First Steps

The venture down the mountain had been a tough one. Not physically - Miria’s elixir had taken care of that aspect - but a kind of mental boulder that Kael had to force out of the way.

Every organ in his body yearned to shut down and leave his treacherous vessel behind, to let him die for the second time. Maybe this time it would be permanent.

Part of him really did have every intention of free falling off the edge the second they left the shrine behind, but the half of him that wished to at least get some answers from the shaman first seemed to win the battle.

There was no use pondering on what kind of role he might’ve played in the Priestess' death. Anytime the idea was allowed to fester, images of that fateful night and the murder scene pulled him back under on marionette strings, sending him straight back off that cliff. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of it. It was just easier to digest that way.

The gravel and rock enveloping the mountain path had long since sloped into dusty grassland, dry and fragile to the touch. It was much colder here too, not the magical kind of snow cold, but the kind that was bitter and cruel.

The Demon Realm might as well be on another planet. Even the very sky above his head was beyond anything he’d witnessed before, painted in an array of violets and magentas in place of summer blues. No sun shone here. No sunlight danced off clouded leaves and crystalline bodies of water. After surveying the landscape, Kael deduced that the Demon Realm would be an awfully disconsolate place to live.

Their journey concluded at a modest hut, garnished in bramble and vine. From the outside, it appeared to hold nothing spectacular, and perhaps no one at all. Pots and vases, most all but dried out, lined the outside walls of the building. Even the remnants of what were presumed to be windows had been boarded up seemingly eons ago. Whatever the case, it didn’t appear too welcoming.

Although, as if to contrast the existing evidence, Kael took note of the small puffs of white smoke rising out of the hut. Signs of life.

Miria approached with no apprehension, skipping the knocking step in favour of directly opening the door.

As the door swung open and the contents inside were exposed, pungent, rich aromas hit Kael all at once. It was the kind of all-consuming scent complexion most often found in night markets, wafting out from bright stalls and colourful wagons. Back in his hometown, White Lily City, this kind of parade was common and yet timeless. If only he could go back there once more…

Miria continued inside, revealing the small lady the hut concealed.

“Shaman, he’s awake, just as you said. The name he gave is Kael.” She reported back in strict seriousness, alerting the homeowner to her presence.

The modest woman rose her head in their direction, face carved in careful lines of senescence. Her skin hung onto her bones wearily, as her wrinkled hands remained active on some kind of broth, sourcing the smoke clouds. However, when she turned, Kael noticed her eyes were like two iridescent pearls. Could she be blind?

“Ah, sweet Kael. Glad to see you awake. The last you remember, you were human, yes? This must be quite the shock,” She smiled wide, absentmindedly stirring the pot.

Kael’s jaw hung right open, aghast. She knew he was human? Not only that, but she’d known about his awakening. If that were the case, then after the fall… his eyes.. the transformation! There might finally be answers: truly coherent ones.

“I’ve always been human,” Kael uttered out, “How could I…”

A sly cup appeared before him, tilled in the same familiar tea as before. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of the demon maiden, looking back with the same scarlet eyes that he shared. When had she even disappeared to make it?

“Sit. And drink up. Miria’s an alchemist,” She paused, laughing to herself, “Isn’t that funny. A sorcerer, an alchemist and a diviner. Now we have scholars from all walks of life.”

Miria was an alchemist? Well, he supposed that made sense. Among the three magical disciplines, alchemy was the one in which he was least familiar. Sorcery had been intrinsically tied to Kael’s fate since forever. His uncle, a blacksmith, raised him amongst swords and daggers rather than toys or children’s games. Greater comfort is found in accomplishments than in material possessions, his Uncle always insisted. All that willpower and want channelled into his studies, until he stood eye to eye in talent with Nico.

In regards to divination, the High Priestess had given him some insight on inter-realm communication and projection, although Kael reckoned it differed significantly to demons within the same role.

The alchemists of the human realm tended to be recluse and gravely studious. Traces of their work could be found in merchant sales and papers, but the creators themselves were difficult to cross paths with.

“You’re a diviner, so you can help me, right? You knew I was human and a sorcerer. Can you tell me how I got here?” He asked, hopeful that the missing pieces to his clouded puzzle might begin to reveal themselves.

