Sweet Ire

“Wake up.”

A stern voice cut through the muted fuzz. The cogs in his brain began to whir back to life, albeit rusty from the extended slumber. Ache and lull of old bones fell to the foreground, as hazy vision sharpened into focus.

A woman stood before him, resembling a corpse in appearance. Face as pale as ice, short cropped hair and old cloth for clothes. A kind of muted wonder was pressed into her features, seeming to capture a degree of shock. Peeking out from the fabric of her sleeves, her fingers clutched onto a slew of metal blades and needles.

However, it was the sight of glimmering crimson that alerted him to his senses. Instinctively, Kael jolted for his sword, only to be met by a cascading pain and strong resistance. As his eyes ventured downwards, he discovered the fabric restraints that suspended his limbs wide apart, rendering him immobile.

“Don’t struggle,” She smiled lopsidedly at him, “Once I check your tendons, I’ll let you go.”

“Who are you,” Kael breathed out, his voice raspy with its dormancy, but he knew. There was only one thing that those red eyes could mean. If he didn’t escape soon, he would surely perish - if he was even still truly living.

His panicked gaze panned to his surroundings. Wooden beams held up aged, stone tiles. Loose holes and gaps were plugged with straw bundles. None of it seemed to probe any memories. Now that he thought of it, he could remember nothing but haze after the fall.

He flinched as she grasped onto his forearm. The blades: did she intend to sever his tendons? To torture his humanity out of him, whatever was left of it? Coldness pooled at the crook of his elbow as the woman pressed something against it, paying little attention to his words.

“Where am I?” He pressed with a degree of urgency. From behind her white block fringe, he caught her glancing up at him. Within closer proximity, he could note the colon shaped moles beneath her left eye. Nothing could distract from the eyes they accented. Cold and ruthless, and of course, red.

The woman hummed out a response, repeating the gesture across each of his joints, “This is Phantom Peak shrine, I am the acolyte here.”

He blinked slowly at the sight of her unruly appearance, distinct from the neat fabrics of those maidens in White Lily City. Sure, he’d visited a few temples and shrines here and there, but a demon acolyte? This was a subject Kael really had no associations with.

Think. What happened after the fall? How did I get here? Despite his attempts at deduction, nothing could come of it. No matter how hard he focused, that period of time might as well have been plucked from his brain.

“I have never been involved in the demon realm,” He insisted, wincing as accusations prior to his death bubbled back up to haunt him.

“Maybe,” She replied simply, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment. Without warning, his arm slumped to his side, paired with a sudden snap.

A small blade crept out from under the broken tie, reflecting the green hues of the lanterns that bobbed in the breeze.

“Do not panic. You’ve been here 5 years. If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have wasted all this time,” She added a bit robotically, as if she were reading some kind of pre-prepared script.

Five. Years.

That had to be some kind of mistake.

Kael blinked slowly, thin lines blossoming across his forehead. Maybe he wasn’t being exactly resourceful in gathering proper information or crafting some kind of escape plan, but it's not every day that you wake up from a five year kind-of-death.

He watched in awe as the demon girl cut away each of the binds, tearing away at her advantage cut by steady cut. The skin around the bindings looked flushed, whilst his body felt sore and acutely numbed. Well, at least it seemed like he was still alive.

For what reason would she free me? He thought to himself. Of all the shaded encounters with demons Kael had experienced or heard of, nothing positive ever came where they were present. Impersonation, massacre, chaos - he’d really seen it all. Wherever they’d been, it was always a mess for him to pick up the broken pieces of.

But this woman supposedly squirreled his body away for five years. He wasn’t exactly feeling comforted from the vague answer, from a demon no less.

Faced with no reply, she continued to speak, “Back then, your spirit was impossibly fractured, but your body was still very much intact. I found you here, but that was all. Somebody else must’ve brought you here.”

Fighting through withered strength, Kael pulled himself into a seated position. As the dizzied frenzy slowed, he scoured to find fault in her words. But with his scattered brain, there was no alternative reality to turn to.

If the higher realms acolytes spoke of really did exist, Kael prayed somebody would look down at his situation and pity him. Of all the possible lifetimes that could’ve occurred in a five year framework, how had he landed prisoner of the demon realm? If the fall and the events prior never took place, where would himself, Nico and the Priestess be today? Perhaps they might’ve become real heroes together. But they did happen, and the Priestess is dead, he reminded himself with bitter resentment.

