Previous Chapters
Chapter One: Fever Dream
A damaged man stands before the thick sheet of stone that walls him from the rest of the uncivilized world. His eyes are in a blank stare merely inches from the cold rock surface, reflecting on his inner thoughts of pursuing some rash choice that would lead down a path of some form of salvation; as if anything other than darkness truly creeps before those eagerly awaited gates of Aetherius.
“A dishonor thy father.” he repeats to himself with persistence in his deep yet frail voice, a voice which lacks any wish to push forth, but that is outweighed by a will to push forth.
The man had suffered a death far worse than what the edge of his father’s axe could have brought him. Rather than sat before the Old Gods in the form of a sacrificial remedy, with his mortal heart slashed at the altar; he instead represents something lone, and with innocence lost.
He stands before the stone wall, bound to it with chains. His sight has been sundered, as the Old Gods themselves have stripped him of his vision, deeming him blind. He presents himself in complete humility and speaks with magnificent passion, with his hands pressed against the wall, the stone feels freezing cold to his fingertips, as if he were to dip his fingers into the Sea of Ghosts.
“I am a man of your word. I offer to you my being as sacrifice to please you before your eyes, for I am ripe for death. If I may find such favor in you, grant me the eyes of a newborn. Beget sight to me so I may step before your breathing tower and climb it as a child of your favor.” he pleads before his Old Gods.
Etched within him, vivid as his own thoughts, four answers come in sequential order. With them, a cast of the truth from the sight of each answerer. The first answer reads…
“You are a man beneath the skin of the world. You are chained, bound to your mortal wall. Your skin has been left burned by your mortality. The towering hands of your vindictive captors have cast a light upon you that screams the music of opposition to that of the darkest realm among the waters. You are a light of abandonment, flickered. Cast violence on your light, and step towards the kindling with your spark.”
This answer brought more mystery than it did anything else, as he was still alive, but also still blinded; so, any physical changes remained unmarked in his mind. The second answer reads…
“You are a man beneath the skin of the world. A light of abandonment, flickered. You have been bruised by your mortality and have been imprisoned for your insignificance. Captivity has beaten you to frailty without shame. Yet you survived your father’s axe. Likewise, you will survive fertility and birth the sight of a newborn in my eyes. You are a walking atonement. You are the egg of vendetta your father’s failure has perpetrated. I will cast violence on your egg and release the sperm that may birth your sight.”
This answer brought clear and obvious physical altercation that came with great pain and misery. He was fully taken advantage of as his hands were shackled to the cold stone wall; he felt his innocence become pillaged from within him by the evildoings of his second encounter of divinity. And still, no sight came of this. The third answer reads…
“You are a man beneath the skin of the world. You are a light of abandonment, flickered. You are a walking atonement. You have been betrayed. Left behind with you were your values of old and ancient. Dodge a vendetta of no significance through your sight of old and ancient and relieve yourself of those archaic ways. Your innocence has been sacrificed as you lie there, bleeding from the efforts of the deranged shaft of darkness. You are a muse of blood. Cast violence on your blood, and paint the ceiling of the waters with the hues given to you through the waves of your suffering.”
This answer made him grow weary as to whether he was just playing the role of a master’s puppet, or if following these obscure steps would truly transcend him atop of this metaphorical tower. In waiting for what would be the final answer, he performed the actions he deemed necessary under the contexts of the answers he had been given. The fourth answer reads…
“You are a man beneath the skin of the world. You are a light of abandonment, flickered. You are a walking atonement. You are a muse of blood. Your fealty is precious to me. I will make good use of it. Rest your hands in repose on the death before you and my blessing will grant you the sight of an animal of prey. Verify my belief in you, and I will see to it that your sight shall be unfinished and never limited. You are a hunter. Cast violence on your predators, and convert them to prey.”
Pfevet had found favor in the eyes of his Old Gods, as the sound of old iron plunging to the depths echoes through his chamber. Derived of the divine answers he had come to accept, vision came to him once more, although heavily dampened. At his feet, atop the pool of blood and seed, lay his shackles of old iron once wrapped around his wrists, each broken in half.
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