Chapter 31: "Zera’s Tribute"

 “Who are you?” I asked, bewildered.

Her wings formed a veil that clothed her torso and concealed her face. Owl ears protruded from her head, lending her an aura of mystery.

“I am Noelle, Mistress of Blood, and this is my husband, Syrb. We both once lived in this city. After its fall, we decided to remain, for we had nowhere else to go. This is our home: this is where we belong.” she replied.

How fascinating. Her name is unsettling, and her husband’s demeanor disturbs me: they are remarkably calm beings. I sense no malice in them, unlike the other things in this world.

“How was the city destroyed?” asked Zera, exasperated, unable to bear my presence.

“The wounded creatures that escaped the war during Creation founded Kaleron, the Rising City. A World God interpreted our flight as an act of treachery against The Ruin, and so he laid everything to waste.”

It amazes me to think that only a few days ago I was ignorant of the World Gods, and since then I have learned of their fundamental role in history.

Suddenly, the books began to turn their pages frantically. From them escaped dozens of creatures, each shrouded in a crimson mantle.

They varied in shape, color, and size. Each had its own peculiarities, unlike the others.

“Yet the city protected us, and with its strength, we were able to defeat him.” Said a skeletal beast.

“It forged titanic rings to defend us. Meanwhile, we took advantage of the Ruin’s waning power to bring him down.” Added a Nightmare.

They celebrated fiercely, proud of what they had achieved.

Despite their appearances, they evoke in me a feeling so familiar… as though they too were human, kindred.

Noelle beat her wings with an elegant movement, worthy of a noble. Then, the creatures disintegrated into the air.

“After our victory, Kaleron created rivers and lakes in which to lose itself beneath the waters. And with it, it buried the tomb of the God.” She explained. The owl, tired of the caresses, flew up to her head and began devouring her wings, her mantle.

That was what we found in the mausoleum. That is why Jix said he felt a connection with Creation.

“The mountains and forests rose, celebrating his death. The only visible remnant of that scourge are the rings.”

“Why did the warriors who fought against that God appear only just now? Why do they hide in the manuscripts?” asked Zera, ignoring Jix’s remark.

“It was my blood. When our home took the name of Kaleron, the Sunken City, my companions abandoned it: now we are the only ones who remain here. I recorded their stories, and at times they come alive again.” Declared Syrb.

The books stilled the fluttering of their pages, silencing their voices once their tale was told.

How magical, how mysterious. I feel surrounded by hundreds of ancient creatures, whose stories would take me a thousand lifetimes to unravel.

“With the fall of The Ruin, we both embraced the element of Blood.” Added Noelle, weaving crimson threads that danced before our eyes. “Through it, I can delve into the depths of the most enigmatic monsters and unveil their secrets.”

“Then… can you know the nature of the Silence I carry within me?” I asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

Zenith and Jix had warned me about the Primordial Eclipse. They said I was being used, manipulated by them. What if they were right? What if I truly was the villain of this story, just as the citizens of Aurethys believe?

All the time we had been in that basilica, Zera had not dared to cast even the slightest glance my way.

What if I had dragged Zera with me into this adventure only to spread the Silence? And what if the master had died because of me—because of nothing more than my own whim?

“I do not understand what you mean by Silence, child. Yet, I can try.” She said, motioning for me to come closer.

It was true—I had forgotten. The existence of The Silence is unknown to most creatures.

With one of her wings, she gently lifted my arm, revealing part of her true plumage. Then she drove her feathers into my flesh.

I trust her: she will reveal what The Primordial Eclipse wants from me. Rarely in my life have I doubted him, but this time is different: I am certain that I was wrong, that the path I chose is not the right one.

From her feathers began to seep blood, which entered my veins. It wandered aimlessly through my body, searching within me for a vestige of Creation.

I cannot move; it sends uncontrollable spasms through me. It is a strange, dreadful sensation. I feel as though my body were dying, rejecting her blood.

Suddenly, my muscles began to contract with an overwhelming, inhuman strength, and my blood began to boil.

Damn it! I should never have trusted her. Do I never learn from this world’s cruelty?

I collapsed to the floor, crouched in agony. Noelle reacted at once, pulling her blood out of my body.

“I had to remove it, or else you would have died. I could not gain access—it seems that within you dwells a force greater than Blood itself, one that prevented my intervention.” She explained.

Zera remained unmoved: she watched my torment with a heartless coldness. Jix, meanwhile, hid behind his mask: his thoughts a sepulchral secret.

“So what? Is that all?” I asked, dissatisfied, almost angry.

“Patience, child. I was able to glimpse your memories: they were altered.”

Then they were right? Was I mistaken? Did I let myself be deceived by the Gods? No, it cannot be…

“Girl. Your hollow eyes gleam with the fury of one who has known nothing but misfortune. Come closer, let me etch your story into eternity.” Commanded Syrb.

“My memories are blurred. I will accept your offer if you can make them clear.”

Zera walked toward Syrb, showing not the slightest trace of enthusiasm.

She might uncover the secret behind her parents. Then why is she not excited? Why are her feet not skipping with joy as they always do?

She extended her arm, and the beast drove its claws into it, opening deep wounds that spilled her blood over the pages of an empty book. From the crimson liquid emerged a small girl: every figure that appeared was made of blood, silent.

