PoV: Cabil
Location: Dovve Cathedral, Dyonegar
[Hours Later]
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Banished from his own home, exiled into the abyss of the divine order—Syreene made it clear her dear brother wouldn't be welcomed for dinner until he satisfied the appointment she'd made with the priest of Dovve. So Cabil stood there, hands in his pockets, dressed casual before the glorious towering exo-structure. Its façade shone a soft beige as the warm sunfall cascaded upon the horizon, its spade-tipped spires reflecting light upon the ancient edifice. The pointed arches, etched stone, colorful stain-glassed mirrors—it was all so foreign to him, yet, beautiful.
A soft chime echoed in his ears, calling to him, beckoning a glance to the woman seated on a bench adjacent. He choked, a swarm of butterflies sashaying in his stomach. Her long brunette tresses fell upon her shoulder elegantly in a single loose ponytail—an earthly, motherly aura surrounding her as she mended nylon ties to a mounting bar. So graceful her posture, dressed in a cornflower blue frilly gown to compliment her radiant copper eyes. His fixation bewildered her, the woman breaking the odd air between them with a wave and smile. He regained his composure, answering back with a mirroring gesture. He was sheepish, turning back and entering the nave, where he dropped a hand over his head with a heavy breath, bothered by the familiar face from his memories. Keep it together, he thought, before he absorbed the magnificent organs of the Dovve Cathedral.
The depth down the dark mosaic floor resonated a calm monastic chant— it wafted between the stone pillars, the polished mahogany pews, and against the translucent curvilinear windows of Khorgathe's goddess sisters. The contour wore a variegation of oranges and violets, and as he observed the motif radial design above him, his eyes fell onto the sunlit apse. Vibrant, stained glass hues of cool blues teemed onto the altar with an inviting embrace. And there, sweeping the chancel, a man garbed in a crimson tassel-topped ivory robe, humming a tune.
Cabil noticed he caught his attention as he casually approached him.
"Evening, may I help you?" the clergyman questioned, bringing his sweeping to a pause and pushing the bridge of his rectangular framed glasses back.
"Cabil. I'm here for my appointment to see Father Ben… Beno—"
"Ahh! Mr. Hargann! Yes, your appointment was for a couple hours prior. I was certain you would not have made it. Better late than never, yes?" He settled the broom aside before he eagerly took Cabil by the shoulder. He seated him down on a pew, continuing, "Yes, yes, I am Father Narus-Sierafin Benoventeg, but the congregation calls me Father Narus for short." He sat beside Cabil with the most dulcet grin etched on his friendly face. "I am most pleased you decided to pay me a visit today. Not many are willing to express their deep need for assistance, guidance, or even prayer. Many have lost all faith in our deities. This is truly a vital step in clarity, peace with one's self, and starting anew."
As he jabbered on, Cabil couldn't help but notice an odd air around him. This priest was very peculiar. Although he hadn't encountered many religious men in his short years of living, he was almost sure of their vibe. But this one was pretentious, perhaps wearing a mask to conceal something hostile? A monster in plain sight, hiding behind the highly respectable title of priest. And to add onto the charade, he's a pretty boy—long sand-pebble blond hair framing his oval silhouette, strong jawline, crystal sapphire eyes tinted sage. He shouldn't jump to conclusions just yet, but the screech of deception rang in his convinced head. Could be the recent brawl in the square rattling his jitters, could be a gut feeling—
"Cabil? … Cabil?"
"Hmm?" Startled, he jerked his head up, arms crossed as he sat up from slouching.
"Was the website easy to maneuver?"
"Ugh, yeah… my sister actually signed me up for this thing."
"Ah, good to hear siblings looking out for one another."
"I take refuge from this cursed country by knowing she's safe."
"You two must be close. I can sense she means everything to you."
"She does, but all the same, she can be a real pain in my ass." His arms stretched out as he stood, with a yawn, and then flashed Narus a cheeky smirk. "Look, while I do appreciate your unbent, tact ideology, I don't need you to talk to me about how I should better myself, lose the gloom and doom attitude, and see the world from the other side of the spectrum, because let's face it—this piece of shit world we live in isn't the result of some fallen protégé, or a bitchy goddess who went rogue, or a punishment for our sins against deities. It's fucking life. We deal with it any way we can, fight to survive, and at the very least, die with smiles on our faces. Cause at least we tried, right?" He paused in musing. "Those Dessarians aren't going to stop until they starve themselves by exhausting their food supply—us. Every last one of us. But I have a reason to fight, aside from survival, aside from that fat ass' protection."
"And what reason would that be?"
