I awoke to a pain I've never experienced before in a life utterly filled with it. My head throbbed and my chest felt as if it were close to splitting open, revealing even more agony. The Banister my arms were attached to was raised slightly off the concrete floor below, my feet and legs dangling idly as the ropes around my wrists strained against the rough texture of it's surface. I felt bile rise from my stomach as I heaved the contents therein on myself and the ground I was raised over.
Through Teary eyes, I attempted to observe my surroundings. In the distance, I could parse the Booth I had worked the afternoon in. The Courtyard where the Festival had taken place. The Market Square. was empty now, and instead of Liveries intermingling with dance and drink, only a scant few remained. Those depraved enough to watch what would inevitably unfold.
A Figure I had come to inexorably be aware of through Iona appeared from the crowd that formed off the edge of the Riser I had been situated to. Slowly but surely my vision returned to me, even if what I saw could only be surmised as bits and pieces of a truth I wasn't privy to.
"You put your filthy fucking hands on my daughter." The anger in the mans eyes was transcendent. Even in my battered state I could feel the heat radiating off of him akin to being doused by a rising sun. It was Iona's Father. He would most certainly kill me.
Amongst the crowd, I tried looking for her, amidst the snarling faces and upturned scowls. After a time without finding her, I simply hoped she was safe. It wouldn't make sense for her to be in danger, but I was worried nonetheless. I would take responsibility for my actions, even if I had to die for them. But if she was hurt in the process, I'd never forgive myself.
Before long, a pair of Guardsmen clad in plated armor took my backwards flank, pressing into me with sharp pikes. I felt the oozing of hot blood flow down my backside and onto the concrete below, pooling into an indention that looked similar to a basin. The shock of my newfound environment deadened the pain, but my cries were still loud enough to earn hoots and hollers from the crowd of degenerates below, still reeling from the heavy drinking they had embroiled themselves with during the festival.
I had walked hand in hand with death my whole life. That was what it mean to be an Arlean in this day in age. It was easy to come to terms with it. The humiliation. The Isolation. It was as unremarkable to me as sucking air.
But in this moment, a realization dawned on me. I would die without doing a fucking thing.
"By order of the Kronus Electus, for the crimes of fraternization against the Division, I condemn you to Melding by Artifact." Iona's father raised his voice loud enough for the growing procession to hear, earning excited roars of approval in response. It was the dead of night, and even still my execution had attracted dozens of Liveries. No consequence to me, though. I wasn't long for this world. I could feel it. The Basin beneath me was filling with my own blood at an accelerated pace, the pikes held against my flesh draining my essence completely.
Through my wilting consciousness, however, I heard a voice boom from deep inside the crowd, shoving his way past the throngs of Townsfolk consumed with bloodlust.
"Dammit, Roldan! He's just a boy!" Stumbling through the sea of bodies, earning gasps and exclamations, Darian rushed to meet the riser. Before he could make his ascent, a pair of Guardsmen met his advance, holding him back from intercepting me. I was grateful he had even made an effort. He peered up at me, and for the first time since I've known him, he appeared apologetic. Struggling against the Guards holding him back, I became appreciative of the ferocity in his attempt.
Iona's father callously disregarded him, not even offering a look in edgewise. His attention was solely on me. A hateful exuberance that would culminate in my death. But not just any death. I was to become a source of strength for my enemies. That was what it meant to be melded as an Arlean. I had seen it happen a handful of times, and each instance was more painful to observe than the last. In a cosmic sort of way, I thought it hilarious how I ended up here. Over an unfruitful love.
I didn't regret a thing.
My eyes dimmed, blocking the precession from my view as I felt my neck give out, all of my remaining strength replaced by the autonomous will to live ingrained in my mortal flesh. As it did so, the culmination of the Ritual began to emerge from the basin. A light, primordial and exuberant, flashed within it. As the gruesome pool swirled amidst the onset of new blood, the light became brighter and brighter, almost eclipsing the torchlight illuminating the rafters.
The Crowd grew louder as the culmination of my punishment began in full. Cries of bloodlust pounded my ears, echoing against the frayed edges of my psyche as I felt the last remnants of life escape my body.
"With this, may the Accord be fulfilled. May new life emerge from the sins of the past. May our strength overcome the Devils in our midst." Every word Iona's Father spoke were like daggers that pierced my heart. All I wanted was to live alongside them. To enjoy the fruitions of Existence that were so easily granted to the rest of them.
I hope Iona finds peace after this. Knowing her, she'll inevitably blame herself. Her kindness knew no bounds, a hallmark reason as to why I fell in love with her in the first place. She was a force that attracted bountiful light, diminishing the shadow that constantly loomed over me. I was grateful to have known her, even if my existence had only brought her pain in the end.
My last thoughts, my last perceptions, were of the twin moons cresting the skyline of Esquire, their majesty diametrically opposing the wrath of my peers and betters. Such irony, for a beautiful phenomenon such as this to exist in a world where children are killed for the sakes of prejudice.
