The Priesthood

The receptionist, with their smile and dull eyes that only saw Kanrel at that moment, stood before them and held a piece of paper in their left hand extending it toward Kanrel. “Home—is it not the place where you lay your head as you prepare yourself to approach the land of dreams?” They asked, their tone still flat and emotionless. “Y’Kraun, you may soon direct our new citizen to his new home, an abode most suitable for him. Afterward, you will be contacted by the local authorities to provide you with lodging and guidance.”

Y’Kraun grabbed the piece of paper and read it repeatedly. He then bowed and showed his hands in submission.

The receptionist refused to look at Y’Kraun; instead, their eyes were on Vaur’Kou’n. They pulled out a small container from somewhere and said, “Your payment, Captain. Inside the container, you will find your next appointment.”

Vaur’Kou’n accepted his reward; the small container seemed heavier than expected.

The receptionist then looked at the brother and sister; they tilted their head as if pondering the very sight before them; their smile dissipated. “Before leaving the city, you two are advised to observe the city walls for a while. It should serve you as a reminder of how lucky you two are and how gracious the council decided to be with their judgment.” They said and observed the reactions of the two siblings: A slight smile that curled itself onto A’Daur’Kra’s lips; and a twitch of A’Trou’n’s eye that could be noticed if one paid enough attention and did not blink when it happened.

They too bowed and muttered thanks for the council and lauded the mercy that they had shown.

The receptionist blinked and returned to their desk, sitting down and returning to the stacks of paper that lay on it. They no longer looked at those present. Nothing moved on their face; only their hands moved as they wrote whatever it was they wrote.

Kanrel and the rest stood there for a while, mostly eyeing each other. Meaningful glances were traded among the Atheians, with only Y’Kraun staying out of it all, his eyes still red after the tears that he had shed.

This silent storm was only put to a stop when the receptionist simply said, “You are dismissed,” and so they all left the room and began making their way out of the Forum, past the many people who queued to receive their own judgments and decisions regarding their own issues, be it “unfair” taxation of a brothel or a health concern relating office work, such as a sore hand after rigorous writing of reports or back pain because of, again, rigorous writing of reports.

Kanrel couldn’t claim that the outcome had been predictable. It was surprising that the faceless Council of Many Faces would find his situation to be as useless as he had found it to be himself. It had been clear to Kanrel for a while that all the information that he held was mostly meaningless to the people who lived below. And his information was, as the council had claimed, unconfirmable.

What would they do with any information regarding the vast history of humanity, the many smaller and greater kingdoms that had come and gone, or the intrigues of their religion and the power balance between the Kingdom and the Priesthood?

To them, these stories were just stories—to some degree, they were so to Kanrel as well. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen these things happen with his own eyes. There were only historical records, which may or may not be accurate. As far as he knew, most of the history before the third or the fourth Herald wasn’t collected by the most credible historians. It was known that much of the numbers were inflated, especially when it came to wars, and even more of the information didn’t have the sources needed to account for all possible deniability of a person existing or of a given event happening as it did. As far as he knew, such people and events might as well not have happened or existed at all; or the least, so many of the details were somewhere on the borderline of fact and fiction; thus, the information was almost redundant.

Even so, he was an outsider, an alien, to this ancient race locked in their prison of shadows. He and they, equally, had no way out. He was stuck here, with them. Perhaps they knew that either way he would share with them whatever knowledge he had of the world above, if only as a means of not forgetting where he had come from. This information would be doubted either way, as there was no way out.

So might as well coexist. He might as well live his life here as it is. Might as well try... But could he? Could he truly do so? Home—he wanted to go home. He needed to see his friends and family. He needed to be rid of this sense of despair that clouded each step that he took; that followed him, always one step behind as well as ahead; it was there around the next corner as well as the previous one. It was a voice that whispered from all around and reminded him that he did not belong and that it had been years, perhaps more than a decade since he last saw the face of another human.

If only he could be rid of this curse—this burden of power, the gift that kept on giving more and more pain.

His shoulders slumped, and he dragged behind the rest, and soon he too stepped outside and met the light that came from above, the great crystal of the City of Last Light. The source of all light that was then directed with great mirrors to each major settlement of these sun-forsaken lands.

That great blue hue glittered as it descended from above, like fragments of crystal, a beam of light as if meant for a man to ascend to godhood. But there was no way out. Such light meant nothing, for it gave no warmth. Even the moon on the coldest of nights gave more warmth than whatever light this faux sun produced.

