Chapter 22 - Miracle of Tears

"Under her watch, we stand!"

"Beneath her gaze, across the land!"

Many who had yet to merge with the grand assembly joined in on the shouts and roared loudly. Vern pulled his beret further down and followed the groups to join the masses.

Was it the atmosphere? The faith? All these people that were suspicious of everything just a while ago were rushing to get closer to each other. They all dropped their guards as if this was some safe haven. Strength of religion, I guess.

The metallic sculpture only seemed more and more majestic as he got closer. It was the likening of a graceful woman who cradled a sphere in her palms, Her gaze studied it, penetrating the veil that draped across her face. On her right hand ran what seemed like a vine with leaves that later wrapped around the sphere.

He took his eyes off the sophisticated statue and focused at the people on the stage. At the center of the podium stood a man who looked divine in his own right. Sharp, well-defined features graced his face. A prominent nose and chiseled jawline framed a pair of lucid, sapphire-blue eyes that seemed to hold wisdom beyond the ordinary. With his white unblemished robe, long blonde hairs bunched into a neat ponytail, and powerful arms, he signaled an exuberant man in drab garb down the stairs of the podium.

Then he motioned for the crowd to calm down, and the clamor died off in an instant. After a bit, he began speaking into a contraption that projected and amplified his voice through the myriad pipes on its other end, "Oh, cherished offspring of our grieving Mother! You have gazed upon the divine visage of her sanctity, witnessed her celestial might with your own mortal eyes. This is a miraculous manifestation wrought from her own torment, her own anguish!"

He paused just enough to let the crowd churn again before he resumed, "While the pantheon of gods indulged in the perverse delight of subjecting humanity to harsh tribulations, she wept!"

"As her beloved sons and daughters across this vast world fell under the oppressive shadow of the Duskfall, she, our Mother, lamented in profound despair."

His voice reached a higher octave with every word, and he exclaimed, "Her sacred tears flowed like rivulets of divine sorrow, streaming down her celestial face as she valiantly contended with the gods, striving to put an end to this divine trial!"

"But alas, she was too late."

A mournful look adorned his face as he spread his hands apart and cried out in indignation, "Many of our brothers and sisters were lost forever. We, the chosen ones, have sustained losses so profound they surpass the bounds of verbal expression. But know that Mother watches over you."

He paused and turned sideways, pointing at the statue as he thundered, "Mother watches over you! For this miraculous manifestation of tears is her divine decree. In her infinite benevolence, she yearns to soothe the torment of her surviving children, those who have endured the Duskfall of Sorrows."

His voice became faster with every word, and he yelled, "So come, children! Come and soothe your pains. Shed away your afflictions as you bask in the tender warmth of her tears, for they hold the power to breathe life even into those teetering on the precipice of demise. Know that this is her love, that this is her gift."

Then he paused and screamed as his voice boomed throughout the plaza, "ALL PRAISE HER EVERLASTING GAZE!"

The crowd erupted without delay, their echoes threatening to deafen Vern with their sheer vigor, "Under her watch, we stand!"

"Beneath her gaze, across the land!"

Many men in white robes walked up to the stage with goblets in their hands as they kneeled right beneath the sculpture. Then in a bizarre turn of events, two thin trails of discoloration spread beneath the bronze statue's veil as if from its eyes, and a liquid began swirling in the goblets underneath, appearing out of thin air.

Many in the crowd gasped at the display while the rest continued their chanting. Vern, on the other hand, was more than a little unnerved by the whole thing.

A divine trial? Is this how they're explaining the disappearances? It was straight-up scrapshit and he knew it. That was no fucking trial. That was corruption. Corruption of mind and body.

But it was indeed an explanation worthy of these religious fanatics. They even found ways to discredit other religions while at it, blaming the calamity on other gods. Can they even get away with it?

Also, where did the name Duskfall even come from? They actually extended it, calling it Duskfall of Sorrows. It fits the situation, but why was there a consensus between Helena Von Arden and these fanatics? Why do they both call it by the same name?

However, that wasn't what he was here for.

The real question was, How are they doing this? He didn't believe that the discoloration or liquid appearing in the goblets was some divine decree of their goddess. It was somehow being orchestrated, but it was done so flawlessly he couldn't see the hand behind the trick.

Before he could ponder any further, the men in robes got up, and the guards standing at the bottom of the stage allowed some in the audience to ascend. One had only one leg, while another seemed to have burn marks all over his body. Some seemed dazed, while others needed help to get up on the stage.

Then as if in a knighting ceremony, the believers kneeled with or without help, and all the white-robed men stepped forward. As if on cue, they all dipped their finger into the goblet—closing their eyes they prayed one more time.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Afterward, they took that finger and held it over the commoners on the stage. The whole crowd turned silent once again, and then the drop fell.

.

.

.

"It's so bright! Oh, Mother Asea, I can see you again! I can…uwahhhh," shouts of a woman on the stage turned into sobs which were soon drowned out by the exclamations of the crowd, which clamored uproariously. Many looked like they couldn't believe their eyes, and others just knelt out of reverence amongst the crowd.

"All praise her everlasting gaze!"

"All praise her everlasting gaze!"

Vern stood there dumbfounded. Earlier show of filling the goblets seemed like a trick, but this was…beyond comprehension. This was too out of the norm.

From the amputee's stump, a bone sprouted seemingly out of thin air, growing slowly yet steadily. Meanwhile, on the other man's body, the burn marks began to scab over at a pace discernible to the naked eye. Similar phenomena repeated to some degree with all the other sickly ones on the stage.

What was this? Just what kind of Viewpoint was this? How was this working? Who was doing this? There's bound to be some observer around here that's doing this, right?

