"Don't you lie to me!"

The young man's voice cracked like a whip. The force of his fist slamming against the table sent tremors that rattled the dinnerware.

Feeling a surge of agitation at the sudden display of aggression, Zerin responded.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Vani, the damn chick that you were dancing with earlier, dipshit!"

He pointed at Zerin sharply and his words were accusing.

The other young man that sat alongside him seemed surprised by his outburst.

"Arron calm down…"

Arron turned his head towards his friend, Arron's visible anger caused the young man to falter, before he turned back to Zerin.

It became apparent to Zerin that this girl, Vani, was Arron's girlfriend, and seeing her dance with him had led to this sudden confrontation. It was clear to Zerin that Arron wasn't here for a mere conversation; he had brought his friend as backup.

'Poor bastards'

Grateful for Wisteria's intervention, the mere thought of being entangled in that girl's web like Arron made his stomach knot. Swallowing his pride, he decided to diffuse the escalating tension.

"You're right, I apologize. I didn't know you two were a couple,"

He forced his features into a mask of false sincerity, the act almost unbearable. Finally, he noticed Arron beginning to relax.

Arron let out a scoff, his palm rubbing into the edge of his brow, he groaned.

"I don't need an apology. This was a warning,"

To his surprise, Arron stood up from the table and walked away. Zerin had expected a bit more of a fight from him.

The young man remained in his seat, he hesitated briefly, his eyes briefly met Zerin's, guilt evident in his sheepish apology that slipped from his lips. Zerin, however, brushed off the gesture with a nonchalant shake of his head and a dismissive wave of his hand.

Zerin's response was calm,

"It's fine…"

Arron spoke out annoyed,

"Let's go…"

The young man left the table, turning away from Zerin as he met Arron.

"Why are we in a rush?"

The young man questioned.

"Going to go talk to Vani… She hasn't spoken to me in a whole week."

Arron's words hinted at a deeper turmoil. His determination to find Vani was clear in his resolve.

The atmosphere shifted abruptly as his friend must have said something that brought back Arron's demeanor. His head snapped back, his expression transforming into anger as he glared at him, his features etched with returning fury.

Arron's voice carried raw emotion, crackling with intensity.

"Shut up! She said she loved me; did she say that to you?"

The young man's response was feeble, barely audible over the weight of Arron's outburst.

"No—"

"Of course not! So shut up!"

Arron's words sliced through the charged air, cutting off any further protest from him.

Meanwhile, Zerin observed the exchange, shaking his head slightly as he absentmindedly poked at the food on his plate, the clatter of the fork against the plate.

Lost in his own thoughts, he mechanically continued to eat.

"Well, at least he had a reason for his outburst at me… Even if it was stupid."

Brushing his hand over his neck absentmindedly, his neck was still bruised from the encounter with Bashir.

"My lord…"

The Old man greeted him, there was an innate wisdom that emanated from him, his voice carried a tinge of concern as he spoke.

"I heard a commotion over here, I had to come check up on you…"

Zerin's smile wavered, a flicker of unease crossing his features as he responded,

"Yeah, it was just a misunderstanding."

A knowing look flashed in The Old man's eyes as he questioned further.

"Another one of those misunderstandings?"

The intensity of The Old man's gaze seemed to pierce through Zerin, prompting a nervous response from him.

"No... No... Not like that,"

He let out a soft chuckle, he waved his hands dismissively. Clearing his throat, he shifted the conversation, with a casual adjustment in his seat.

"I didn't get your name…"

The Old man responded with a hint of humor, his voice carrying a gentle chuckle as he settled comfortably onto the bench across from Zerin.

"Oh, my name? Just call me old man…"

His demeanor relaxed, before he continued to add,

"My name doesn't matter, I am ancient."

Self-awareness coloring his laughter, eliciting a soft laugh from Zerin.

Leaning back slightly, The Old man raised an eyebrow playfully, his hand indicating the spread of food before them.

"So, let me guess, this was my daughter's doing?"

Zerin nodded in affirmation, acknowledging his guess.

"Uh... yeah, that was her."

A solemn expression crossed The Old man's features as he commented,

"That girl… She is talented… But still very naive…"

He shook his head, a mix of pride and concern evident in his demeanor.

"She is getting to the age where she should be concerned of marriage,"

He finished, his words carrying tradition and expectation.

Lost in his own thoughts, Zerin listened to The Old man's words with little focus, his mind drifting momentarily before he felt the same piercing gaze of bring him back to the present.

'What are you looking at me for?'

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Zerin's inner voice spoke out, contrasting the words that would soon follow.

With a shrug, his response came forth in a nonchalant tone.

