Dignity to a Deity I

They say balance dictates the universe.

When the almighty Primordial Aeon graced this universe with 'His' creation, 'His' three descendants inherited 'His' will as he fell into deep slumber. The ancients had fittingly called them Sorenians, born directly from the Primordial's fragment.

Seraphim, the scribes of Kaelum.

Adonis, the guides of Abyss.

Draconem, the wardens of Olethros.

It was always these Three Sovereigns that ruled above us, mere humans, like absolute beings of worship. They are the real children of the stars, our mighty guardians.

They were our Gods.

But I believed it was just a telltale of our ancestors, pretty much like a sublime legend brought by the long religious history of the Continent. I considered them too great to be worthy of a man's lowly curiosity.

I strongly believed so, until these lofty beings casted their gaze onto our mortal lands and sowed their rage in a sea of flames.

I should never have doubted them. Have they read our sinful hearts and condemned us of blasphemy? Have they seen the rotten sides of the Templars, and the corrupt hands of bishops while chanting their holy names?

Consequently, Kaelum has lost its brilliance and Abyss has shut itself from the rest of the world. We no longer received responses no matter how ardent our prayers were. Have they deserted us? Have these mighty deities no longer deemed us worthy of attention?

The Draconem's wrath was cruel.

They were Doom, the epitomes of Chaos.

The world burned at their footsteps.

In the midst of such a tragedy, did faith still matter? The same faith we had when our own cathedrals were drowned in crimson?

We were but a small kingdom, situated in the far north of the continent where blizzards and snowstorms never seem to stop pestering our daily lives, making Vendalius akin to a wasteland.

It was one of the reasons why we inevitably started conflicts with the neighboring lands for resources in the name of supposedly cleansing evil.

Surprisingly enough, the Draconem coveted this very unsightly land, where the plains were always covered in snow and gravel, the mountains steep and poorly strategic, and most of the breadwinners live off from hunting magic beasts.

There was no hope. The rest of the continent has truly turned into inhabitable ruins, and our kingdom was barely holding on from the dragonkin's fierce subjugations.

Until they appeared.

The military organization that planted their flags at the heart of Vendalius:

Kuanos Genesis.

This narrative prose was taken from the first pages of an old diary written by an author whose identity is kept anonymous, but somehow made its way inside the historical archives of the current Vendalius.

♦️♦️♦️

KAISELLIN

I woke up in a daze. I can barely even tell if I actually woke up, or if all this was still perhaps a dream.

It's not like the view is any different whether I open or close my eyes.

Though, what brought me back to my senses was the soft feathery texture of what seemed like silk sheets blanketing my body.

They felt so warm to the touch that it almost made me grimace. I have only even laid on a silk bed as soft as this when I was still a prince of Abyss, that I've already memorized the familiar unwelcoming sensation the soft blankets brought because of one reason. It's the beginning of a seemingly endless cycle of time.

My body perishes, temporarily putting me in a deep slumber, and then waking up to find myself greeting a familiar pitch-black scene. It's like when the clock's hand rotates only to find itself back to the same position it was in just a while ago. I believe it's a cycle of fate. Some arrangement of destiny and whatever nonsense. Scholars have stated that physical bodies are the vessels of the psyche. Ultimately, the one in control is still the psyche. But that's not the case for me.

It seems the price of regression was sealing my psyche in a projection of the past, one that keeps repeating its events inevitably like a set structure. As for why I regressed in the first place—

—that, I do not remember.

Perhaps I very well knew at some point in time, but it was eventually buried in the flux of repeated memories that might as well continue for all eternity. In the first place, my circumstance is quite a vague concept to discern.

Until an anomaly happened. In the repeated cycle of killing and being killed, Antares refused to kill me and broke the loop. It's as if the puppet of a play has realized his monotonous purpose and decided to break free from the given script.

I regained control.

My head throbbed, leading me to instinctively massage my temples.

'I do not understand.'

For some reason, Antares's words resonated in my head;

'Things occurring too often and too much lose its significance just as fast.'

