True Piety

"..."

Nysa and Jonam silently stared at each other, the latter's words lost in the noisy establishment. A couple of rhapsodes were drunkenly shouting a story on the other side, punctuated by raucous cheers and faint attempts at playing instruments while inebriated.

The boy stroked his lush hair, visibly embarrassed by Nysa's lack of reaction. "I'm sorry for losing my temper. You can forget what I just said. It's quite ironic, isn't it? For a tool to question the resolve of another."

"That's not it," Nysa said, clasping her hands above the table. "In truth... I have no answer."

A fog cradled her wits whenever she thought about her situation, illuminated only by the instilled commands of her mother—to obey, to serve her purpose without question.

"For as long as I can remember, I have only had one goal. It was the sole path presented to me. Everything I learned and accomplished was for this task alone..." A pause, followed by a glance at her surroundings. "I must kill the Celestial Offering before the Sacrificial Ceremony can occur."

"I was never provided a reason for this purpose, nor did I ever ask for one. It was a fact of life for me, just like a human's slow trod toward death or the rise of the black moon at night—it's an inevitability. Not a matter of why, but when."

She felt the sting of hunger in her stomach, hiding her wince with a sip of water. "I understand what you mean, however. Unlike you, I have no shackles built within my body. Should I wish to, I could simply walk away. I'm a magus, after all. How often have I daydreamed about taking a boat to remote lands... and leaving everything behind me."

Warmth spilled from her head to the rest of her body, coating her in the fleeting bliss she could only access in her dreams.

"I could sail to Yura Ni and claim a home somewhere in the south, where towns are said to lay on floating whales. I could cross the Tranquil Desert on a whim and see whether moon demons truly danced atop the gray dunes at night. I could make a living guarding caravans and hunting treasures in the First Crossing, where trees grow jewels and oases are made of wine."

"I could become a scholar and join the Domed City, whose library is rumored to be the biggest in the world. I could visit the Cradle of Silence in Ctesiphon and slumber under the soothing, eternal peace of a sleeping God. I could start an adventure in the western isles, battling Sea Monsters and discovering the ruins of ancient dynasties."

"I could enjoy a life of lawless freedom in distant Qeharmenod, furthering my knowledge on my Sorceries and the shunned depths of magecraft. But..."

"But what?" Jonam asked, half-pleading. "Unlike me, you could do any of these things without the slightest remorse. Your mind won't collapse from built-in urges to hunt an ever-fleeing foe. Your body won't break from searing pain at each step away from its purpose. What's stopping you?"

"Whenever I think of those possibilities," Nysa calmly said, "I can never imagine myself genuinely enjoying them. Knowing that I ran away from the sole task given to me, the lone goal I was prepared for... the only reason I was born. Perhaps it was different once, but now, joy and satisfaction are strictly tied to my duty. Without it, the world is blank and colorless. I feel nothing."

"A lie," Jonam spat, his face creasing into a frown. "You do have feelings. Otherwise, you wouldn't have killed Asteri. You alleviated her pain because you felt pity for her—sadness, even. At that point, she had no ties to your mission whatsoever, meaning it came from an independent source, one that isn't tied to your purpose."

Nysa bit her lip as she remembered that action, though she couldn't recall the emotion that prompted her to do so.

"Now I understand, at least," Jonam added, "It's not your fault. I suppose that at one point in your childhood, you couldn't handle the pressure anymore, forcing a precept of indifference on yourself. Alas, sane humans are incapable of that. So what would an ordinary girl do in that case?"

Nysa slid her hands down the table, pressing her knuckles until they turned white. Jonam either didn't notice the change in her expression or didn't care, continuing:

"Magi are naturally inclined to madness. This stems from the influence of our Sorceries, which link us to the Reverse Boundary of the World. If I had to guess the moment, it would be shortly after your first Insight Ritual... or maybe during the ritual itself."

"What moment?" Nysa finally snapped, a glint of Mana turning her eyes from brown to ethereal green.

"The moment you started breaking your own mind."

At this point, the traces of vulnerability in Jonam's expression had all but vanished. He gazed at Nysa with the look of a scholar studying a new subject.

"You subconsciously invert your likes and dislikes, numbing your feelings by sheer force of trauma... isn't that right? I surmised as much when Asteri told me about your treatment of Bianor. No task-oriented magus would go to such lengths if they had your abilities."

