These Prisons Of Flesh

Her hand almost seemed to want to lower from his jaw, but then the pressure returned to hold him in place. His mind was broken and not to be trusted, but every time he’d tried to sense any redemptive, healthy part of the Realm Soul or the Sacred Star Stream, he felt nothing.

Grief sighed, and he knew his fear was true.

“Many tried to undo Metus’s damage. Many of our kin tried to defeat him again after your battle. None succeeded. And every defeat broke the Realm Soul further. Every loss of battle and life further destroyed the Star Stream, until it was fully polluted with nothing but his violent misery. Because of that, this mortal realm began to fracture.”

Sol wanted to grab a shard of obsidian and slit his throat with all the grace and power of a collapsing star. Once more, the panic rose and reduced muscle control to nothing more than tremors of shame.

“Why me? Why did they choose me? I carried the fates of all, and my hands failed. Woe that these dark days should be mine,” Sol quietly cried to himself.

Grief sneered and shook her head as both hands took his jaw.

“These mortals must also claim their responsibility in this. They conjured us here, pulling us from the realm beyond dreams and binding us within these prisons of flesh, then abandoned those of us they did not wish to know. You and your kind shared their company in your garden of delight, but so many like me were never sought out. Never visited. Never worshipped. Never anything more than alone.”

Deep down, Sol knew he had played a part in that as well. For so long, he and his kindred gods of pleasant existence had basked in the worship and company of the mortals, but had never encouraged them to visit with the lesser sought ones like Fear and Grief.

“I should have asked you to join us,” Sol sighed.

Grief chuckled.

“I should have asked if I could visit you,” she conceded.

Sol rubbed his head in fatigue. Grief almost smiled as she looked around her darkened sanctuary.

“Do you know who made this temple?” she asked.

Sol shook his head. Stained claws settled lovingly on the imperfectly crafted decorations.

“I did,” Grief replied.

“When no one dared to speak to me or offer me a simple kindness for being a part of the beautiful complexity of their soul, I still knew my worth. I refused to let my heart harden the way Fear did. Even if it was accidental, I am glad that my home finally had visitors.”

She sat with a stillness that was simultaneously peaceful and full of woe. For a moment, she was beautifully understandable to him. Nothing about her presence was boisterous or seeking, but she was assured. Tragic, heavy, imprisoned and insular, yet kind. It was not her fault that she was made to be such an ill-sought emotion, yet as she sat there looking out peacefully to her home, he wished he’d spoken with her more in the lifetimes before.

“I’m sorry for all of it. For everything,” he said.

Stillness gathered around them like a congregation, and she did not reply, leaving him questioning what she felt. All he could feel was humiliation. Cold light from his glow settled on her face and lingered, revealing no bitterness.

She measured her words, and after several seconds, simply replied;

“Every wound must one day cease its bleeding.”

Centuries of isolation had settled on her in the form of soft dust. They sat in silence for a bit, listening to the slow passage of souls grieving, sending out their faint lamentations through the sacred stones of the lonely mountain.

Wretch woke beside them, but did not speak or alert them. Instead, she found her sister’s back beneath the stained fabric, grateful for its covering and surprised to see it was his.

Sol finally dared to speak once again.

“I want to help them. Even if it goes against everything I was made for. I was halted by my sacred doctrines once, and the entire world paid the price. If I can override that song enough to let these little ones and their tribe find escape, I wish to do so.”

“To the soul portals? It was forbidden for their kind to go.”

Sol nodded.

“Those taboos no longer matter. If I can guide them there to let them end themselves and escape this tragedy, then maybe it will give me some sense of… I don’t know… penance? Atonement? Maybe not to the world, but to those two little ones.”

Wretch could feel the two titanic beings look at her and Burden as they lay beneath the cover of his cloth. Sol’s hand found his sister’s and she started in soft surprise.

“You could come with us. If you wanted.”

His offer seemed to shock her even more than his touch. The look in his eyes was earnest and sincere, and the soft pulses from his palm were not coy or selfish. Wretch’s tail flicked softly beneath the fabric as she listened.

“I… I’ve never been with others,” Grief stuttered.

“Well, just in case there isn’t much time left, why not now?” Sol offered.

Grief pondered an answer as she gazed out at the familiar halls of her ancient home.

“I could help keep your radiance offset. If your glow became a danger, I could conjure more of myself again.”

Sol shook his head.

“No.”

Weighted acceptance caused his hand to lower. Dirty iron caging caught the light from his fingers as they slid away, leaving hers wanting. A subtle rattle echoed out. Something shifted within Grief’s chest as she watched the color of Sol’s soul stone change into a faint pastel orange. Concern pulled her closer to him, and she saw that his mangled face was involuntarily attempting to make a frown.

“These cabbits have suffered enough, and I do not wish to use you as a tool. I wish for you to join us simply for the sake of joining us. And I will not send any more anguish into them. This is my sin to atone for, so the burden shall be on me.”

His words and tone surprised Wretch as she laid there quietly. Something about his voice had changed, and he was not stuttering as much anymore.

“What will you do to stop your splendor?” Grief muttered.

Sol’s eyes settled on the jagged shards angling out from the two girls’ headgears. His eyes flickered red for the shortest of moments, then faded to dull moonlight once more.

“I need you to torment me, dear sister. I need you to take some of your blessed temple stone and drive it into my body and face, so that I never feel relief again.”

The very idea caused Grief to recoil in disgust.

"Have you not been tormented and ruined enough?! I will never!" Grief snarled.

"Please, sister."

There was a stillness and assuredness to him that terrified her. For the first time since he'd arrived before her, he seemed steady and certain. That was more haunting than his brokenness.

Before she could reply again, the walls rumbled from some manner of distant, unseen storm. Burden squeaked in fear and pulled closer to Wretch, who finally dared to sit up. Darkness seemed to thicken above them, blackening on its blackness and swallowing up any shadows left. Both of the gods felt the roar in their chests and Sol flinched in response.

It was a feeling he knew all too well.

Even Grief seemed concerned.

"He's awoken," Sol muttered.

Grief listened to the screaming, roiling chaos from the ethereal world and knew that it was Metus. Sol took her hand once more, and his eyes turned vibrant with conviction.

"If I cannot mask myself, he will be able to track me down! I am the only spot of joy left in this world. He will find me in days! Please. Help me extinguish this light."

Grief sighed in distress.

"But if we do this, your radiance may never return. You will be saying goodbye to so much of who you once were."

It was a truth Sol had already considered. No matter what awaited on the other side of this journey, he knew in his spirit it would represent the end of him. Succeeding would mean leading dozens or hundreds to their self-slaughter; something he'd never wished for or wanted to see. No matter what, he would not be coming back from this voyage.

Another roar shook the walls with even more fury, and Burden finally awoke.

"I died that day I failed," Sol admitted as he listened to the gathering darkness.

"I am what's left. And that is enough. Please. Help me."

Wretch stood.

"I'll help you do it," she said.

Sol bowed and Grief sighed, realizing she was defeated. Worse, she knew he was right. If Metus was awake and hunting, Sol's glorious sunlight would be trackable from across the realm. Snuffing it out was the only way to make sure any of them were safe. Somber claws scraped along the bluish-black obsidian as the world groaned with its endless misery and loss. 

Those hallowed stones would now be devices of necessary cruelty.

"...It will hurt. Terribly," Grief said in acceptance.

"I know," Sol replied.