Chapter 26 - Dark Stains

A week later; 31st of Eirm'Haiir, Year 13,126 RD.

Mokrenz Eek poleya, likno ya,
Motrel malika ya, angela malete na,
Paie utra librul mozrinde,
Molela seka ya sakaepe.

Masika ya mitrema esengisa,
Na nzela baritik ya elendisa,
Maprap mata linko Eek patarme,
Bosnaten benu masaki ta netarme.

The hymn, sung in the Old language of the angels, drifted over the still waters of Lake Riinia, near the kingdom of Ulmra in the northwest of the angelic nation. It was a cold land, where the fog wandered freely. Angels, clad in white garments marked with golden lines and with red sweaters beneath, circled a small section of the lake, chanting the hymn while swinging red censers of incense.

At the forefront stood a priest, holding a candle unlike the others. He remained silent, his presence marked only by the metallic chime of the candleholder in his hand and the faint flame quivering upon it. The other angels gathered in silence, observing the clerical procession. They wore white cloaks and simple masks with human features, silent witnesses, mere onlookers to what unfolded before their eyes.

At the water's edge stood Tarnael, stripped bare, his long hair falling loose as he faced the clerics. His expression was cold, his gaze fixed upon the ritual with stoic calm. He waited for the chant to end, knowing the true ceremony would begin thereafter.

The barefoot procession moved slowly across the dry earth, where the grass was losing its green luster. Their steps ceased. The chanting fell silent. The group of clerics turned toward Tarnael.

The priest stepped forward. Kneeling to the ground, he began to dig into the earth with his hands. Twenty, thirty centimeters deep, he uncovered the skeleton of a buried owl. Snapping the skull free from its remains, he drew the beak against his palm, cutting into his flesh until blood began to flow. He overturned the owl's skull and filled it with his blood. From the hollow sockets where the creature's eyes had once been, the liquid trickled out, and then, without warning, the lifeblood shifted color, glowing into a vivid yellow.

"The Owl of Justice, one of the most loyal servants of Seraph Edin'Borghia, grants you his blessing to become the twenty-fourth King of the Angels. He bestows upon you, Tarnael Frizina, his strength, his wisdom, his abundance, his wealth. Do you accept, Tarnael Frizina, such a burden? Do you accept to bear the innocence of the angels upon your shoulders, and to suffer in their stead? Do you accept to drink the elixir of coronation, served by the servant and herald of our God? Speak Amen if you agree to embrace this fate," the priest said, holding the inverted skull of the owl before Tarnael.

The latter gazed at the skull, at the elixir wrought from the ritual. Eliael and Kaela looked on in silence, bound to their duty of restraint.

"Amen," Tarnael replied without the faintest trace of emotion, standing upon the water, his upper body reflected clearly in the mirror-surface of the lake.

The priest began to walk slowly toward him, carrying the owl's skull with solemn care.

Mratambe kozna ya tret,
Lipantra baker sin fret,
Mo Nisa ya Serafime,
Ikoriun stra Grime.

The chant repeated among the clerics, their melody accompanying the measured steps of the priest. Entering the lake, his white cloak was swallowed by the waters as he drew closer to Tarnael. Tarnael watched him, glancing down at the reflection where the priest now stood only centimeters away.

"Drink, my child," the priest said, offering the skull into Tarnael's hands.

Tarnael took it, seeing his own reflection glimmer in the yellow liquid within. Without hesitation, without even the shadow of doubt, he drank it all in a single swallow, then let the skull drift weightlessly upon the water. The priest retrieved it and placed it upon Tarnael's head.

"Amen!"

"AMEN! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!"

The voices of the congregation thundered in unison, for his coronation was now made official. The crowning of an angel unlike any other. Perhaps it was his stark sincerity that had secured him this rare place among them. Perhaps Tarnael was not a deception after all.

Kaela remained silent, her mask concealing whatever she felt in that moment. Tarnael turned his gaze toward her, searching the darkness in her hidden eyes, trying to pierce the infinity veiled within. Yet the mask that Tarnael himself wore, the mask of his being, was far harder to break. This thought echoed in Kaela's mind as she observed him in silence.

Then Tarnael's eyes swept to the rest of the audience. He studied them carefully. He saw the angels gathered before the royal balcony, the crown now upon his head, and beyond them, the vast multitude assembled to celebrate the event.

"Long live King Tarnael! AMEN! Long live King Tarnael! AMEN!"

The angels cried out as one, a throng like a great swarm of bees bursting forth from their hive.