Nysa abruptly rose from her seat, looking down at Jonam with an unreadable air. She maintained her countenance despite the stifled breaths and the painful ringing in her head.

"I confess my initial curiosity about your invitation, but the crudity of a mental evaluation leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

She slammed a single bronze Follis on the table for her drink.

The rain was still heavy, but she strode out of the kapeleion without hesitation.

As she passed Jonam's side, she heard him say, ever so quietly, "Failure matters little in death, but what will happen if you do survive your endeavor? Could you withstand it?"

Nysa didn't answer, walking under the downpour with as much grace as she could muster. Her thoughts were thrown into a jumble, and her resolve creaked under the echo of Jonam's words, yet a single sentence kept her determination steeled:

A tool shouldn't break before serving its purpose.

—

Meanwhile, in the Great Sanctuary of Priene.

The Adonal Virgin Maia bade the Celestial Offering farewell with a graceful bow, as he would be cared for by Adonal Virgin Egina this evening. While leaving his chambers, she stole a last peek at his exalted form, seemingly made out of divine silver under the pale flashes of lightning.

How beautiful... Truly made in the image of the Fathomless One.

She noticed that his pure gaze often wandered beyond the windows, locked onto the spreading strands of the seven-pointed star. It oozed a rare-found wisdom, one which few humans would be able to comprehend.

It was easy to lose oneself in awe of its magnificence, but olden rules dictated that pious adoration could only be attained with respectful reverence.

Which was why she took a peculiar turn while heading down the Inner Monastery's halls this time.

After a slow strut, she reached a particular room she had visited this morning in the company of the Honored One.

It was Father Phineus' office.

Without knocking, she pushed open the door and was greeted by a most unseemly sight.

Father Phineus was lost in a sinful act, using the same hand that had been blessed by the Honored One's touch earlier in the day.

"U-Uh! Maia!" He jumped in fright, lowering his tunic under his belt to hide the consequences of his foul perversion. "Don't you know how to knock?! Damn you, by the gods, I nearly spat my heart out."

"My apologies, Father Phineus." Maia flashed a fake smile. "I came here to convey the Honored One's commands."

Father Phineus' eyes sparkled, and his previously receding flush spread to his entire face.

"Does the Honored One wish for something? Perhaps I could go to him to receive his commands in person."

He nodded erratically at his thought, his fat cheeks flopping gracelessly at the same rhythm.

Maia closed the door behind her, then beckoned the clergyman over.

"No one else must hear them. Please, approach."

Father Phineus seemed confused but still approached the Adonal Virgin.

She slid one hand underneath her wraps while the other gently cradled the clergyman's head, bringing his ears closer to her lips.

The silvery symbol of a bleeding eye flickered on her forehead for an instant, and her fake smile widened into a deranged grin.

"Perverse adoration is akin to blasphemy, Phineus. Surely, you didn't think you could keep your life after this transgression?"

Upon hearing her words, Father Phineus sensed something amiss and tried to back down. Unfortunately for him, it was already too late.

He felt a blade's sharp, cold sting pierce its way through his throat and out of his mouth.

Blood trickled down his chin, and he spat a mouthful of the red ichor on Maia's face, though her sole reaction was the inhuman curving of her lips.

She took out the knife, then thrust again, stabbing his neck.

Father Phineus widened his eyes in pain, too shocked to scream. He tried to writhe out of the Adonal Virgin's grasp, but she twisted the blade and tore his flesh from the inside.

The sudden, agonizing jolt made them both tumble downward, but there was no struggle on the ground.

Maia slowly sat up, looking down at the clergyman with a mixture of disgust and zealous wrath. He returned her gaze with blank eyes, their light dimming as he drowned in his own blood.

Amidst his plunge into oblivion, the only thought he could voice was a resounding "Why?"

The silvery sigil on her forehead shone clearer than ever, and her maddened grin reverted to a calm smile.

"Defiling the Honored One is an act worthy of eternal damnation, even if it only occurred in your mind. In olden times, your soul would have been seared for a thousand years, but you can thank your good fortune for nesting so close to your deity."

She glanced through the window as he heaved his last breath, staring at the statue of Hierapetra's Hallowed Sovereign. It was barely visible beyond the heavy curtain of the downpour, but it cast a darker shadow than the storm clouds atop Priene.

"Three days..." she whispered, her bloodied figure painting a gloomy picture under the oil lamps' meager light.