"Uh... If that's what she wants, I guess…"

Zerin’s eyes fell to the plate before him, the clatter of the fork against the food punctuating the uneasy atmosphere.

"It's what our people need..."

The Old man's statement hung heavy in the air, each word landing with calculated weight, as if imprinting themselves forcefully onto Zerin's consciousness.

A flicker of resistance sparked within him at the suspected underlying meaning within The Old man's words, a silent protest simmering beneath the surface.

He spoke calmly as his hand released its grip on the fork.

"I hope she finds someone then…"

The Old man's question sliced through the tension; his penetrating gaze unwavering.

"What about you?"

This question was well placed, and Zerin could easily read his invitation for him to peel back his guard.

His voice faltered as he struggled to form a coherent response, the weight of man's question pressing down on him.

"W-What about me? That doesn't matter…"

Seeking for the right words to say, he clung to the words the Priest spoke as a shield.

"It's a waste of time."

Undeterred, The Old man locked eyes with Zerin, a steely determination shining through the depths of his gaze.

"Is Wisteria, my daughter, a waste of time to you?"

The accusation hung in the air,

I never said that…"

Zerin's words rushed out, almost instinctively.

A subtle smile graced his features, the curve of his lips at his response.

"Good…"

The single word lingered, leaving Zerin to ponder its implications.

'Good?'

With a sigh, the man rose from the bench, his gaze unwavering as he extended an invitation.

"Come... Walk with me…"

Confusion etched across Zerin's features as he rose to his feet, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he voiced the question that lingered on his mind,

"Where are we going?"

"Let's find out, shall we?"

The Old man's words carried a sense of purpose as he set forth on his path, spurring a moment of hesitation in him before he fell in step behind.

He glanced over his shoulder,

"I forgot to ask, how is the festival, boy?"

Zerin caught up, walking alongside the man.

"People seem to be having fun, so it must be good."

"Not much of a social person?"

The Old man's question was gentle.

A casual shrug accompanied Zerin's confession.

"Not really…"

The Old man's words held a nostalgic warmth, his posture exuding a sense of wisdom and experience as he strolled with purpose, he held his hands behind his back.

"Nervousness is learned, my boy..."

Observing the familiar gesture, Zerin's mind flashed back to memories of the Priest adopting a similar stance, drawing a parallel between the two figures in his mind.

They continued walking as Zerin contemplated the words of The Old man. He lifted his gaze momentarily noticing a sign.

"Art gallery?"

Zerin spoke curiously as they were arriving closer to the sign.

"Yes... I just want to speak with you briefly as we survey the art... this side of the festival is much tamer,"

As they entered the art gallery, the scent of paint filled the air, mingling with quiet whispers as people analyzed the art pieces.

Zerin followed behind The Old man, his eyes dancing over the intricate art pieces adorning the walls, each stroke and color, dedicated to their goddess, just like the gallery in the castle they maintained familiarity with each other.

"I also wanted to mention that I am very sorry for Bashir. I assure you he won't be bothering you again."

His words rang with a seriousness that etched them into the walls.

Zerin's gaze darted towards The Old man,

"It's not a big deal…"

"But it is..."

He continued to add,

"If you are to lead the people, then we can't have your image ruined... Your noble blood must not be spilled without heavy consequences, boy…"

The Old man's tone shifted, his words, donned Zerin with an invisible crown.

He shook his head,

"I am not a leader."

"Oh, no worries... I know you are nervous... but all it takes is a catalyst to form you into the perfect lord I know you can be."

The Old man's words cut through his hesitance, each syllable a gentle nudge.

He placed his palm on Zerin's shoulder,

"Your efforts will bring the goddess back into this realm."

Zerin's response was tinged with reluctance, a desire to veer away from the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

"If you say so…"

"I know so…"

The Old man's conviction resonated in the air, unwavering in its belief as he beckoned Zerin to pause, drawing his gaze towards a specific painting.

"Look at that…"

Zerin's gaze locked onto the painting, its allure drawing him into a world of crimson splendor. The canvas, awash in hues of red, radiated a quiet intensity, each brushstroke adding layers of depth and character to the divine figure at its center. The goddess loomed large, her presence commanding as her horned form evoked celestial echoes in the minds of onlookers. One horn arched like a waxing moon, while its counterpart cradled the gentle curve of a waning crescent.

Reluctantly tearing his gaze from the captivating artwork, Zerin turned towards The Old man, seeking confirmation as his eyes began to be lured back by painting's magnetic pull.

"This is the goddess, right?"

The Old man's nod followed by his words,

"That's right."

"She looks different…"

Zerin's eyes scanned over the painting, his eyes grazing over the red hues, his mind recollecting the paintings from before.