Yet Tarnael's expression was touched with conflict. He watched them cheer his name, but felt nothing. The priest's words of coronation beneath the balcony, the applause, the chants, the tolling of bells, all of it reached him like muffled echoes from a distant chamber. It was as if he stood outside of joy itself, trapped in a restroom while a concert raged beyond, hearing only the dull throb of music seeping through the walls, excluded from the pleasures of reality.

"Your Majesty! Do you have any words to share?" asked Priest Alsiel, gazing up at the young man from below the balcony.

Tarnael drew in a deep breath and replied:

"I have said all there is to say. I will let deeds speak for me," he declared, his voice resolute.

"AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!"

The angels erupted in celebration. Tarnael shook the dark-feathered cloak from his shoulders and stepped back into the royal palace.

"As the days flee, I feel myself drifting further away from who I once was. I possess everything, power, dominion, wisdom, a brother, a sister, servants, soldiers, supporters. My parents are gone, but I can endure this throne alone. And yet... something is missing. It feels as though the reason I rule is not my own. I claim I want what is best for others, a secure future for angels, the divine rulers of this world. But these thoughts feel hollow, like lies I whisper to myself. Perhaps I seek something else in this unjust world. I have made choices a king must make in order to secure his reign, yet I feel those are choices Tarnael would never have made. I wake, I eat, I wash, I speak, I fly, I watch, yet in none of these do I find myself. I see myself drowning in an ocean, facing the reflection of the man I once was beneath the waves. I caress his face, I speak gently to him, but he does not feel. He does not respond. He only looks back into my eyes. He sees, and only sees. The sun's rays never reach him. He sees only through the darkness that surrounds him. Could it be... that he is me? These rays of sunlight are false, but the darkness feels real. Darkness reveals what lies within each being. Darkness is the truest reflection of a soul. I dwell in darkness. Yes. I understand now who I am, and where I belong. In this story... I am the darkness."

"Tarnael!"

"Haah!" Tarnael jolted, startled by Kaela's hand shaking his arm in the shadowed chamber beyond the balcony.

"What's wrong with you today? You don't look well," Kaela asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Hehh... it's nothing. I-I'm just... lacking sleep. Forgive me," Tarnael murmured as he moved past his sister, heading toward his chamber.

"It's no wonder. He was so overwhelmed, he didn't sleep a wink last night. And then came that strange ritual this morning," said Eliael, watching Tarnael's retreat, joining Kaela by her side.

"I hope that's all it is," Kaela replied, though her concern hardened into a serious, unreadable gaze.

In his office, Igorus sat deep in thought over the mountain of documents that had consumed nearly the entire surface of his desk. His eyes drifted to the bottle of whiskey placed in the corner. The whiskey Skorona had given him earlier that day. Each time he glanced at it, curiosity stirred within him. That strange bottle, shaped like a trapezoid with a cork at the top, seemed like something that didn't belong in that office.

"To hell with it," he muttered to himself as he seized the whiskey in his hands and rushed out of the room.

"General... where are you going?" asked his secretary, Riona, as she stepped into his office holding a stack of files.

"I need to return to the Guhojre Forest. I think I lost something there, most likely it slipped from my pocket," Igorus replied.

"Ah, very well then. Just please, if you can, don't be too long. I know you probably haven't recovered yet, emotionally, I mean. I understand, but the documents are waiting for your signature," she said softly, lowering her head.

"I know, Riona. I apologize, and thank you for your understanding. Once I return, I'll finish everything you leave here," Igorus answered with a strained smile as he brushed past her without a farewell.

That smile vanished from his face like a lamp snuffed out in an instant, leaving a small room in sudden darkness. He stepped out of the building, spread his wings, and with fury surged into the skies. The dominions nearby were startled by the force of his flight.

"General Igorus? Why in such a rush?" asked one commander.

"Who knows? Maybe he forgot to feed the baby? Hahaha," another quipped, laughing.

From the window of his shadowed office, Marshal Mildura watched the general soaring away as he peeled an orange with surgical precision using his knife.

"Can't wait eight years, can you, Igorus?" he muttered, tasting his first slice. "Sour."

Igorus tore through the clouds at a blistering speed, flames trailing behind him as they seared the air.

"Damn, they all saw me," he cursed under his breath while flying.

"Ah—hic!—but tarry, sweet boy, for one morsel more! Take thou this token!" Skorona had told him during their meeting beyond the gate.

What he had handed him was nothing more than a simple mandarin leaf.

"Ehmm... And what am I supposed to do with this?" Igorus had asked, baffled.

"If thine addled wits forget the draught of whiskey, then—hic!—sink thy teeth into this leaf most bitter! And lo! All who beheld thy folly shall straight forget the trespasses of the last three minutes." Skorona explained with a small belch. "Ahhh! I daresay, my pretty knave, 'tis a gamble worth the stage!"

