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Trial of Absolution


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The fire from the pit grew to surround the paling woman, eating away at the room’s light and darkness alike until it had the means to envelope her shackled form and submerge it below ground. Each of her breaths were dryer than the one before and only caused the nerve-killing blaring noise in the ear to become all the sharper.

Vanessa hoped to press her hands in the small of her back to at least keep the stance of a soldier, as elders expected of her, but connecting hands to back only alerted her of more searing pain as the burning temperature of the hands heated the back, and the back heated the hands.

The blonde were only left to wonder whether it was a second or a hundred years that had passed when it all came to settle into… nothingness. Her body was entirely scorched to bits and reincarnated someplace else, yet she still kept her eyes shut, fearing what sort of place might unveil if she dared. Is this what absolution felt like?

But, a familiar hum making its way through Vanessa’s conscience as the blaring static faded made her snap her eyes open. And there it was - the muddy, shit-odour emitting courtyard she’d missed so much. If it weren’t for her dry throat and aching muscles, she’d probably managed some tears. Her attention snapped to the monk pushing the wheelbarrow.

“Brother Elias?

 

The wheelbarrow stopped. The old monk carried his attention Vanessa’s way, and though his hum faded, in its stead came a warm smile. His age and the sun alike had dried his skin much more so than Vanessa remembered.

 

“Silverhand. Your task, does it go as we expect?”

 

She hesitated.


“The mortal realm is so different outside these walls.

 

“But your task?”

 

Another pause.

 

“As expected.

 

“Then quell your uncertainty. We have given you the means to understand the realm. There are no shortcuts. You know this.”

 

“But the things I have experienced and witnessed - there is not always a root of reason to be pulled at. Mortals seem to find any excuse to rally against other mortals.

 

“Then you will adapt as necessary. Your will remains and your task is ahead. You cannot be everywhere, that is true, but it only means uncertainty is something you cannot afford.”

 

A somber smile made its way across the blonde’s features. She seemed to be digging for something more to say, reasons to stay longer, but the dry throat and the sharp pains in her veins made clarity especially difficult to upkeep.

 

“You have to go now, Silverhand. Do not look back.

 

Vanessa closed her eyes just a moment to try and phase out the pain.

“You know, I met another Elias–...

 

But the burning feeling of her own blood was much too much to bear. Vanessa rose to her feet and ran along the courtyard, bashing through the door and the corridors to look for some sort of cooling salves. A heavy door ahead – that must be it - the blonde ran right for it, pushing arms out to strike it open while still moving - but the doors were heaved open by guards on the other side, and so Vanessa fell tumbling into the hall with groaning cries.

The marble floor was so cool and soothing to the touch that the young Silverhand found herself grovelling, bent forward. The soft, god-fearing mutters of the peasants in their rough-spun clothing, thankfully, didn’t make Vanessa look too much out of place - like her, there were a dozen or so folk scattered across the hall all bowing to the throne ahead.

Vanessa opened her eyes and studied the man on the throne - a gold crown, a faceless maw, dusty garb like he hadn’t left the seat in millenia. A servant by each hand, powdering it and rubbing the rings over the fingers to make the royal hands spotless. Perhaps to make them look immortal.

One of the peasants, an old crone, pushed Vanessa ahead in the queue to not waste time and make her concerns heard. With a spluttery breath, tumbling over her own limbs, Vanessa fell before the throne and hunched forward, even if it made new pain seep into the spine. From this close, the blonde saw the servants’ true work - powdering away to hide the blood on the hands.

 

“Your Majesty.

 

The king tilted his head.

 

“I come to ask the root of Your conquests. The reach for vassals, the calls to battle. What drives this?

“T
he strength of our lands and people must always be heralded.

 

“But why clash with others? Why not stay and defend, guard? There are cults abound, people with malign truths who’re picking on souls. In the chaos and pain created by war, these cruel, forlorn folk lose faith and turn to fighting only for themselves.

 

“Should I lower myself in the hallowed waters, then, and carry the burdens of the weak until a blade pierces me, sending my scent to the sharks of the below? No. The nation will hunt the sharks before they have a chance to do wrong. And the nation will hold its reign to keep pillaring the realm. Any those who come in the way of that will face true power. Your thirst for some kind of utopian justice is making me nauseous. Get out of my halls.

 

Vanessa tried to push out her best words to protest, but the guards at the door had made their way forward and grabbed her by the shoulders to pull her away to a side door and chucked her right through. The tumble into the well and the cavern below felt like its own eternity - the pitch-black darkness of the descending tunnel made the trip all the more disorienting.