"To protect her. She's all I've got now. And I would die fighting before those mother fuckers lay a hand on her." He clenched his fist, the elevation in his voice perking Narus' interest. "You can count on it!"
"A lover?"
"N-no. My sister. She was young when she joined the family. Along with the heaps of corpses, The Falling left cities with plenty orphans to spare. My father took her in, she was in pretty bad shape. He ran a couple of safe houses around the town I grew up in for kids, but there was something about her that got my father's attention. So, he brought her in as his own. Hmph, he was always trying to look out for everyone. Especially the little ones… just didn't know when some things weren't worth the risk."
"Did something unfortunate transpire?"
"So how about that token?" Cabil fixed his attention to the rather baffled priest, turned by Cabil's sudden chipper front. "Dinner's waiting, and apparently, I need that token to prove we had our little chat."
Narus gave a sheepish look, rising off his seat to quickly rectify himself. "My apologies. That was a foolish question for me to ask. I know the Falling was over a decade ago, but the ramifications still haunt us to this very day. I'm glad you and your sister were able to recover. I know many were not so fortunate. What further bothers me is the Kingdom's indifference toward the entire affair. The demons did not target Herith, despite that the towering wall secluding the capital could have been easily penetrated via underground routes."
"Heh, makes you think, huh?" Cabil crossed his arms, squinting his analyzing eyes toward the priest. "I've been saying it for years—something's not right with how the High Order is running this show. These High Councilmen toss manpower to guard the King's district, leaving sub districts ground-zero for cult assault. It's like we've been put on the front lines to defend the keep without even knowing it. And no one realizes that Herith hasn't gotten one cult sighting in years. Not one."
"I can see this bothers you."
"Shouldn't it? And people walk around like it's normal, accustomed to the curfews, the chaos, the casualties of it all. We are stuck here, on a waiting list to enter those walls while Herith thrives with technology we can only dream of having! Hovercrafts, robotics, biogear, even Ghryzite. We are limited, limited to even technological safety precautions only fit for the higher class! Shit, I can't even get a fucking com to contact her when I'm in assignment!" He paused, taking a heavy breath in before he followed, "Sometimes I get so fucking tired of trying to push for a better life for everyone else, and just want to focus on us. Gavott needs to spend a day down here, get his fat ass off his throne and see for himself how his people are living. Enough of the letters, proposals, hell, even pleas for general resources."
"Cabil, I assure you, your efforts have not been in vain. We just need to be patient. I am sure the High Order is trying to—"
"—I wouldn't go there, priest," Cabil interjected, glaring him down with a warning to cease his pointless optimism. He stretched out his hand, following, "The token, I need to head home before I hear yet another lecture from a fiery red maiden."
A brief silence lingered between them before the priest got up and reached into his robe's pocket revealing a small quarter sized, double sided, sticker piece with an emblem on it. "This should suffice. No doubt your sister will motion you to visit me again. I too would like to speak with you further, when you have time to spare. I sense a lot of stoical repression in you. A lot of rage. Talking about your feelings doesn't make you weak, Cabil. It awakens you to the real issues at hand. And I can help you with that." He shook his hand, looking at him potently. "So next time, how about we break that tough exterior of yours and get cleansed?"
"Pass," he replied, unfazed by the father's defeated expression. "You have a good night there, clergyman." He left with a salute goodbye, stepping foot into the high evening hours.
The streets were vacant. Dim lights flickered at intervals parallel to each other down the dark sidewalk, and not a peep echoed through the line of bordered windows. An early curfew town, Cabil forgot about the strict nighttime regulations of keeping Dovve citizens locked up in barricaded homes protected by 'fortification spells' with a side of cleverly hidden Aeg soldiers on patrol. No wonder business lights were out, public grounds were closed, and not a soul ventured out at this hour. He mustn't have heard the curfew siren go off from the temple.
"Hmph, all of this for a lousy church sticker." He paced himself, the token at eye-level.
"The print shop should be able to—" Cabil suddenly jerked, his weight plummeting into the heel of his foot from the sudden impact. A rush of adrenaline forced his fists ready as the chained, duo hook swords lodged themselves through his chest and into his back. He craned his head up, a blot of blood red blurring his vision. But from what he could see, his attacker in black stood atop the streetlight along the path, with locked chains staggering between them. As his body absorbed the shock from the burrowed blades, his shaking hands snatched the hilt in hopes of a release, but her strain kept steady with her intentions.
Gritting his teeth, he glared at the woman atop the streetlight, barking at him words that sucked all the air from his lungs, "Class A soldier Cabil Hargann! By the order of Mhalfoynt, you are under arrest for treason!"
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