In another life, I would've never entangled myself with them. I would run far away, sequester myself amidst a peaceful isolation, so that I can't hurt or be hurt.
'Do you really mean that?'
It seemed my fading consciousness had created phantoms in my mind, as a Voice that peered through the rest arose within it. Sweet and sickly, it held a nostalgic tone that I couldn't quite place. Granted, I was on the edge of death, so that was most likely a reasonable explanation.
The pool of blood beneath me churned with greater force as the light inside bounded upwards. An Antiquary of my Lineage. A Crimson Star, dazzling with ephemeral light that captured the mystique of the crowd that began to deaden their raucous applause. Iona's Father took hold of it, a hint of disgust in his expression as he idly fixated upon it. He motioned towards the guards hoisting me closer to the Rafters I was situated against, silently ordering them to release me so I may be executed in full.
'What if there was another way?'
The Voice appeared again, this time more pronounced. Death wrapped itself around my fading mind, but in that eclipsed state, I became aware of it all the more. A Clarion Call that offered a choice within it's bounds.
"ROLDAN!!" Darian, still maintained by Roldan's personal security force, reached towards the satchel on his side, holding in his hand a glowing orb emitting light that easily rivaled the Crimson Star that emerged from my excreted blood. The Crowd behind him instantly became aware of what he held, and the danger it possessed. A Chroma Shard.
'Could you be brave for me, this one last time?'
Darian crushed the object in his hand as the crowd around him scattered in a terror-filled wave away from the onset of his inclination. The Guards surrounding him created distance as they drew their swords, faces filled with indignation as they began to attack. It was too late. In an instant they were turned into stream of crimson mist as the energy bounding from Darian churned their bodies into paste.
The attendants that held against the ropes hoisting me above the procession scattered in fear, causing me to fall painfully on top of the basin that contained what remained of me. With neither the strength or will to move, I couldn't fight against Roldan as he quickly grabbed hold of my Hair and slid the dagger in his right hand into my side. A look of accomplishment supplanted his face before Darian reached him. In an instant, he too was obliterated by the maelstrom caused by the Chroma Shard Darian had consumed.
The remaining soldiers, tied to Roldan by a contract that was null and void as a result of his death attempted to flee in a pathetic scurry, one even falling over on themselves in their fervor. Darian, who had become too embroiled in his rage, failed to notice the Guard closing in behind him. In an instant, he made a horizontal slash against the back of Darian's neck, instantly killing him.
I was neither lucid or sane enough to offer any sort of condolence. I was supposed to be dead. Why wasn't I dead? In my peripheral view, I saw the shattered remnants of the Crimson Star in Roldan's emaciated hand, still gleaming brightly amidst the flesh and refuse of his former body.
"What a shitshow." Darian's killer exclaimed, sheathing his sword as he stood over my crumbled body. To him, I was of no imminent danger. I could barely maintain lucidity after all. Some invisible phenomenon was keeping me alive, forcing me to watch as my world crumbled around me once again.
The Guard reached down towards the Star, picking it up in his wreathed hands, as he observed it tentatively.
"Could sell for a decent chunk of cha-" Before he could finish, the Star burst into an all encompassing light that shadowed over the Rafters, blinding both me and him. Not able to shield my eyes, all I could do was take the brunt of the fixture as my body lay motionless on the ground.
Against the impossible nature of my continued animation, I felt a swathe of vigor surge within me. As if what was stolen had begun to replace itself. It was a jubilation I could only compare to the Festivities of the Day of Flowers. Not that I could relate, but the idea still struck a chord within me.
'So close now. I can feel you as if we were of the same mind and body.' The Voice returned alongside my burgeoning strength. My Mind had shifted, the near-death toll of anhilation seeping out and away from the light like a swathe of pearly black. It was coming from the Star all along. What was once within me had become sentient without.
The Light subsided, bringing with it the calm of the Market Square abandoned by all except corpses. A few stragglers remained, pensively attentive to the aftermath of the precession. Their fear was palpable, similar to my own in it's scope. The Lack of understanding regarding the situation at hand had discarded all notions of reality for me and them.
The Guard was dead, obliterated by the effervescent light that bore through their skin and bones like molten lava. It was a different demise from his peers. This was complete destruction, whereas Darian's Chroma Shard minced his victims to pulpous mass.
In his hand was the Crimson Star, bright and shimmering as if it hadn't traded bloody hand after bloody hand in the matter of minutes. Crawling towards it, I felt an inclination I had never even considered possible before.
Strength. Enough to overcome what had befell those that came before. But only for a moment. When it had reached my grasp, both the voice and the feeling dissipated, leaving me with only whimpers of shallow wind and the humming of disjointed chatter from the faraway observers to keep me company as I lay in my own blood.
Seconds passed, and as they did so, both the light and the assuredness it offered disappeared from my mind, as Death took me in it's embrace after what seemed like an eternity.