The paladin-to-be woke to a new set of hands on her shoulders, pushing her to remain kneeled, even more aggressively than the royal guards. Vanessa fought for her breath more so than anything else as the dryness never subsided, but she also pulled her head up to peer through the blurry gaze. Darkness receded a little, but the room was still very dim.

The blonde couldn’t recognise the figure across - the outfit was very unassuming, just like the hooded figures lined up behind them, and the features blurry and ever changing, as if the figure morphed into a new, fractured soul every passing moment. Yet, there was an odd certainty in Vanessa.

 

“You’re Astark.

 

The mystical figure didn’t care much for Vanessa’s acknowledgement. It spoke its piece, as if Vanessa was a fading afterthought.

 

“Time is ticking, maleficar. The power you grab, that which fills you with unreason and hatred, it will mow down your warped brethren, as well as those who’ve you as little as come to know, and the loved ones of theirs, too.

 

“I’ve never done anything to you.

 

“But you will. And it will cost you dearly.

 

Astark tilted its hooded features to look somewhere to the far wall. Vanessa followed that intent gaze and found a priestly looking woman dressed in white with amber eyes. Her mouth was sewn shut with rough thread, but despite this horrific injury, she seemed to be smiling with her shiny eyes in best efforts to give Vanessa some kind of reassurement. The woman’s hands held tightly on to a… mountain flower?

 

“Edelweiss? Vanessa asked quietly, as the flower was the only thing she could recognise. The mute woman was otherwise completely unfamiliar, yet Astark believed she was somehow connected to the paladin-to-be. Or so it seemed. Was this all a game?

 

Vanessa turned her head to speak up against Astark, but a sharp pain in her neck left her mouth agape. She could feel the blood spew everywhere while Astark held on to the hilt of the dagger with an unceremonious, blank expression, soon fading out of view entirely.

 

She woke up all spluttery, with ragged breaths. One hand clutched her chest, the other touched along the neck to feel the phantom pain from the stab. It happened a second time. And again, she couldn’t do anything about it. After finding an extent of balance, she stood, pushing her dry eyes open to look around the pitch black hall, only to find a single light source.

 

Surrounded in sapphire mists, there he was. The Lion. Stubs wrapped in bloody sashes for wings - or rather mostly lack thereof. Even wingless, the Lion managed to look majestic as ever, with the mists swirling around him like planets around stars. He graced Vanessa with a heavy look to his azure eyes.

 

Feeling rather out of place, clueless, and pained as ever, Vanessa fell to one knee. She ended up in a similar hunch as during her encounter with the faceless king, but this was much less mortally-forced. This time, it was simply meant to be.

 

“How do I address you?

 

“It does not matter, Silverhand.

“M
ay I pose a question?

 

The Lion kept silent. His features were mostly blank, but his gaze - observant. Present.

 

“Some of the mortal souls, those who paladins have sworn to protect - they’ve lost faith in the paladins. With the paladins devoting their years to chasing targets like the dragonkin to fierce extent and relentlessness, it is difficult for me to promise the observant that your guardians still have clarity. Do you expect me to conform to defeat their perceived threats, or stand in their way to assure they do not step out of line?

 

“You have come here to have me dictate your act for you, Silverhand? I am disappointed. So would be your elders.”

 

Other than the everlasting backdrop of dryness and searing pain, Vanessa felt a whole new hardship wash across her - embarrassment.

 

“I never meant-

 

“But you did. You do not hold the capability to separate your thoughts and your words - you never did. I will speak only once on this matter: like you, the paladins are driven by will, not my directive. If you are to be one of them, you will carry on exactly as you have, instead of asking me your supposed path. As for what this means for you and for the other paladins - we will see, won’t we?

 

Vanessa collected herself, tears pushing to the edges of her eyes for the pain and the woman in the cellar.

 

“Can I ask one more question?

 

“The woman in white? Your soul knows her, even if you do not. Astark felt her when tampering with your soul, and decided to use her as a weapon. But if there is one thing I plead you to remember - loneliness is not your strength. Trust in those you love, instead, and do not let them be masked into weapons.

 

These answers gave the young paladin-to-be even more questions. But the pain and flame within begin to weigh on her further - she couldn’t even keep her consciousness intact, let alone open her mouth to ask anything else. The sapphire mist was the only thing she could still make sense of, though she was rather unsure if they were truly Xan’s or rather Alatariel’s.

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A Keeper of Xan allowed those befuddling, hallucinogenic fumes to slip past the filter she donned - artifice cleansing the air she breathed as she overlooked the convulsing, shivering form of the Silverhand she'd subjected to such hellish torment. Golden hues settling upon the writhing mound, her head tilted. Dawn soon came, and the fumes had long since faded. 

 

"Pass through the fire and flame - You will either have broken, or emerged with tempered resolve from the crucible of your own make."

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