Acolytes Of Grief

Forgotten halls bore witness to forlorn stones being carved from walls to be put to forsaken tasks. A god was set to bleed. Sinister droning pressure slowly gathered in the harsh corners of the dark chamber, and Wretch felt cold. Grief had not spoken through the entire effort of chipping chunks away from her temple. Sol sat with his thoughts for a moment, then had moved to them slowly.

His hideously scarred face still felt soft to her as he forced a smile.

“You’re truly going to do this?” Wretch asked.

“You are getting a safe shard like us?” Burden added, almost holding a tone of excitement at his potential adornment.

Sol smiled and nodded.

Subtle hints of sadness pulsed from his massive body, but Wretch could not see any signs of doubt or concern. No matter what he was feeling, he was at peace.

“You’re not what I expected you to be,” Wretch said as she fumbled the edge of her temporary clothing that had kept them decent.

He started to speak, then stopped. Grief neared, her cage scraping loudly as she slowly approached with her cursed bounty. Haunting sobs rose from the darkened scraps as they consumed the light that surfed along their surface. The ancient god’s face turned even more sorrowful as she prepared to further hurt the one she had so long cherished.

“Wretched fates forever etched in these stones. This is the day the sun dies,” she mourned as she handed the black shards to Sol.

He accepted them with a subtle flinch of anticipation, then looked to Burden, who was once again marveling at Grief.

“Burden, I have a very important question for you,” Sol said, causing Burden to turn back to him.

Her tiny eyes were somewhat vibrant again, and the perk was returning to her ears. Tufts along the bends rose slightly as she listened in curiosity.

Sol glanced at Grief. For all of her life, she had been alone. None had ever given her their worship or company. None had ever visited her. None had ever tended to her. Like so many other tragedies before him, Sol felt a strong sense of guilt for that. He couldn’t go back and undo her loneliness or her worshipless identity, but he could try to give her a good farewell to this temple in case they did not return.

“Little ones, how would you like to be my beautiful sister’s acolytes?” Sol asked.

Metal creaked as Grief stumbled within her cage.

“What?” she asked in shock.

Sol attempted to smile through his mangled wounds as he bowed to her. Burden’s ears perked up further, and she almost smiled. To his conflicted sadness, she twisted her shard down into her skull, telling him she was nearly happy. Grief was too shocked to speak, and he watched as a thousand different reactions flowed through her in a handful of seconds. Wretch listened patiently yet protectively.

“What does that mean?” Wretch asked.

Sol shifted his tone to be energetic. In truth, he also wanted to keep them distracted during the ceremony, in case something horrific arose from within him. There was a sickness within his spirit that he had fought for so long to keep buried. Hints of its blasphemous form had appeared when he’d fought the dragon, and it had left him fearing that the true form was not as buried as he’d hoped. He would not be able to guarantee it didn’t awaken in the agony that awaited.

Those concerns were well masked as he spoke to the little ones.

“It was one of the highest honors for a mortal in the old world. You would be tasked with tending to the divine one’s temple, aiding them in ceremonial rites, and joining them on pilgrimages. You are already joining her on a pilgrimage, so if you would like, you can clean the entrance of the temple down the way we came, if you would like.”

Blue tears ran from Grief’s mismatched eyes, and she mouthed unheard words of thanks to him.

“Would that be appropriate, noble sister?” Sol asked.

Grief cleared her throat and wiped her eyes.

“That would be w-wonderful,” she sniffed.

Wretch was still cautious.

“What will it cost her? Us? What will you take from us?” she asked.

Sol started to answer, but Grief raised her hand to stop him, and then knelt down in her cage to face the girls. Her hands extended slowly, claws dirty and sharp, digits bony and purpled with veins. Burden stepped forward.

“It costs you nothing, brave little cabbit. I am sorry that you have already known my embrace for so long even if we had never met. I fear you became my acolytes long ago.”

“I’d like to be your friend,” Burden offered as her small paw met Grief’s thumb.

Sickly blue bathed her with stillness, and a droning note of anguish whispered in the trickles of the water. The two discolored pupils slowly turned to Wretch, and though she felt afraid in their gaze, she also felt at home. Slowly, her paw rose.

“You won’t hurt us?” Wretch whimpered.

Without meaning to, her eyes darted to Sol, as though seeking his comfort or approval. She wasn’t sure why that happened, but when he looked back at her, he smiled his same steady, safe smile.

“Grief does not hurt you, dear child. It simply sits with you while you ARE hurt. My soul mate is kind and would be grateful to finally have faithful after all this time,” Sol said.

Wretch exhaled and accepted. Burden squealed and tightened her shard down so deep that a small streak of dark red began to run between her eyes. Both girls climbed into each of Grief’s hands. Cold bit at their feet as they settled into her deathly grip, but her smile was warm and safe like Sol’s. More glowing blue ran down her scorned cheeks.

“May… May I embrace you both? You are beautiful souls,” Grief nervously asked.

“Yes!” Burden agreed.

Wretch nodded.

Grief’s hands moved like fog, pulling them through the gaps in her cage and raising them to her ashen breast. Voices echoed, muttering words of warning and fearful admiration. She smelled of stagnation and springtime blooms. They met at her chest and Grief sobbed to herself as her own existence crashed against her, undoing centuries of loneliness for a single moment. Burden limped forward and pressed her head against the titan’s collarbone, and Wretch dared to soften as well. Her cheek met the god’s damp throat, and they sat there in solitude for a moment while Sol said goodbye to the last remnants of himself.

“Come woe and ruin. Blot away this light of mine. Shine and fade away,” he whispered to himself as he felt the heaviness of the cursed obsidian.

Grief rose in her cage and lifted the girls to be level with her face.

“I shall take you to the doorway. Do not worry about cleaning well. The act alone is enough.”

With that, they set off for the entrance, leaving Sol alone. He waited for them to get far enough away before he entered the sacred pool. Heresy was not something he knew. In the days of Metus’s rebellion, Sol had felt great agony when he extinguished other god-kin. To that end, he assumed this act would leave a similar stain on his soul, if not more. Harming oneself was the most complete act of defiance against the heavens. But this was necessary. Just like the killing was.

Silence mocked him and called to him. Fog settled and the room turned absolutely silent. Silver streams flowed softly along their slopes, pulling growls and groans as they went. His wounds whispered reminders of suffering that he’d hoped to never feel again. Stitching along his guts threatened to pull apart. Once, he was beautiful and kind. Once, he was happy. Once, the world was made of light and life that felt like it would last for eternity. None of that remained.

“Come, agony. Come, pain. Embrace me once more and finally rip this light from my eyes. I shall gladly be well and unwell from here on, for their sakes.”

Muscles spasmed in resistance, fighting against his will to stop the pain that they sensed was to come. His hand shook. The water was cold as he knelt into its depth, causing his limbs to lock and shiver.

“Stain this soul with sorrow,” he pleaded as he raised the first shard to his skull and jabbed it inward.