Gifted by the divine.
The man's voice echoed with firm conviction.
What does he mean—I'm not done yet?
He injected Mashia with a brighter golden syringe—pushing it into the vein near his elbow.
The decay obediently halted.
"W-who are you?" Mashia rasped weakly.
"My name is Lisan," the priest whispered softly.
Covertly, he placed a cybernetic core into the cavity where Mashia's back burst open.
"You are dead, but today, you are reborn."
"You are Mercury. A man of message, forged by stars." The priest stared upward.
A new name . . .
Mashia looked up as well. "Stars, huh. The colorful lights up there?"
"You saw them . . . are you a Seeker?" Lisan asked boldly.
Mercury shook his head.
"Checks out. Your blood is red . . ."
Suddenly, the core activated.
It replaced Mashia's decayed lungs, heart, and other damaged organs.
A braid-like wire extended from his hair, hanging like a dreadlock.
He had died.
Now he was . . . a Replicant—a specialized cybernetic enhancement forged to replace.
His skin rejuvenated, scars of wires forming across him, marking severe tissue damage.
His mind cleared like dawn. Rebooted. A new being, artificial.
Mashia was now machine . . . with conscience.
Looking inside the car of carnage, the priest noticed it.
"Did you get your antidote from those boxes?"
Mashia nodded softly, keeping a skeptical gaze.
"The medication doesn't work in heat. I'm guessing they didn't tell you."
"And how would you know that?" The replicant inquired.
"It would've been wise to read between the lines." Lisan rubbed his chin.
Mashia gave him a look.
He pondered on whether to trust him or not.
"Tell me priest, what lord would even allow this?" The replicant asked.
"I believe the divine Zaleth isn't all good or all bad, but rather amoral. None factor that one must be in-between to see all spectrums."
Mashia stared with wide eyes.
. . .
The desert winds no longer howled.
They hummed, like a lullaby.
"Off the ground, Mercury."
"Why should I accept that name?" He asked.
"That is within your will."
Mercury, or Mashia, jumped up gracefully. His wired braid flowing in the quiet gusts; however, the cybernetics didn't seem normal.
"I have questions." He said.
". . ."
They looked up to the sky, distracted.
They stared into infinity.
Just for a second, they let their concerns subside.
"Realms forgot beauty," Lisan lectured, "We will remind them."
Who is this man?
In the silence that followed, Mashia breathed—not as man, but as memory reborn anew.
Beneath the desert of a dying sun, charred remains of bones held bright flowers which flowed in the soft wind of agony.
There was no life—no swooping birds, nor buzzing insects.
". . . How'd you even find me?"
The priest didn't look back. His sunglasses reflected no light.
"Nobody came . . ." Mashia insisted. "They all howled, decaying. I howled."
". . ."
He tensed, dropping his voice low. "How did you hear me?"
Lisan turned like a creaking boulder.
"I never heard you, Mercury."
Softly tapping his temple, he added, "All I heard was the echo."
Mashia raised an eyebrow.
"...What echo?"
"The Kolxayne," he replied gently, as if it were blasphemous to speak of.
Mercury blinked twice. "That's not an answer."
"Then listen closer."
Silence sparked between them.
. . .
"I was never meant to save you," Lisan added. "Unfortunately, they don't deploy retrievals—even you should've known that."
"So what? You just happened to be nearby coincidentally?" Mashia argued.
"I was dying nearby . . ." Lisan remarked. "I came to see if death was prettier in lands with forgotten names."
" . . . You could've just left me out here to rot."
Lisan glanced at the graveyard, bound to flowers.
"I could've, but you cried in that tone I once felt. Not hope, but refusal. Indifference. I wouldn't have heard anybody else."
Marching forward, the priest knelt near a fallen helmet resting in the sand.
"At most times, that speaks louder than prayer."
. . .
Can he be believed?
Glancing downward, Mashia let go of tension. "The Kolxayne . . . does it have to do with me?"