The Old man's voice trailed off with curiosity.

"You've seen her also?"

Zerin shook his head dismissively,

"No, I haven't seen her… I was referring to the paintings I've seen in the Castle."

The Old man relaxed, processed his words then nodded with understanding.

Zerin swifty questioned,

"Wait, have you seen her?"

"Plenty of times, boy."

Zerin's curiosity unfurled like a scroll, he was intrigued, interested in finding out the true identity of this goddess.

"What does she look like then?"

"She looks different to those that behold her, some find her beautiful, while others may not."

'She looks different to each person?'

Zerin never considered this to be an outcome, but it does explain why there are so many different depictions of this goddess.

The Old man further added,

"The goddess appeared to me in a dream as a beautiful woman, her form barely covered by a long thin cloth she clutched close to her body, her horns adorned with hanging ornaments, her voice smooth like oil."

The Old man's reminiscence painted a vivid portrait of the goddess.

Zerin had more questions he was eager to ask, and why not get it from a follower of herself?

"I was also curious about her name, is it just goddess?"

"Those that have received a dream were given her name, but it is unspeakable by man, impossible even."

Disappointment seeped into Zerin's features.

'Well, isn't that a mood-killer…'

Zerin thought as he pried his eyes off of the painting, as The Old man took a breath preparing to speak again.

"But do not worry, the goddess is still in contact with us today."

The Old man spoke with conviction.

Hesitating to respond, he knew that the goddess was very much dead, because if that wasn’t the case he wouldn’t have her [Crimson Needle] in his possession.

Zerin decided to humor The Old man.

"What has she told you?"

The Old man's words drifted like leaves on a gentle breeze.

"Told? She gave us a gift, a celebratory gift for her people… Including you, Zerin…"

He grappled with conflicting emotions, torn between skepticism and curiosity.

"What is this 'gift' then?"

Zerin's question poked at The Old man's claim.

"I'll go get it and send it your way… Wait right here."

The Old man's smile carried a cryptic message as he turned and departed, his parting words like a lingering promise.

'Again? Hopefully he returns and doesn’t forget about me.’

Zerin stood in the stillness of the gallery, everyone that was present before vanished, leaving him the sole spectator of the artistry.

He suddenly felt arms capturing him like a net, arms strung over his shoulders, a sudden touch both intimate and unsettling. Before he could even react, teeth sank into his shoulder, causing him to jolt slightly as he whirled his head around in response.

"Ria?"

His exclamation mingled with surprise as the perpetrator revealed herself - Wisteria, embodying a new level of drunkenness that surpassed any prior encounters, her unsteady form a display of her intoxicated state. Her giggles danced in the air, laced with a hint of madness that flickered in her eyes like wild flames.

"Surprise!"

Wisteria's voice gave off chaotic energy, as she swayed her way towards him, her crazy eyes staring into his eyes. Wrapping her arms around his neck she leaned up her lips almost touching his, causing Zerin to fall back into the masterfully crafted canvas.

The canvas tore from their collective weight as Wisteria came crashing down with him.

'Shit... Shit... Shit..."

Zerin's internal lament echoed, his attempts to push Wisteria off of him failed as her limp body weighed far more than he expected.

Finally, he managed to push Wisteria off him, her body rolled off the canvas. As he stood, he brushed the remnants of the chaotic encounter off of him.

Looking around, Zerin's gaze shifted about the gallery, not a soul in sight, which eased his fear. Turning towards Wisteria, he reached for her hand, pulling her up. As Wisteria rose unsteadily to her feet, her expression was a blend of confusion and pain.

"Ow... Ow... Ow..."

'What the hell is her problem?!"

Zerin's frustration simmered beneath the surface, his gaze flickering between her and the ruined masterpiece laid torn and desecrated.

"That took me forever to make!"

Wisteria's anguished filled the empty space in the air, tears tracing the paths down her cheeks like fragile rivers.

Zerin's inertia shattered like glass as his gaze met her tear-streaked face, the sight itself caused internal pain to him.

"You made this?"

Fumbling with the painting, his attempts to restore its once pristine appearance met with resistance, the canvas rebelled against his efforts.

Wisteria's tear-streaked face gradually transitioned as she began to wipe her tears as she saw Zerin standing the painting up, in an attempt to restore it to its original state, albeit there was a great tear down the middle of the canvas.

"Yeah..."

She sniffled as she wiped her tears, a red ring formed around her eyes, as her voice weakly escaped her lips.

Zerin tried to uplift her in some sort of way.

"It was really good..."

Turning away from the canvas, his gaze shifted towards Wisteria.

"I wanted to show you it myself... Though..."