If anyone was looking down at him, it was surely only with contempt.

Fluttering wings drew his attention to a petite canary bird, perched upon a wooden bar. Tweeting a shy melody, its little head twitched and preened in Kael’s direction, as its two dot eyes held their intensity. When another snap of fabric rang out, the golden creature scattered away.

“Who brought me here?” He sighed out, unable to help the way his face dropped at the bird’s departure.

Now that all of his binds had been cut, the woman looked over him wholly. She wore an expression Kael was unfamiliar with, only comparable to tough restraint.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. Do you remember your name?” Her eyes seemed to twinkle a little as she spoke, as much as a demon’s eyes could. Her personality was so unreadable, cryptic even.

“It’s Kael,” He answered honestly. At this point, what harm could it do? It's not like he could use that name again in the human realm.

The acolyte before him rose to her feet, dusting off her knees.

“Kael. Yes. Of course it is,” She nodded affirmatively, like she already knew. “And mine is Miria.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, but at least he could put name to face. Without a word, the woman exited off to a backroom, leaving Kael to his thoughts.

Experimentally, he flexed out his fingers, testing each bend and twist of the digits. Next, he pressed a forefinger against his pulse, satisfied at the soft, periodic beat. So, not dead or some kind of ghost.

Given the golden opportunity, Kael harnessed his chance to explore a little of the Shrine’s features. It appeared as if he’d been stationed in some kind of side room, not home to much other than folded fabrics and miscellaneous books.

Kael’s eyebrows furrowed. On the wall behind him, an extensive sigil had been inked across the surface, bold and frantic in its strokes. It was difficult to read, considering the differing writing patterns from human-to-demon, but it resembled a spell of temperament pacification. What purpose would that serve someone like him? That type of thing was usually reserved for suppressing a haunted host or easing a lost mind.

He supposed that it was called Phantom Peak Shrine. Perhaps it intended to protect the residents from the unwelcome guests it could attract.

Miria approached him quietly, both hands cradling a little cup that she set beside him. From the scent alone, he knew that it must’ve been some kind of fragrant tea.

“In the next room over, there’s water in the basin. When you’re ready, we’ll descend a little way down the mountain. The shaman wants to see you,” She hummed, seeming absentminded. Although, from the slight tapping of her foot, he could tell she wanted to leave quickly.

Once she’d dropped her analytical stare, he raised the cup to his mouth. Liquid swept across his tongue in a flurry, floral yet metallic in taste. Accepting a mystery drink from a predator species may not be exactly wise, but Kael figured outwardly antagonising a demon whilst half-conscious in the middle of nowhere wasn’t any wiser.

There was so much more he wished to ask and learn, but he was starting to pick up on Miria’s unwillingness to continue time-wasting. With that thought in mind, he headed for the basin.

Peering into the reflection of the still water, a ghastly version of his face stared back at him. Long hair spilled over his shoulders down to the middle of his back, still the same inky hue that he remembered. Prior to the fall, it had always been chopped short, snug against his ears. Five years really changed a lot. He appeared to have grown into his features, more prominent and defined than before. Cheeks chiselled down, a little too much so, with an overall more angular look. The usual glint in his eyes were–

Kael stumbled back from the basin in horror. Bile or blood or nausea - maybe all at once - flooded up his throat as he gagged to keep it down. If skin that hadn’t seen the sun in five years could drain any more colour, Kael’s would have. Part of him wished he could just die again.

Staring back at him in the water: two piercing red eyes.

He swallowed a hard lump. If they were red, then Phlox’s accusation… The Priestess… Was it all really true?

The night of the fall came rushing back to him, a fresh and open wound stinging and crying out for relief. Daggers of resentment struck each of his tendons. It was almost as if he were back there again, hovering in the chasm for all eternity.

Scrambling to his feet, Kael ran after Miria, practically collapsing at her feet. Miria flinched away, watching as the man before her heaved out distressed breaths.

“My eyes! What colour were they when you found me? Brown or red?” Kael exclaimed, his throat dry and skin running a feverish cold.

Please be brown. Tell me they were brown.

Miria looked over at him with an unreadable expression, before averting her eyeline.

“They were red.”