Her story unfolded like a fairy tale: she ran joyfully through forests and cities, her parents always at her side, wherever she went.

They embraced warmly. Zera had been right: they truly were good people. Then why did she doubt them? What memories was her mind preventing her from seeing?

Suddenly, the book slammed shut with violence and opened on another page. There, a bizarre creature appeared, formed of black smoke, with a cryptic aura and a menacing presence.

It was The Eternal Whisper. What was he doing there? Did he know Zera? What kind of interest could he have in a child?

He offered her parents a tempting bargain: their daughter would bear a gift capable of summoning Intermediaries at will. Furthermore, he assured them that the price of the Pact would always fall upon the girl, but that she would recover in moments, as if nothing had happened: it would leave no mark upon her body.

But if it was in her mind, that is why she is unable to remember her childhood.

The volume snapped shut once more in a frenzy and revealed another part of the story. At first, the girl had agreed to make Pacts to help her family: she increased their wealth and happiness at the cost of a little suffering.

The Intermediaries demanded her limbs, pieces of her emotions, even fragments of her soul. Each time she accepted a Pact, her soul was left devastated, so pained that it would abandon her.

Nevertheless, with time, her parents succumbed to greed—to human nature, inescapable. They began traveling from village to village, from city to city, pretending to be wandering merchants. But when the sun set, they revealed their true trade.

The girl was taken into the chambers of aristocrats and bourgeois, where she was forced to summon the Intermediaries to fulfill their desires. While her parents received money and political favors in exchange, she endured alone the torment of the Pact.

Jix is right: nature is inescapable, and in humans, it drives even the noblest souls to sacrifice what they love most. Will the same happen to us if we seize the Feather?

The tome closed again, its pages opening to a new scene. A man, a Knight, appeared before the girl. With grand gestures and a gentle expression, he offered her the world. Complex mechanisms surrounded his arms, unique contraptions.

That’s Corin? Why? What kind of interest could Zenith’s right hand have in a girl like Zera? Was he after her gift? Her bond with the Intermediaries? Or was it because she too was a Daughter of Silence?

She took his hand, and he led her away. Away from her parents, away from the abuse, away from the Intermediaries. My master carried her to a mansion, wrought of blood, that emerged in the depths of the scene.

A noble stepped out from the mansion, welcoming the girl warmly. He took her into his home. He made her his servant, to watch her closely. He bound her to him, so that The Eternal Whisper could never claim her.

The book closed once more and revealed another chapter.

Years passed, until a young man appeared. He shattered her calm, broke her happiness. He set fire to her home and threatened to kill the man who had, in truth, protected her as her parents never had.

With the softness of a flower, the book shut.

The moment she met me, her story came to a bitter end: I became the antagonist, her villain. Is that how she sees me? Is that the image she carries of me?

“Without a doubt, it is a very fine tale: it will be an honor to bring your broken spirit to life when your blood dictates that the time is right.” Declared Syrb, expressionless. Yet his voice betrayed the excitement that ran through him.

“I thank you for your help, Syrb. Unlike many creatures I have met, I noticed that you bear no title. May I grant you one as a token of my gratitude?”

“That is not how a title should be conceived. They are earned over millennia, devoted to a single purpose.” Interrupted Noelle, the Lady of Blood, irritated. She raised her wings threateningly, attempting to intimidate the human.

Zera stood tall before her, resolute in acknowledging Syrb’s worth.

“Do you not think that immortalizing the stories of all the warriors within this basilica is worthy of a goal fulfilled? Allow me to do it, in the name of all those who are present among us, within the pages of these books.”

An army of tomes began to stir, filling the chamber with life. They sided with Zera. In an endless clamor of voices, they entrusted her with their wills, knowing she would speak the true name.

“You have my permission, human.” Answered Syrb, bowing his head before her.

Syrb set aside his reading and closed his eyes with the calm of one who had never closed them before.

The veil that separated humans and creatures faded. They stood face to face, in respect, regarding one another as equals. They pressed their foreheads together, and she caressed his face, asking his spirit’s permission to give him his true name.

“Syrb, the Crimson Testament.” She released his face with the slow gentleness of one reluctant to part with a loved one.

“I shall be eternally grateful, human.”

The warriors materialized once again. They swarmed over Syrb, the Crimson Testament, with ferocity, celebrating his rebirth. Their joy was uncontrollable: at last, someone had recognized the sacrifice of their great friend.

They do not seem like monsters: they are identical to humans. The way they embrace… The expressions of relief and happiness released upon their faces… We are the same.

The books, his most treasured relic, took form to honor him, to show that during all those centuries, his ceaseless labor had not been in vain: the memory of the fallen remains with him, reviving their bodies, emotions, and souls.

“Where is the cathedral?” Zera asked Noelle, without disturbing the frenzied celebration taking place behind them.

“The owls will guide you to the exit. From there, take care not to stir up trouble: once outside, we cannot rescue you as we did during your encounter with the Adept.”

The birds flew across the basilica toward a passage descending into the earth, for the entire temple lay buried in the depths.

Zera walked toward the exit, and I followed. Not once did she turn to give me even the faintest look—neither of disdain nor of repulsion.

It is not that she hates me, it is that I am insignificant to her.

The path forked, forming two roads lit by a dim light.

Without a word, she took the direction opposite mine, marking the end of our journey as companions.