Atheians walked past him, entering and leaving the Forum, most in great stride, walking past, ignoring him and his presence as just another foolish Atheian who had had their petition ignored, or their grievance deemed to be the cries of a babbling child. Some noticed that he was not an Atheian like they were, and with brief curiosity in their eyes, slowed their steps as they went by.

Soon he was pulled to the side as Y’Kraun brought him away from the entrance to the Forum to a more quiet place in the courtyard, where Kanrel might converse for the last time with those who were about to depart.

But no matter how many steps he took away from the round room, where the Council of Many Faces had judged them, the feeling of disgust remained. This nauseating feeling weighed upon him—that covered him. The foul air, one that he had previously likened to the still waters of a swamp, birthed from a battlefield of long ago... He no longer survived this swamp by making his way from hummock to hummock, for as he had traveled this great swamp, there was no land to take a step upon; there were no more trees in sight as they had long ago rotted and became part of the foul waters. Now he couldn’t move. He couldn’t make his way away from here. He was stuck, knee-deep in water, slowly sinking as the air pressed him from all around. He could barely breathe.

“Sister, you lie as well as you smile... What was it again? Oh, I remember... ‘An usurped love,’ ‘the ruination of a possible union’?” A’Daur’Kra mocked, "Next, you might as well claim that I just slipped into possible death all by myself.”

A’Trou’n snorted, “At least there is a great difference between murder and an attempt at one.”

The brother scoffed, “Please, we both know it all lies in intent.” A’Daur’Kra said and shook his head, “What a waste of time this was... One enters the house of all judgments, confesses his own sins, and brings forth his own concerns, but he is neither forgiven nor are his concerns taken seriously." He then looked at the captain, who held the container in their hands. Vaur’Kou’n managed to at least seem a little embarrassed.

“Then you find out that the person, who you had thought to be the most trustworthy ally, was never one in the first place."

"I hope your betrayal netted you great benefits; perhaps a household in the better parts of town.” He then continued, peering at Vaur’Kou’n for a while before smiling rather deviously. “Worry not, old friend, I hold no grudges... This is known..."

A’Trou’n rolled her eyes. “At least you were betrayed only once; I for one have had to be under the constant torment of betrayal after betrayal... First, my dearest lover leaves me for my good-for-nothing older brother; my beloved father then punishes me when I only try to purify our family from future harm and rot, giving me only a slice of the land than I was at first promised.”

“Then much later, a foolish scholar thinks that he has the right to report things that happen in my village to some fool, who soon proceeds to kill said scholar... And now I found out that my ex-lover has betrayed me, not only once but twice... Then I lost my dearest servant, a proficient serf, who I was going to use for my own benefit, as well as even the last bit of control that I had of the Darshi.” She scoffed, “Dear brother, you know nothing of the world nor of its people, yet you dare to insinuate that you might bring forth petty revenge toward Captain Vaur’Kou’n?”

A’Daur’Kra grinned, “Perhaps we ought to go take a look at that wall, dear sister.”

“But before we do,” he said and glanced at Kanrel. "I've got a few words that I simply must exchange with a fellow citizen... in private, of course.” He finished and grabbed Kanrel by the hand and pulled him away from the group, all the way to the other side of the courtyard, where no one else was.

“Can you feel it? Can you feel their eyes on us? One day, when you might find the courage, go and look past the walls; look into the shadows, for they see you, they see us all... and they judge us with those eyes... Can’t you feel it? We are blinded by the veil strapped around us; it fogs our vision and lets no light get past it. But when one frees their mind from fear, then one might find clarity, and through clarity, one might see the truth.” He whispered and smiled, “Like I have...” At last, the Atheian released Kanrel.

They eyed each other for a few moments, that smile still on A’Daur’Kra’s face, and in his eyes, there was a spark—not one that mirrored a smile, but one that reflected his words. In those eyes, there resided a truth: he had seen something that he had never shared with anyone...

The Atheian chuckled and turned around, his way away from the Forum and its entrance, and on his way, he waved at his sister and yelled, “Let us go check out that wall, shall we?”

Just like that, possibly the last time Kanrel would ever see him again. Not a word of goodbye. Instead, some words only with the purpose to taunt him: “I know what you most wish to know.” That is what those words meant to him.

Kanrel looked as the two siblings disappeared out of his sight. He looked as Vaur’Kou’n opened the little container in his hands and glanced at Kanrel before closing it and walking away as well, disappearing toward the direction where the two others had gone.