"No, not yet at least." He stood, shaking dust off his rich-layered white robe.
"But it was your call to earn it."
"You make it sound like a possession, a title." Mashia said.
"You merely borrow it." He says.
"These things you preach, what does this all make of you then?" Mashia asked.
. . .
"I am the result of one who perseveres in searching lands of tranquility even when none believes, and the maps only lead to remnants of beauty."
Mashia glanced backward, understanding vaguely, then stared at the graveyard.
He couldn't frown at their demise, yet he couldn't smile.
"My men died in pain, Lisan." The Replicant muttered.
"It's true," he paused. "But did you not feel peace in their suffering?"
"I never said that."
"There was no need."
Heartbeats arose from the desert louder and louder.
"I wasn't in peace," he mumbled.
"You weren't. Yet you felt free, didn't you?"
The priest exhaled like a beast from the divine.
He stepped forward, marching in veneration with a passion that didn't seek attention, only reverence.
Meticulously, the sand drew a gust revealing a page.
It emphasized a line.
Lisan lit a faint beam as he read it. "Do you also believe that living is suffering?"
Mashia looks at the page, and recognizes his writing.
"It is. It only ends when one perishes."
"So are you not glad for your men?" Lisan tilted his head.
"They didn't deserve to die in pain."
Lisan gazed downward, giving a faint smile. "I see . . ."
"They are grains of sand. Washed in expendability of order. No matter the largest stone, or tiniest rock that constructs one—they'll still sink. We should be the island that upholds every grain, every rock. To make them recall what beauty was."
Mashia swallowed a dry throat.
He thought about it deeply.
He remembered his resurgence, his men, and his morals.
Then . . . a smile crept.
"I will stand by your side. I will not kneel to you."
He pauses, staring down the man, who gave him a miracle.
"And I will wear this name. I will not kneel to it."
The priest stood broad as his ponytail whipped back.
"I am thankful." He says.
"So . . . we will make them remember." Mercury concurred.
"Exactly." The priest grinned brightly.
He knelt, taking out a cross necklace from under his robe, firmly holding it as he mumbled a prayer.
Mercury looked down at him in recognition, noticing a tear dropping from his sunglasses.
"Are you crying?"
Lisan inhaled. "I shed no tear in sorrow for death; I shed it in contentment, as they are allowed to be forgotten, drifting as their soul lets go."
"Just like how you screamed, and I listened. We are not ready to be forgotten yet." Lisan smiled.
Mercury gleamed at him, and looked around.
"So, what's next?"
Lisan stood. "They made their train stop. It is time for our destination."
He waved to him as he got up, and walked away.
What an interesting man. He does not know where he is going, but walks forward regardless. Maybe I could learn something from him.
I still have to keep watch, although I know he is not of bad will.
Following, Mercury caught up.
"Say, Lisan, how could you even sense that I had potential for a Kolxayne?"
"It's a part of me I shroud in disdain; for such ability, I do not deserve."
Lisan continued, "You know 'Solythe,' don't you?"
"I've heard of it before," Mercury nodded.
The priest rolled up his sleeves, revealing not one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five!
Five titanium bracelets that press his vascular forearms with sigils and gold lining.
"I'm sure you've seen these before." The priest said.
Solythebitors? I thought he was just a priest?
Even with one, the blood in your arms is tight, and with two can lead to a total blockage. But five?
Hours passed. The two men walked for what felt like eternity.
Their sweat left images of their corpses in the sand—the voice, the vessel.
A minute, then another.
When would this desert end?
"Still going, huh?" Mercury said monotonal.
"Do not fret, for this pain purifies us," Lisan stated.
Mercury pondered.
Interesting . . .
"There will be a road soon." Lisan stated gleefully.
Mercury nodded, wiping his face, which was all that stayed intact.
The two who march past the facade of treachery stepped towards beauty.
It was their victory, and none could take it from them.
That is the beauty of such triumph.
Nobody can steal it.
Nobody.