Interlude:
So, I failed.
The worlds my power yearned to protect are dead.
Arcan and Nixthys.
One of magic, beauty, and perfection; the other of misery, bloodshed, and pain.
Nixthys and Arcan.
The world of the blessed and the world of the brutes. Those of Nixthys suffer daily, lured by their insatiable greed. Those of Arcan suffer daily, lured by perfection.
Arcan is beautiful. Perfect. A stagnant paragon.
At first glance, the second glance, and the third. But after that?
Festering threats.
Arcan had their Vindai.
We were their fighters, their healers, their saviours.
The Aeons chose us because of our stories and our scriptures.
We were connoisseurs of pain and death, so we'd be able to bear our trials. So long as we had a code—no matter how wretched—we were candidates.
We were alone. Always, always, always. That was our fate: our breaths burned to light the way, our lives consumed, our hopes crushed, our minds made mad, and sonothing is ever right.
And the only relief was…and is Death herself.
I hesitated to think of the end. What would happen if we couldn't die before we were drained?
I came to believe that simply meant we suffer longer.
—Divinities of Hardship and Memory, Doxa Fonte de Mnemo-Haidao, Champion of The Prologue, Everlasting Tears of Corruption
Chapter 1: Scarred Windows
Death weaved through every breath in this warring hell. Ash drifted down from the hazy, gold-red skies, leaving indelible marks on the streets, on the rooftops—on their lives.
So, frankly, Aysu didn't expect to survive.
"Aysu! Are you awake? Ready for today?" called her dad.
The bed sagged as she lay back down. It squeaked. She closed her eyes, preparing herself. She rose, shouting, "I'm awake." Then, quieter: "But not ready."
Aysu turned and wiped her ash-covered mirror.
It was one of their few luxuries, along with a sketchy television and three books: Writing On, The King of Ways, and Reaping on the Sunrise. She had no idea how they were obtained—some divine gift or the sort, probably.
Though she wouldn't sacrifice her life for them.
Life was even more sacred, as dreadful as it was.
She looked at her reflection. Her short black hair was tangled, and her dark-brown eyes were red and rheumy. She'd fix that later—if she cared.
Of course, she could look pretty—everyone could—but why care?
Beauty fostered envy, not empathy. Not because people were callous. All had empathy—they felt your pain. They just enjoyed it, too.
"Aysu!"
"Alright!"
Five minutes later, she entered the cramped living room.
Her daddy smiled, and his dark-brown eyes lit up. Her father loved to smile. Aysu resembled him in looks but was his near-opposite in personality.
He asked, "How were your dreams?"
"Bad," she muttered. "Life is wretched."
"Every day you are alive is a blessing, regardless of bad dreams," he said, kissing her on the crown of her head. His eyes creased—she didn't know if it was worry or love that made him do that. Aysu hoped it was the latter, but knew it was the first. What was different?
Nothing. Nothing could be different, she assured herself. She replied, "Could die today."
"Now—"
"Bolin," her momma interrupted, "let's be realistic." She looked at Aysu and turned towards their window.
"Pessimistic, loves. It is peaceful here."
"Relatively, Daddy."
"Very wise, Aysu," Momma said with her husky tones. Aysu loved listening to her mother's deep voice, even if she was too old to listen to the old tales of the saints and angels. "Bolin, I believe you have lost."
"Victory is sweet," Aysu said with a smile.
"Indeed. Remember, if there's danger, you run, and you will run the right way," her mother lectured, snapping her fingers.
Aysu smiled. "I'll be fast."
"That is preferable."
Her dad laughed. "Please be careful, Aysu. Stay alive, right?"
"Yes." She managed a little laugh. "I will try."
Aysu left, hopped down the steps, and began the walk to school. She made it into the classroom before the bells. Tossing her bag down, she sat down and waited. Through the window, she watched the ash drift down.
Another day to live.
Hours later, the teacher rambled on about the report cards and the expectations of the new year. No one listened. Why would they?
Aysu wiped her eyes, preparing herself to leave.
The bell rang. Three dolorous bongs that ripped through her head. She always hated it.