Now only he and Y’Kraun remained. The serf was no longer a serf but instead a free man, although his freedom was behind a condition, one that was related to him. The first ever Atheian that he had met now walked toward him; he held a smile on his face as he soon stopped in front of Kanrel, “Let us make our way to your new home.” Y’kraun suggested, his voice was somehow different than before; the way he now held himself had changed as well; it was as if a great boulder had been lifted from his shoulders—he could now stand as tall as he was, and at this moment he seemed like the tallest Atheian that he had met so far.

Kanrel made no argument, and they left the forum behind, entering the busy streets of the city.

A city of towers, high and low, all bathed by the blue light that came from above. Some of the Atheians, who walked the streets, carried sticks with cloth tops that formed small roofs over their heads that they could carry around. They called such a thing a “parasol,” and its only purpose seemed to be to block away some of the intense brightness that the great crystal from above brought down on them.

The crystal had been the first thing he had noticed when they first came into view of the city. It was like the sun, and as such, he was advised not to look at it directly for too long.

Apparently, it took the Atheians, when they first arrived below, a while to find such light. Before that, they carried around torches and whatever magical devices they had brought with them to light their way as they traversed through caves and tunnels; back then, the shadows hadn't quite yet arrived. It was said that it took months for them to find their way to the crystal and settle beneath it.

They titled the crystal “the Last Light” and began constructing their city right below it. And not long after, the shadows arrived.

At the edge of town, not too far away from the city walls, in a small neighborhood, is where Kanrel found his new home. A small apartment on the first floor of the building with no windows and just that one room; on each floor, there’d be a communal bathroom he would have to share with the other residents of the building. And if he wanted to eat, he’d have to go to the restaurant right across from the tower that held his new home.

It wasn’t much. Inside, not many things at all. A bed, table, chair, and a polished blue crystal for light—one he’d have to keep charged by himself.

The bed didn’t seem comfortable, and the chair felt fragile, but at least the table was sturdy and all he really needed. There’d be so much he would have to write—that was all he had now. Everything else had lost its value. Y’Kraun bid him farewell and promised to come by the next day.

Kanrel was left behind in his little room, the door closing behind him, the light from the singular crystal casting its light against him, and the gray, dull walls that now surrounded him. His only company was his own shadow, which cast itself against the wall. Even here, there was no warmth.

He sat on the bed, and he just knew that there’d be many sleepless nights to come. He lay down and met his gaze with the ceiling. There would be nights when he would not be able to close his eyes, where he’d just stare ahead, his head on the pillow, his eyes unmoving and scanning the gray substance above that formed this ceiling.

This moment was one of those moments or the beginning of one of them. As if barely floating upon the waves, unmoving and unchanging, with no waves to guide him anywhere; just him and the waters beneath, the sky that was above, as he awaited something to happen. He waited for the waters to either drown him or for the skies to change and bless him with something—with anything that would distract his mind, if even just for a moment.

There was a time when he wasn’t so unsettled by the very concept of a ceiling; his travel from the academy to the village; through winter he had traveled and almost starved; through cold and hunger; he had survived. But in the darkness of the winter, there is great solace that meets the eyes of a man—the stars that sparkle far above, so far away and so mystical they are that one can’t even guess what they are and how they came to be. They are just stars to you, things that look so miniscule, but that could just mean that they are so far away that one’s perception of them is all wrong. Were the stars like the crystal that lit the City of the Last Light?

The stars would waver when he’d look at them for long enough; then they’d become distorted until he could hardly see them. Then he’d feel as tears would flow down his cheeks, as they would burn his eyes, as he’d cry freely, but without a real reason other than the very moment in which he would reside. In such moments, he didn’t feel like he was drowning or waiting to drown, even when he had lost someone—even when he had lost a part of himself. He was free, even when his freedom was under the constant scrutiny of his own sense of duty. Back then, things weren’t as bad as he had seen them to be. His own perception had been distorted.

Here, he had no duty. Here, he had nothing. Here, he had no hope. Here, he awaited for something to happen, be it death or release through other means. But these thoughts and this waiting didn’t hold such a thing known as hope; there was only despair. And the ceiling would not waver light like the stars did. There wasn’t even water that collected itself onto that ceiling—no tears to drop onto his pillow.

Kanrel was stuck. There was no way out. There is no way back home. He has no friends. He has no family. Not here. He has nothing. He is nothing.

So what could he do now, if anything?

His mind wandered into a world of memories as he stared at the ceiling. That night, he only lay there and remembered all the things that he had come to regret. He met with despair and let it fill him; maybe then he wouldn’t feel so empty. Maybe then he’d sink and at last, drown.