If not, just what was going on behind the scenes? Could objects like this liquid be imbued with properties of a viewpoint? If so, what were the conditions? What was the whole process?

Millions of questions ran through his mind as he got closer to the stage, weaving through the thick crowd that was filled with ardor. He had to figure out the cause and effect of this whole situation.

Up close, he saw every detail. In no time, the skin began growing around the incomplete bone of that amputee as if clay was being coated over it.

But then, it suddenly stopped, and the skin closed around the wounds as the whole process halted midway.

The man who was looking at his recovering leg with unadulterated ecstasy seemed to be taken aback as he gasped in abject horror. So without wasting any time, he begged, "Lord! Can I get another drop? Just one more, milord. In the name of Mother Asea. I am a devout believer? Please, Lord!"

The imposing man who made the earlier speech and looked like the leader of the white-robed man stepped up to the amputee. "Brother, let patience and gratitude guide you. Remember, even though the Mother's tears possess divine healing, they are not limitless. You surely wouldn't wish for your fellow brethren to depart from this sanctuary unaided, would you?"

The amputee wanted to say something, but the leader rested his arms on the amputee's shoulder and helped him up from the kneeling posture. Then with a soothing voice, he continued, "Yet, despair not, for the Mother's love is boundless, and she would never abandon any of her cherished offspring to languish in suffering."

While keeping the amputee propped up, the leader turned back to the amplifying contraption as he addressed the crowd. "My brethren. Know that the mother loves you. She loves you even if you fail to cast aside your ailments today. She loves even those who couldn't join us in her expression of love."

"So I deacon of the eternal, fervently beckon all children of her vast creation, to partake in the sanctifying healing of the divine tears within the hallowed confines of the Cathedral of the Eternal."

Then with a serious tone, he continued, "Understand this, my siblings, though the trial may have passed, her children wander aimlessly, bereft of guidance, bereft of a beacon! As her chosen progeny, we bear the responsibility to shepherd our brethren and sisters back onto the illuminated path."

"So, prepare your hearts, for the Mother may select a few among you to be that radiant guide for those shrouded in darkness, to lead the wayward back into her comforting clasp. I trust that when the Mother extends her call, her children will not turn away."

A fervent echo of assent surged around Vern as everyone chanted in unison, "We won't turn away! We heed the Mother's call!" their voices swelled into a zealous chorus that shook the very air.

Many hands shot towards the sky, their fingers outstretched as if to touch the divine while others bowed their heads in solemn pledges, murmuring sacred promises. The atmosphere around him bristled with collective resolve, their faith so palpable, so tangible, it charged the air.

Good grief. Do they really not see the trap? They are tempting people to rely on these 'Tears of Mother.' Was it bordering on supernatural with its capabilities? Yes. But did that automagically make it safe to use? No.

What were the adverse effects of this one? Every medicine had to be rigorously tested for hundreds of different criteria before they were allowed to be used by populace en masse.

Was it possible that this liquid had no side effects because some Observer made it? Maybe. But all these people don't know about Observation and should be skeptical of anything so potent. It seems like this…Duskfall of Sorrows really got to their heads. Vern wanted to shake his head in disappointment, but he wouldn't underestimate this bunch of fanatics. In such an atmosphere, any hint of disrespect could very well incite the mob to maul him to death.

So he simply looked on at the proceedings, trying to figure out something about the logic behind it. One group of ecstatic people descended the platform as another went up and received the baptism of tears.

The cycle repeated, and he stood there with his notepad in his hands—neither moving to line up for the tears nor going back to his room, jotting down any notable remarks.

He had recorded the exact process of healing and would revisit it at a later time to look for some pattern because he couldn't figure out the slightest bit of how any of this worked right now. And he wasn't mad enough to go try it out on himself.

The sun had set, and it was growing increasingly difficult to write in such dim lighting. So he finally shelved the notepad back into the pockets and stretched his body, ready to leave. He had seen enough.

But then he reflexively looked up, and his heart dropped instantly. He was mid-step, teetering on the brink of losing his footing, but before the situation could deteriorate, a kind soul from the crowd extended a helping hand.

"Are you holding up well, young man? Keep your spirits aloft, yes? We might not get the opportunity to be purified in Mother's tears today, but morrow always brings another chance. Don't lose heart," said a short, burly man with a curly mustache as he propped Vern up.

Vern steadied himself and went along with the man's story, "Ah…yes, thank you. I was just a little disheartened, but I guess I can always go to the cathedral in the morning."

Then he paused for a second and looked back up before asking, "Good sir, do you see that thing up in the sky?" Vern pointed at that horrifying rift in the sky, making sure not to specifically mention what he was indicating at.

He had completely forgotten all about it due to the situations he'd found himself in, ever since he woke up. But it was right there, like a wound in the sky, orange and blue sparks pulsating all around it. He hadn't seen any signs of it just a while ago when the sun was up.

"Indeed, young man. Indeed. I see that treacherous Moon goddess who took my Iffy away from me. Young man, I tell you. Anytime you see those worshippers of the moon, give them hell. They worthin deserve it," the man spat to the side and he advised Vern, loathing evident on his face.

Vern ignored the latter part of his assertion and instead focused on the former. So he can't see it. Kind of what he expected. Everyone would be shouting and running around by now if they could see it.

However, something was different about it from the last time. The moon was right there. As were the stars, but the radiance seeping in from that gash still seemed too dazzling compared to the ambient light in the sky.

It was like both the abnormality and normality overlapped over one another.

Well, he would make sense of it when he was in his hotel. Too many questions were piling up and he had to sit down and untangle this mess.

So he bowed to the burly man, thanked him again, and left the crowd—heading straight for the bridge. He needed food and some time alone with his thoughts.