That massive tear was a result of his carelessness, something he would have previously considered insignificant became something that caused someone he cared about great distress. Zerin tried to find the right words to say but came to no conclusion.

As a saving grace, The Old man returned with urgency woven into his stride.

His jaw dropped as he saw the beautifully crafted painting being torn apart.

"What happened?"

The Old man walked towards the painting as his hands grazed across the Canva's surface. Wisteria explained everything that happened, Zerin decided himself to shut up, he had already added enough.

"Maybe calm down on the drinks, dear..."

His words were gentle, yet advising as he held his arms behind his back.

Wisteria, nodding in silence, lowered her gaze in a gesture of sincere regret. Her demeanor is something Zerin himself couldn't bear to see anymore.

"Lighten up, dear... You have Zerin here... and I also have a gift from the goddess with me..."

With a smile, The Old man stepped aside, ushering forth a figure cloaked in flowing black fabric.

Veiled in a darkened cloth, the woman's eyes, the only visible feature behind the netted veil, glinted within the darkened confines.

In her hand, she cradled a silver platter adorned with a gleaming dome, the tantalizing aroma wafting from within. With a deliberate flourish, she lifted the lid.

Thin slivers of meat lay nestled on the platter, raw and bloody, its savory scent a sensory contradiction.

A mixture of wariness and intrigue coloring Zerin's expression.

"What is this?"

"It's a gift from the goddess... A festive food..."

The Old man continued,

"Give it a try..."

He spoke with gentle encouragement, urging Zerin to partake in the divine offering.

His gaze flickered from the questionable feast to Wisteria, her presence still and silent.

"I'll have one if you have one..."

The Old man's generous gesture, coupled with a smile bestowed Zerin this sacred bounty.

"You can take the whole platter."

"A gift from the goddess to you..."

With a gliding gesture, the shrouded woman passed the platter to Zerin's hands. The enshrouded woman executed a graceful bow before she drifted off with The Old man.

"The official dance has almost started... So, you are just in time to watch, while indulging in the delights of the goddess."

His words redirected Zerin's attention towards the spectacle that awaited them, a convergence of tradition. As the crowd congregated around the dance grounds, an aura of anticipation filled the festive air. Though he could not quite place its significance.

"You want to watch the dance?"

The question hung in the air, he noticed a look of pain in Wisteria's face, before she quickly masked it.

"I'm sorry..."

Zerin blurted out as he looked at her.

She looked up at him, her face seemed to be filled with even more sorrow as she shook her head.

"No... Stop... You don't get to..."

She seemed to break even further before she turned herself away from him, running away leaving Zerin with the platter in his hand.

He felt the urge to chase her. He found himself entangled in a different feeling he had not felt previously, but he refused.

'I should leave her alone... I caused her enough trouble already.'

Zerin thought as he carried the platter, gently placing it on the table as he turned to interlink with the people forming the massive circle.

Voices intertwined with the heartbeat of the drums as dancers twirled within the confines of linen hoops.

He raised a piece of bloodied meat to his mouth, savoring its unexpected richness as he took a bite. The taste surpassed his expectations, leaving him with a feeling that Wisteria would appreciate it as well.

"What's so special about this? Isn't this just the dance from before?"

His words caught the attention of a nearby man, whose enthusiasm bubbled forth upon hearing Zerin.

"That was the practice; this is the real deal! My daughter is getting married!"

Elation danced in the man's eyes, reflecting a collective joy that ignited a spark of understanding within Zerin.

As his attention returned to the dance, he pondered,

'Why would she say it was just a dance then?'

A sudden silence descended over the dancing circle, the beat of the drums abruptly halting, drawing Zerin's attention. Initially, he wondered if this was planned, but the dancers stood frozen in time, their movements arrested like statues caught mid-pose.

A cracking thunder rent the air, heralding a crimson streak of lighting that cleaved the darkened heavens above, splitting the darkened clouds, it revealed what was in its heart. An ominous silhouette writhed, the air filling with its malevolent appearance, casting a fear that gripped Zerin's heart in a vice of dread.

Instinctively, he tried to summon his staff, but nothing happened. His world began to spiral out of control. Stumbling slightly, he reached for his head, a splitting headache ringing through his skull before everything instantly went black..

-

-

-

The sound of metal chains clanging together echoed in the darkness.

Weakness washed over him as he opened his eyes, the shine of the red moon casting a radiant glow.

"Where am I?"

Instinctively trying to sit up, he felt resistance—a heavy weight pressing down on him. Heavy metal chains held him firmly in place.

Scanning the room, he spotted the culprit: The Old man, calmly holding a crude knife.

"Hey, son..."