"…Bastard." I let out a long sigh. Should I be thankful? How undeserving of me.

I took my time and slowly inhaled, followed by a deep exhale. I closed and opened my palms as if familiarizing myself with my bodily functions. I reached for the top of my head and immediately felt a hard, rigged texture that should have curved downwards around my face but was met with a roughly cut edge instead. My back ached in response to my realization.

'I'm practically crippled now.'

For a moment, I didn't muster my strength to move just yet. I stared at the blankness of my own world, trying to make a sense of what I was going to do from now on. I knew one thing for certain; me ending up back in Abyss without regressing means that Antares had ties with my motherland. Some sort of deal, I suppose. I carefully stood up, using the headboard as my support. Turns out my knees didn't have the strength to support my upper body, and I flailed around like a toddler barely taking his first steps. Amidst my 'rediscovering', my tail wagged lightly.

It dared to waggle about.

I lashed it wildly as an attempt to make it behave, and unfortunately, knocked out a vase in the process. It created a loud thud that resonated across the entire room, breaking into various small pieces. I ended up stepping on a few shards of porcelain, cutting the soles of my feet. It was so clumsy that I couldn't get used to it. It made a bloody mess as I completely lost balance and sprawled on the carpeted floor. Considering that my senses were a mess, an accident like this didn't come off as a surprise. It simply left me baffled at just how careless I'm being.

I fidgeted with what was left of my horns, tracing its rough rigged texture. It wasn't long before I broke into fits of rather hysterical laughter. I didn't know what was so funny.

My mind's a mess. It feels like a broken record, overloaded with repeated stories, yet so empty at the same time.

My wounds started repairing itself at a rapid pace, extracting the shards that penetrated quite deep into my toes and limbs after falling.

Suddenly, I turned my head towards the door. I may not be able to use my vision, but I'm able to somehow utilize my sensitive hearing to figure out what's going on around the vicinity. I manifest it into small vibrations, being able to make out seemingly white outlines of the objects around me.

Just now, steady vibrations on the floor repeated as it neared. They were obviously footsteps, and from how heavy and obvious it was, It doesn't belong to a fighter. The approximate body mass most likely belonged to a woman. The door roughly flung open.

"What made such noise—!" She paused for a moment, trying to take in the scene in front of her.

"...Since when have you awoken?"

'Such informal speech...'

I inwardly sighed and remained quiet, not bothering to answer her. I have roughly guessed my current standing in the palace, and it'll only be disadvantageous for me if I insist on my lineage as a pureblood Adonis. Right now, I'm nothing else but a traitor's son, one suspected to have inclinations for revenge no matter how absurd such claim was. In the first place, being allowed to rest in a rather comfortable dwelling was enough to say I'm privileged to some extent.

"Here is your change of clothes. The Lord ordered me to bring you to the audience chamber as soon as you wake up. I suspect it must be regarding your long overdue verdict." She placed the set of clothes on the bedside table and left, probably planning to wait outside by the door for me to change quickly. From the looks of it, she's not very patient, but I'm not all too willing to stall either.

It still irks me otherwise how rude her behavior was, but it's not like a traitor is any different from a servant; in fact, the law says I am lowlier than one.

I dressed in a simple frilled tunic with embroidered lotuses at the sides, paired with a plain overall. Judging by how much the embroidered patterns were glistening faintly, the thread they used must have been somewhat metallic. Gilded, even; and but not too extravagant.

Just as I opened the abysmal two-way door to exit the room, a series of pleas and ravings bombarded my ears. It reverberated through the long hallway.

The curtains lightly shook even without the wind's presence. They were protesting. They were petitioning for my punishment. They were begging.

I dared not cover my ears, knowing they were in every bit right about how I cowardly ran away the night my father was trialed for treason. I dared not grimace in pain of how nauseous I felt from how loud their voices were.

"Announce the traitor's presence." The maid stated with difficulty, her voice swallowed by the torrent of pleas and ravings.

Before the horned guard could speak, a female voice resonated clearly amidst the noise. It was as if the only voice to be heard was hers.

"Come hither."