Igorus pulled the leaf from his armor and bit down.

"Damn! Bitter as hell! ...Hmm?"

At that moment, he thought he heard something echoing across the entire sky, like a massive fist striking without impact. He spun around in confusion, trying to trace the sound.

"Huh? What just happened?" one commander asked.

"What was I here for again?" Riona whispered to herself, disoriented.

Meanwhile, Marshal Mildura calmly went on peeling his mandarins in silence.

"It must be the effect of the leaf. Then let me drink this," Igorus murmured to himself as he uncorked the bottle of whiskey and downed four gulps, just enough to render him invisible for at least twenty minutes. With that, he launched himself toward the northern skies at lightning speed.

He flew at thousands of kilometers per hour, trees and clouds scattering past him like grains of sand in a shoreline sprint. He soared over the Mazrek River. Crossed it. Then swept past the Edrin River on his western flank and the Kingdom of Umines to the east. Umines lay near the Masrotai Canyons, giving its lands a harsher relief than most other places. And within roughly two minutes, Igorus reached the northernmost edge of Ladnoria, where, in blurred clarity, the Zangh'Trighis barrier shimmered into view.

From Igorus's perspective, the barrier looked like vast honeycomb-shaped hexagons, golden and semi-transparent, through which the very path he had just flown seemed to mirror back at him. Whoever tried to breach it without uttering the incantations would simply be repelled, hurled back to where they began, making escape from Ladnoria impossible.

Igorus beat his wings harder, bracing himself to pierce the honeycomb wall enclosing the island on all sides. The crown of his head struck the barrier first.

A bizarre, unsettling sensation rippled through his entire body, like an electrical vortex probing every cell and fiber of his being. The deeper the rest of his body passed, the stronger the current grew. Numbness spread over him. Igorus was seized by that strange static paralysis. He no longer felt like himself.

"What the hell is this? I feel powerless..." he thought. His body refused to obey him. He drifted forward, helpless, no control over muscle or movement. His sight blurred. He could scarcely grasp where he was going, where his body carried him, or who might be watching.

Gradually, clarity returned to his vision, and what he beheld was a titanic ocean of crimson clouds, thunderbolts threading through them. An endless expanse without discernible beginning or end. The clouds flowed like molten lava beneath his wings. Still half-unconscious, he drifted above their current, head tilted downward.

Straining, he lifted his gaze. The effort drew every fiber of strength from his body. What he saw shook him: the clouds did indeed have an end. But an unnatural one.

"What is this?" he whispered, trembling with both fear and awe.

Above the horizon loomed a figure, horrifyingly reminiscent of a painted sun, yet not a sun at all. It was a colossal eye, mechanical in form, rimmed with golden rods, its iris bearing a dark, enigmatic pattern that evoked Egyptian wall frescoes. It was like gazing upon a mural suddenly given life. Rays spun outward like the hands of a clock, accompanied by painted crimson flames that made this false sun resemble its genuine counterpart.

Igorus tilted his head further upward, forcing himself to see beyond it. What awaited his eyes was worse still: the skeletal remains of dragons, fastened to a barren landmass that hung above, serving as this realm's twisted sky. Gravity itself seemed broken here, warped beyond all reason. The skeletons pressed tightly against one another, a mass so dense it was nearly impossible to distinguish them individually.

"So this place lies within the barrier? What is this realm? Is this why we must always speak the incantations whenever we cross the island? To keep us from seeing all this?" he wondered, his body drifting like seaweed toward the mechanical sun.

Then the ground itself, or what passed for it, trembled. A shudder ran through the entire domain. Igorus froze, paralyzed anew by dread. He turned back to the sun.

The enormous eye was staring at him. Its gaze pierced through him with a chilling intensity.

"W-What? Hah—!"

In an instant, the vision was gone. The sun, the clouds, the skeletons, erased. Only the vast ocean remained, blanketing the world from horizon to horizon. Igorus gasped for breath, shaken by an experience he could not comprehend.

"What in the devil's name was that? Am I the only one who's ever seen that place?" He abandoned the question, resuming his flight toward Alfons over the endless ocean. The sheer velocity of his wings whipped the air into a swirling vortex above the waters.

Meanwhile, in a dim chamber beneath the royal palace, Queen Kaliga sat writing upon a parchment, her quill steeped in blackened ink. At one point, she froze, halting her script, the pen hovering above the freshly drawn letters.

Her face grew grave as her eyes turned upward, fixed on the ceiling above her. The silence was heavy. The aura she exuded was so tense, so foreboding, that droplets of ink fell upon the parchment, blotting her words into ruin.

"I must use another scroll. This one is of no use anymore," she said coldly, tearing the parchment in half...