A scorching feel born from a spark of flame, Blazing agony seeping under the skin. Boiling blood and frenzied screams, melted skin reveals an empty husk. Then comes the surging pain of life, Engulfed by the roots of a fallen tree. Flesh and bones grown from dust and ashes, piercing pain mold the body. A tainted soul was born, driven by pain he crawled.
On the wasteland of nowhere, he pressed onward. Lonely and confused the newborn ventured on to seek of shelter, his cursed birth was unwelcomed. A kettle of vultures flew toward the newborn from a distance as if they had spotted their next meal. They start to circle around the crawling newborn as he struggles in futile, crawling inevitably to his demise.
After the grueling crawl, the newborn has given in to the excruciating pain. The last thing he saw was a shadowy figure approaching him amid the sand. His pain and agony ended abruptly and he was left with endless darkness in the space of his mind, tho the pain was extraordinary, the thing that is tormenting his soul right now is the silence of his thoughts.
Unending thoughts filled his mind with various questions related to this newfound intelligence, he was left with a void with only muttering of his own. The torturing silence finally ended when He opened his eyes and found himself in the unusual space.
Instead of being surrounded by the sea of sand, he was lying on the cold stone. He stood up and took a glance at his surroundings, it was surrounded by an amber sky with floating debris.
He is lying on the verge of a broken bridge leading to nowhere when he sees a figure sitting in the middle of the bridge, he crawls toward the figure with what is left of his fragile limbs.
As he gets closer, he sees it is a woman with a ragged cloak but beneath hides a mesmerizing liturgical vestment. The robe was white with two diagonal yellow stripes intersecting into a black cross. Her hands were gripping a wooden cross with strange symbols on it, the image of a tilted scale engraved deep into the back of her hands. He sees how her flesh keeps on growing and decaying around the same spot, perhaps it is tormenting her constantly as it is to his wretched body.
Using whatever strength was left inside of him, he used his right hand to lift himself up to look at her face. She had fainted silver ash hair color and she wore a blindfold with a golden crest of an eye in the middle.
-"Settle now, Ashenkin. Thou struggles are needed elsewhere" The maiden said in a soft tone as she stood up from her seat and walked toward the decaying "Ashenkin" as she calls him.
-"How peculiar. Fate sure is a fickle mistress. A seedling whose shell was broken, to be denied by fate itself," she said, moving her hand to a hole where his left arm should be. She gently caressed the intense burning around his shoulder and slowly took away the pain. He has stopped burning endlessly, his body slowly molds into shape as roots and vines wrap around him. But it couldn't recover his loss of limb, he cannot see the world with both eyes nor feel with his left hand. a twisted scar formed on the left side of his face, running down to his throat and shoulder.
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He stood up with his new legs and touched the hole in his left eye, then the hole in his left arm with confusion. He did not feel bothered by such disabilities but the situation has left him dumbfounded. The maiden simply stood there, letting him absorb all the information as she carefully studied him.
"Thy scars carved by destiny, ones could not be healed. But, thou hath wits to rebel against the designated path." she turned around and led him to the other end of the bridge where they saw the ruins of a great fortress. Traces of cold steel and blood stain the walls, vines, and mosses growing out from the innermost section. collapsed parts of watchtowers and ballistas litter the ground. Mutilated corpses of soldiers were hung with symbols carved on their bodies, in the middle lies a single anvil with some equipment lying around it.
The young lad stood there in shock, looking at his surroundings carefully to absorb it. He feels drawn to the anvil but is hesitant, looking toward the figure standing next to him in seek of guidance. Only one word came out of her
-"Forge your fate."
He understood the meaning behind it as he walked toward the anvil and placed his hand on the hammer, everything became surreal. His hand moved on its own as if something had guided his every movement, ethereal light sparks from the clash of steel. He has lost track of his thoughts and surroundings. He has created an arm made from metal and certainty, daunting the craft he created. his own body grows within every crevice of the steel arm, embracing it like flesh of its own.
-"Thou flesh grow anew, but thee rebel will not go unnoticed. To endure the punishment of gods is thy fate. A life of solitary thou must swallow" He nodded to her solemn warning and kneeled in gratitude for all of her deeds.
-"Take this to thou heart, thine journey will surely be filled with conflicts and resentments. May thou find resolve within" The ruins start to crumble as the sky seemingly falls, and she calmly walks him to hand him a journal.
The ground cracks and the Ashenkin inevitably falls down the abyss. Before he did he saw a faint smile on the maiden's face as she watched him fall into the darkness.
...
He jumped up from the slumber with a cold sweat running down, he got up and took a look around. He was in a tent, perhaps it was placed here after he had collapsed from exhaustion.
While he was processing the rapid changes, someone had walked into the tent to greet him.
"Woken up now have you, rotten oak?" It was a woman with the same hair color as the maiden, wearing a business suit and sunglasses. What caught his attention was the crown worn on her shoulder.
"What sweet lies did the devil's lips whisper to your ears?" the woman asked upon seeing his new look and more importantly...His absence of deformity
"No much of a talker huh" she said after a moment of silence, taking off her sunglasses to reveal a breathtaking pair of purple eyes.
"Anyways, let's get to know each other a bit, shall we? The name's Reiya.You are probably still trying to process the rapid events being thrown at you" The Ashenkin gently nods in response to her question
"let me make it clear then, I have zero expectations for the kinds of you. Be it to die inside the stomach of a monster or be burned as an offering to a god, yours is a life of dirt. I shall only be a figure of mentor and the overseer of your demise" she said with a cold, dead stare into his eye. He could only nod to her statement
"Good, now what's your name?" He was puzzled by her question, placing his hand on the side of his head trying to come up with an answer but to no avail, seeing this she continued: "Don't have one? I see, then I suppose I will have to give you one then. I will name you..."