Aysu was the first out, beginning the walk home. Others ran, eyeing the sky. Bombings were rare; she refused to let her fear be her killer. So, she wouldn't overly obsess over the risk—perhaps later, she'd pay for her dismissiveness, but not now. At the very least.
So, while others looked up, she looked down at the chipped sidewalk.
There was a new crack, smudged in a dull color, and it became one of the many details she forced herself to memorize till it was part of her.
The rows of the worn houses followed her with scarred windows. Most houses were broken down by war or negligence. There hadn't been any nuclear bombs around their area. That didn't mean they came out unscathed, though.
There had been a bombing a couple of years ago. It had reduced her neighbor's house to ashes. It was a sorry plot of land now.
Aysu walked up to her house, tripped on the step, swore, tucked her chin-length black hair behind her ear, and opened the door.
"I'm home."
Silence answered.
"I'm home!" she repeated.
The wind screeched in response.
Aysu frowned at the silence, pushing the door further in. Light rippled in, ash flitting onto the weary tiles.
There was another pile of ash underneath their only window.
A shattered window.
Her breath caught.
"Momma? Daddy?" She took a few steps forward, reaching her hand forward to brush the sill. She yanked her hand back as a throbbing pain stabbed into her; her dad would fuss over this new cut.
Aysu stepped back outside, hands on her hips. What the hells was going on? Her breath hitched as she gathered her thoughts. Swiftly, she opened the hidden cabinet and took out the gun.
Where the mirror was a luxury, the gun was a blessing.
Now, look, she ordered herself.
Aysu walked towards the curb and scanned the street. Everything was…the same.
Still. Something was wrong. No.
Everything was wrong.
One moment ago, nothing was there. Then—someone was.
Aysu lurched away, falling down with a gasp.
The lady glanced at her, scoffed, and strided across the street. Aysu scrambled to her feet, watching.
Unholy hells.
She had curly white hair, with red at the ends. Damn! Did she dye it? What a waste! The wind teased the lady and blew soot into her dark-brown face, making her beautiful—
It wasn't that she was not beautiful. She was, but…she radiated beauty, too.
Look, Aysu reprimanded, Aysu, look.
She wore a garment of multiple black and dark-purple parts, draped across her body. Silver chains linked them, matching the horns under her hood that—silver horns!? Implants? The girl turned her head towards Aysu, pressing her third and fourth fingers to her lips.
But that ring she wore…
Aysu squinted, stepping forward to catch a better sight of the ring. Did this lady steal her dad's ring? Or did she have an exact copy? The former seemed more likely.
"Hey! Wait! Where'd you get that ring!? Stop!"
Aysu was ignored. The lady didn't even turn around.
Fine.
Aysu crossed the street, following the lady. Perhaps the lady would serendipitously die, and then Aysu could steal her possessions. Or perhaps she knew something about Aysu's parents. Or maybe she'd kill Aysu.
Everything had a risk.
Aysu crossed the street and went down the dim alleyway. The smothered sun wove hollow rays of light across the pavement—yet here, the shards of light were the intruders.
Something about the lady's ears was off. It was something in its angle…and it just felt wrong. Perhaps they were maimed or—unholy ashes!
The lady's ears were as sharp as knives.
The abomination whirled around, baring her hands—no, claws, and ran towards Aysu—
Oh gods!
Aysu yanked the trigger—
The bullet struck, and the thing barely winced at the wound. A pearlescent substance swirled around the graze and sealed it shut. At least it made the thing stop, but that was a pathetic victory.
Aysu gaped, stepping back. "What the hells is that!? What are you!?"
This was a dream.
Aysu raised the gun as the thing stepped closer. It was taller than Aysu—unusual, and deeply disconcerting.
The girl had keen, sharp-fold eyes. Brazenly calculating.
Her steps were silent. Aysu stepped back as the thing moved forward.
"Stay away!"
The thing's green eyes narrowed. It vanished—and something slammed into her.
A rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder. She whirled around, cocking the gun, before she began to float.
No, no—wrong. Was she actually floating? Her feet were on the ground. Weren't they? But she felt so faint...
Was she dying? And then—
Nothing but light.