, as his tone hardened. “We should have taken stringent actions long ago, to prevent such depravity from festering amidst the never-ending perils brought forth by the Vil’Tah sorcerers and their demons”

>> “Execution has never been my preferred course of action.” Of course, that would mean fewer workers to exploit. “Yet I can no longer afford to show further toleration, lest it continue to perverse your benighted minds down the paths of eternal damnation.”

Master’s face was as stern as granite, his next words ringing out like a death knell heralding Enuill’s demise.

“This is our line in the proverbial sands. A stand against any who would stray from the light of the Lord. You would all do well to burn the lessons of this day deep into your wretched souls.”

>> “For I shall not hesitate to exert my faith in such uncompromising manner again if the need for further correction were to arise.”

At that moment, as a heavy silence took over the beautiful scenery, Enuill began resigning themselves to fate —cruelty laid bare before God’s alleged radiance. If there was a lesson he could draw from all their life’s experiences, was that divinity itself had already abandoned them to torment, indifferent to suffering as the tranquil waters beneath.

“Well? You heard me. Cast that wretch into the depths where it belongs.” Master’s voice interrupted the quietude once more, this time with impatient detachment. “I’ve no desire to be affronted by the brat’s dead eyes a moment longer.”

As the two leading men gripped the Potomitan trunk pinning them down, their grunts of exertion reached their ears with a desolate sense of finality, holstering Enuill’s body along until they were suspended over the pier’s precipice.

Given a full view of their audience, Enuill stared back at them deeply, wondering what kind of thoughts could the pale folk gathered behind their executioners sustain —both towards such a cold-hearted spectacle and their always despised indolence.

Or was it something else they sought to accomplish by looking back one final time?

Their gaze drifted across them absentmindedly until finding Mammy Moonlight’s face once more. Tears were streaming down the older woman’s face as she tried to take an anguished step forward, her mouth working wordlessly to their deafened ears.

Not like it mattered, the overseers were well prepared —weapons leveled to bar her approach before it could even truly begin.

Both their eyes met one final time. The beloved matriarch of their large family and the youth she had nurtured back from the inhumane blackness. There was so much Enuill wanted to convey in that final moment… Regret, Sorrow, but most of all, an apology for every effort towards fixing what was fractured, ending up so easily discarded in such a short time.

Enuill tried to say everything there wasn't words for into that single, silent look. Their resignation… Their gratitude for the light she showed them… And their solemn wish that she persevered carrying it where they could not.

All destined to shatter once Master bellowed his sharp commands. The Potomitan shifted beneath them, as Enuill closed their eyes to draw a final, bracing breath of the warm summer air.

Thoughts of the spirits watching reached their head, wondering if they were waiting for Enuill to cross over into the ethereal realm. Would their soul shimmer like those who found themselves discarded during the sea-fortress voyage? Or was stillness their sole reward for enduring so much on their way there?

Questions that were fleeting as the time they had before gravity took over. The uneven smoothness of the spiritual symbol, now reduced to an instrument of death, coarsely collided against the wood planks —distorting the horizon beyond their joined eyelids.

During that eternal heartbeat, Enuill imagined themselves truly flying away.

But in this land, no prayers ever amounted to anything —and all wings were already cut off by the truth.

The strike against the waters created a harsh wake of sound, abruptly shortened as their entire being was submerged into deep blue. The shocking chillness drove some of their air to escape from their nose in a stream of bubbles, as they sank beneath the reach of the sun.

Lake Aqueveque’s dark embrace closed in, drowning out all light and noise from the world above, and pressing in from all sides with liquid weight. Even their ragged gasps were muffled, instinctively forcing themselves to hold whatever breath their straining lungs were capable of.

But sooner rather than later, an overpowering cold leeched all warmth from mind and body, numbing all the fiery agonies as the veils of reality thinned —the gentle currents acting like whispers caressing their consciousness as they drifted to the bottom.

Trapped between life’s increasingly fragile grip and the pull of unseen tides, an insidious lethargy seeped into their mind, offering the ultimate escape from suffering —if only they gave their lungs a rest and exhaled that final breath.

They felt listless in that final chance to look inward, repeating the question that remained unanswered since the conception of their ego. Was there ever a reason for their birth?

The purpose they thought to have attained felt distant now —those centered around their supposed capability to become a beacon against their torment, a rallying light of hope…

How arrogant that belief now seemed. A childish delusion born out of innocence. They had failed at changing anything, at protecting anyone; and now their supposed ‘calling’ ended thoroughly asphyxiated as it sank down towards the abyss.

Truth was, their existence held no greater significance. It was a momentary flicker, as fleeting and irrelevant as all those thrown into dark waters before them. They were nothing more than just another discarded soul amongst untold multitudes, sacrificed to feed the rapacious hunger of the soil.

Wiser would be to stop their futile thoughts —to let oblivion claim them. Perhaps in the void’s absolute emptiness, they could finally find the peace and solace denied to them in this life; and await whatever journey awaited their spirit when taken in by the Lwa.

Despite their wishful thinking, of their surrender and acceptance, involuntary gasps of breath forced the water to enter their organism. Gradually, their eyes grew dimmer and hazier as everything began to fade into murkiness. The distant rays of the sun reflected on the surface, their reach failing to penetrate far enough to where Enuill journeyed.

Everything began fading into nothingness.

But in that moment, as death loomed certain, something stirred within them —a spark of defiance, an unwillingness to give in just yet. They didn’t want to die, and so their heart pounded faster in resistance against the inevitable.

There were still so many things they wished to see, so many experiences they had heard in tales that they longed to have. They yearned not to only heal the afflicted, but to liberate them entirely. To bring complete and utter ruin upon the oppressors.

It was only then, as their brio began to falter, that they felt it —the constraint of the ethereal serpent’s obsidian scales coiling around their frame once more.

This time, it was even more encompassing than before, beyond the grasp of a mere cloak. The viper’s essence shifted and distorted in seamless fluidity, slithering past Enuill’s mouth and drowning them in its inscrutable blackness. It was a corruption of their being far more powerful than anything even the lake itself could ever inflict.

Where the freezing waters had turned their senses numb, the serpentine void now swallowed them in a viscous grip that penetrated their very core.

Their flesh felt overlapped and tampered with by a foreign influence, smothering their sense of self. It wormed its way down every fiber, forcing Enuill to grit their teeth, unable to resist it.

Involuntary spasms ended up limited by rope knots, tightening around every muscle seizing from the Lwa's invasion. Enuill’s eyes rolled back as all oxygen abandoned their lungs —consciousness fracturing across sensations they could no longer comprehend.

The child felt a sudden tremor ripple through the remnants of their sensory awareness as the Potomitan pole struck the bottom of Lake Aqueveque with a muffled thud. The impact sent vibrations through the icy waters, jarring their possessed form momentarily as an anchor to an already distorted reality.

Yet it was but an ephemeral sensation, as a metaphysical dominance stronger than death itself took over their body and soul. Everything disintegrated with a vertiginous pace, consumed by the blackness crossing over planes of existence.

Enuill then knew of the Lwa’s true name, right before complete devourment.

Hexameron.

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