The shaman gave a considerate hum before redirecting her focus to the cooking, “That depends on the questions you ask. How you got here? Can’t help with that one, unfortunately.”

Kael glanced between Miria and the shaman. Every word they uttered seemed to be shrouded in suspicion. Whether it was a matter of trust or the warning signs of a hidden agenda, he was still unsure. The shaman reminded him of the elder scholars from the sorcerer’s academy - so hung up on having students ‘discover’ the answers rather than learn them.

“Do you know how I became a demon?” Kael tried again.

“That’s a better question, dear. Although the real truth lies not in how, but in who,” The shaman replied, a smile still audible in her reply.

“Who? What is that supposed to mean,” Kael blinked, trying to read through her cryptics. Involuntarily, the area of skin between his brows began to bunch up, twitching as he spoke. It was difficult to conceal the frustration he felt, as if the answer was right there in front of him, dangling from a fishing string he could never reach.

The sound of clattering plots alerted him to Miria’s movements, laying out plates and cutlery at a nearby table.

Now that his strength was returning, he ought to consider routes of escape - tally up a mental strengths and weaknesses guide. First on the list: keep a close eye on Miria. Her pattern of disappearing and reappearing was concerning to say the least. Moving in total silence, she was unpredictable and undetectable.

“There’s only one way for a human to become a demon. At some point in your lifetime, your path crossed with a demon deity’s,” The shaman explained, drawing him back to the conversation as she rested a ladle against the side of the pot.

Kael’s face was practically painted by skeptics. Crossed paths with a demon deity, and he didn’t know about it? That’s about as sane as claiming a dragon placed its claw on you, and you were none the wiser. A gigantic, ten tonne dragon.

“That can’t be possible. I would know if I met a demon deity,” He contended, beginning to wonder if the ‘shaman’ were just a quack.

“Oh that’s very doubtful, dear. Demon deities excel in games of masquerade. Even demon sorcerers can produce satisfactory camouflage if the situation arises. You were touched. Not something simple or fleeting. A deity reached right into your soul and left a mark there. Those who have been touched will never die a human death. Regardless of circumstance, they will become a demon of utmost purity. The events prior to your arrival in the shrine, your human body must’ve died.”

Okay then. Not a quack.

“It touched my soul? How? Does this kind of thing happen often?” Kael remarked. He wasn’t quite sure he could believe what was said. It was still the metaphorical equivalent of a ten tonne dragon.

“Quite the contrary. Demon deities typically have no interest in humans at all, let alone altering one. Direct involvement like this is highly unforeseen. Even for a deity, this kind of human to demon contact is deeply painful to the inflictor,” The shaman spoke animatedly, seeming a bit giddy now that the topic surrounded deities.

Kael recalled the shaman’s peculiar wording from before. Was that the wrong question? He conducted his questions with greater clarity this time, hoping for a direct answer, “In that case, who? What kind of deity would do this to me? If it’s so painful, then why?”

“That would differ from god to god. Demon gods aren’t a very unified front, the sympathetic actions of one could be seen as malicious to another. At present, there are three major gods, Alistair, Lenore and Kallista. As for minor gods, the only one I know to be living is Faelan. If you wish to know the motivation, it's best to start there,” The shaman explained, raising a bowl to the stewing food. Right before the saffron liquid could pool into the porcelain, the shaman paused, as if poised to listen.

“He was definitely touched?” Miria quizzed, her face still stern, “You are sure?”

He was a little miffed he hadn’t got there first, already preparing a dozen questions for each of the named deities. Hold on, scratch that. Miria didn’t believe it either? Kael was admittedly quite surprised, assuming that as an acolyte, she’d be the most excited at the idea. Evidently not.

A sharp crack of lighting cut through the mundane normalcy like a scythe. Following close behind it like thunder, a bellowing rumble erupted through the valley, shaking the very walls of her little home.

The shaman paused, a grave look drawn into the lines on her face, “I’m afraid this will have to wait. It appears that our town has some unwelcome guests.”

Her pearl eyes shone as she turned towards Miria’s direction, a note of softness blossoming amongst the severity.

“Miria, fetch Kael some kind of weapon. Anything will do, dear. Quickly now, you two must go.”