Chapter 2: The Choice of Valakor

At the altar of the god of war I find myself, participating in the coming of age ritual. Here, people are bled until the altar is soaked in blood. At that point, a red light envelops their bodies, and Valakor, the god of war, is said to grant them a weapon with which to fight for the rest of their lives. It is an impressive sight, but only if you are chosen, as it seems that not everyone receives a weapon from Valakor. There is a select group of people who are denied the honour of carrying a weapon.

*Khu* At that instant, I was thrown roughly onto the altar table. A cadaverous-looking man took his own finger and with his own blood traced a symbol representing the god of war on my skin. My blood dripped slowly, painting the symbol on the table. Everything was complete, it only remained for Valakor to decide whether he would choose me or not.

One, two minutes passed... I felt I was being discarded. But suddenly, something unexpected happened. A green light enveloped my body. It was an unusual signal, different from the typical red light. I began to float, waiting to receive my weapon.

*I fell abruptly from the altar, without a weapon. It seemed that those heartless gods were playing with me.

At that moment, my father, an imposing man sitting in his chair, stood up and uttered in a booming voice that echoed throughout the room:

"Get her out of my sight! I never want to see her again.

My fate was sealed in that instant. I was wrapped in a cloak and dragged out of the mansion. An old and neglected carriage awaited me, guided by a horse that seemed to have waited for a long time.

"Ha, I thought my failure would surprise them. And here I was, anticipating that I would fail to be taken from this place," I scoffed aloud.

An angry soldier slammed my mouth shut with a rope he had at the ready.

I was thrown into the carriage and felt it start to move. I no longer had to worry about deciding my fate, Valakor had chosen it for me. I cursed the gods as I felt something in the pockets of my clothes. It was that flute that had been given to me one day, perhaps by accident. But, as I pondered that, the flute glowed with the same light that had enveloped me in the ritual. I was confused, but someone brought me out of my reverie.

"We have arrived. From here, you must fend for yourself," said a guard who had been guiding the carriage. He opened the door and released me from my restraints.