As Kozzok’s body slowly dissipated into the swirling mass of haunting cries in front of us, I could not help but take Cerolus’ hand in my own. Tears wetted my cheeks inexplicably, sadness overcoming me for the person I, in the end, barely knew, and yet somehow grew to cherish.
How must it be for Cerolus, who had known him for far longer than I? Does it still hurt? Does one ever get used to being hurt like this? The memories of Mother flood me as we solemnly stand in front of the writhing threads of light battling with the darkness.
Is it truly a better place to where they went? Do Gods give us such luxury of joining them for time eternal, or is that a complicated ruse that no one knows how to disentwine?
Cerolus silently walked away from me, my hand left hanging to grasp for thin air, and sat down, his back turned to me, and to the vile mesh of lights. I followed shortly. The shimmer in his eyes tore through the blackness of the sky around us as his gaze looked towards the heavens if they weren’t covered in unsightly clouds.
I tried not to speak for the longest of time, but eventually, the situation got the best of me.
“My condolences,” I started, almost superfluously, receiving only a small nod in return. “How do you…” I stopped, almost slapping myself at even trying to finish the sentence itself. How does one feel after witnessing death? Sad? Grieving? Shattered? Unwilling to move, speak, or eat? Completely disembodied from the World? It’s what encompassed me when Mother died. The sheer notion of never being able to see her again, it clutched at my heart and tugged it to the ground, out of my body and trying to suffocate me. The dull look of my family as they hopelessly tried to continue with their daily lives exacerbated the loneliness and the futility of all of it.
Cerolus simply looked at me, his empty black eyes eerily similar to the sky.
“I thought I’d get used to all this by now.
Seeing people go, seeing people die, having people taken away from me.
I knew this was going to happen, eventually.
You lose track of time somewhat. One day you greet them for the first time, the other, you see them disappearing before you, like petals in the wind.
And now that one left, another will come. And the day of leaving becomes the day of greeting again like it did before.
Does that make it less honest? Does that make it less real? Should it matter less or more? How do you gauge which deaths should hurt, and which not?
I feel… emptier again. Well, I suppose I somewhat am.
But time has no place for empty people, or at least for an emptied me.”
The crackles and howls behind us converged into a small source of gasping and shrieking, my back turned in an effort to shelter myself from all of it, unsuccessfully so. Cerolus took notice of the change, his solemn face placating a fickle smile instead.
“No place for an emptied me.” He stood up and turned towards the sound.
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I have not had a Shadowling get replaced within the same week, let alone hour before. It usually took some time for one to find a way to slither into my life. Usually, the Exchange is brief, although the person who initiated it varied.
“Your name, Satyr?”
I stood before the small lump of dark mist as it engulfed the fickle creature in it. The newly birthed being gasped for air and prodded the dirt around it, its dark blue skin partially sheltered by the rapidly disappearing guise.
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I waited a few moments for the writhing and wheezing to stop, before initiating the Exchange once again.
“Your name, Satyr?” I now used Shadowspeak fully, instead of mixing it with Dral, remembering that newborns do not possess the knowledge of other tongues but their own.
The small blue Satyr now took notice of my presence and his long ears perked upwards, moving his face out of the solid dirt below and slowly anchoring himself on the cloven hooves. The naked body reminiscent of a child no more than seven years old finally mustered enough strength to stand up.
Easily reminiscent elongated face, shimmering eyes, and small horn stubs adorned the Satyr’s visage. Although he looked like a child now, he would grow fast as soon, many parents wishing their children would do the same, only to be regretting it later as well.
“Your name, Satyr?” I initiated the Exchange properly, our eyes locked now. A shiver coursed through my entire body and prodded my magic channels, feeling for remnants of Kozzok’s Mark and efficiently removing it.
The not-a-child child’s mouth opened, its voice raspy and weak, still testing its abilities and limits, tasting the air. “Rikkir. And yours, Lilin?” It’s astonishing how they always know you. He even knows my name, but the Exchange is necessary all the same.
“Cerolus Kreshorok. Do you accept to be marked by me, Rikkir, and be mine to serve for the rest of your time in the Light?”
“I accept.” The Satyr stuck out one of his dangly arms, which I took in my hand, the chill of his cold body taking over me.
“Then say your name, now, until your Meld, and receive your Mark.”
“I am Rikkir of Cerolus Kreshorok, one and only, here to serve.” The Exchange ended, and the Marking began. Darkness infiltrated my magical channels, my entire body ravaged by the foreign energy of the small being in front of me, his entire essence being shared with me. Images, sounds, smells, everything tried to escape from my mind and enter his, his small form flooded with lines of light between us. And then everything stopped.
The markings on my body glowed only to change once again, accommodating to the new Mark that arose and providing only a memory of those that came before it, before fading altogether.
The familial feeling of creeping darkness arose again from within, the small tug of the Satyr’s heartbeat now resting somewhere in my mind. Mentally, I grasped the newfound rope and pulled at it, a simple message to be pushed through the line. The first of many, and the most important one. Kneel.
The Satyr’s body slowly interpreted what its mind has been subjected to, the legs slowly bending and the head falling down again, his eyes escaping my sight. The Marking has completed.
“Stand up, Ko… Rikkir.” My mind still required some adjustments to the events that transpired this day. Surely, the day would be over by now and I can rest for a bit?
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As I watched the scene unfold, my mind trying to go through every detail as it happened, I realized one simple thing.
I really have little clue about Demons after all.
We came here to say goodbye to Kozzok, we said farewells and goodbyes. Cerolus opened his mind to me once again, throwing words that meant so much more than I probably took in. And now, a small child appeared from the same place that took Kozzok away.
And then that happened. The unintelligible noises that made their conversation, intermingled with the mention of Cerolus’ name, led to the parade of light around their bodies.
Is this how Shadowlings are born? They just… appear from these things, ready to take in the world? Then what did Cerolus do to it? No, him. The child is clearly a male, his dangling bits out in the open, now that the black mist and light no longer cover his decency.
Cerolus then approached me, the child Satyr in tow.
“Rikkir, this is my wife, Sophia.” Then he turned towards me. “Sophia, this is my new Mark, Rikkir.”
The child slowly knelt again, its small body seemingly out of proportion, not unlike a large Imp. “Mistress.”
Mistress? But that was how… This is how Shadowlings live? In constant servitude to someone else? Is that how Kozzok was, a simple servant just made to be one, with nothing else to him?
“Is he… a servant? That young?” I asked incredulously, my mind still figuring things out somewhere between the glimmering lights and the kneeling. Cerolus just walked past me, telling Rikkir to make himself decent, the child making a small dark cloud around his groins, both of them completely ignoring me.
“Where are you going? What happens now?” I turned to Cerolus as he stood by the doors of the carriage, seemingly waiting for me.
What happens now? Where do we go from here? What will I come to learn about these strange people in this strange land? Will I be able to make any of it before my mind starts refusing it as fervently as when I first heard of them?
“We’re going home.” He said before simply taking my hand and pulling me into the carriage with him.
Well, home, I guess, is a place I could really use right now.
End of Arc Four: Demons of Fire and Darkness