SERAPHINE OF FRIVOL

Everlasting downpour, as endless as the depths of an oceanic trench, fell on a moonlit night. The moon itself was shaded with the color of a faraway crimson star, descending a red hue upon the land. The winds, quiet as a sailing ship on a still sea. It was as if the heavens themselves were mourning the loss of one of their own. 

I stood on a rock tower taller than the highest spire in the town center getting drenched in rainfall as I gripped the broken off, loose rocks of the parapet that guarded me from keeling over. Unbeknownst to me, my face wore a fated expression as I studied the crimson-shaded moon. 

"So it ends…" I mumbled under my breath.

The red moon — or Carmine Moon, as it was known among the followers of Frivol — was not a natural occurrence, for the sun was of the color of pearl. No, it was a promise, an indication, at the prophesied end of frivolity. 

"In a stormy night, the red light bright, 

The Carmine Moon, a sight of fright. 

My laughter fades, frivolity wanes,

Tears shape plains, the figure of rains. 

Cursed to knowledge, fate never lies, 

Greed for power, even a God's demise. 

A meticulous scheme, an open regime, 

Soon to gleam, then only to dream. 

A child's shine, a flame so divine, 

Their incline… a choice to underline." 

Our Lord's words fell from my lips for the hundredth time. Their meaning, even after years of communal pondering, a mystery. 

As were all deities' words. 

I pushed off from the tower's edge, looking behind at the people standing by me.

The Veiled studied my void-black eyes radiating with unsurmountable determination against my equally dark, glossy hair. With the alien filter of red covering existence, the emotions in my eyes must've seemed inhuman. Or at the very least, they felt as such.

Soaked from the downpour of rain, my black dress, flopped and drooping, looked more akin to one of a wraith's. 

The simple picture of me would've been enough to make a more cowardly person faint from fear. Luckily, my subordinates were anything but cowardly. Nor did they fear. 

My five most trusted subordinates dropped to a knee, as if to signal their eagerness and readiness. Though their tier of Veteran-Warriors and their role at the vanguard of Frivol's brigade was no secret, they never wore protective armor, instead clad in tight matt robes. Topped with a veil that seemed to absorb any and all color, their expressions were hidden — their thoughts a mystery. 

Enemies used to cower before the Veiled, for their reputation to never wear armor was a mark of superiority. There was no need for armor, if you didn't plan on getting hit, after all.

Though what our nemeses, whose numbers were only ever minimal, were overly prudent or ignorant to, was their judgment of the Veiled. Because while true to their calling, the Veteran-Warriors of Frivol were extremely listless, idle, laconic, but faithful. And as believers in fate, summoning equipment was beneath them, for we believed that fate was unchangeable. Our deaths predetermined, and our wounds a punishment. 

Free of heavy armor, they shredded and ripped through barrages of armies and masses of soldiers like unstoppable fiends of hell. Stopping only when the opposing general's head was on a pike. 

But while skilled and powerful beyond belief, the Veiled, unlike only the Gods, were not immortal. 

My name and tier, known only as Arch-Priestess Seraphine of Frivol, was to be trivial as I reached out a hand towards them. I said nothing as dark wind started forming seemingly out of nowhere around my hand. A blade resembling an ancient jian, made entirely out of strings of ebony wind, slowly took form. My palm gripped for the handle. 

"For Frivol," I said. They echoed.

My eyes bore through their bowed heads as I swung my blade in a wide semicircle, decapitating all five of the Veiled — the feared and revered warriors — with minimal movement. Their heads toppled over forward with heavy thuds on the tower's wet rock floor. 

The blood of headless corpses swam out with a radiance of all colors, absorbed into the wet of the rain and tinged with the scarlet shade of the moon, the uppermost floor of the rock tower looked more like a scene from the Dream Realm. 

Was this the first decision made of one's own accord? I thought to myself. Was it fate that died alongside frivolity? 

The Lord of Frivol also wielded fate and fabrication, after all. 

Was fate the power of inaction? How feeble is our Lord now, if frivolity is no more?

These and many other thoughts scurried inside my mind as I admired the rainbow-like blood with the distant expression of an assumable traitor. 

A frosty breeze flew past me, almost as if taunting me, and I let out a deep sigh. The reality of the sin I committed started to weigh heavily on my heart. And my now ragged breath felt heavy on my chest. 

The responsibility of a following had been mine to bear. The safety and prosperity of Frivol's people, my task. But I had failed. Not only had I failed, but with this deed I was the very person who nudged the first domino to their downfall... All I could do was aspire to fight for their worth in remembrance. 

But it was not for a naive notion of guilt or distress. Guilt was for the dense — for the ignorant and the stupid. Distress was for the shortsighted. I was neither. 

The weight I felt upon my chest and heart was not physical, nor otherwise mundane, either. I had bypassed such trivialities long ago. Rather, it was the repercussion of my treacherous deed. The consequence of utilizing a sinister power. A power not belonging to Frivol. 

"Forgive me, My Lord," I managed to whisper out in a stagger while involuntarily kneeling from the pressure of the foreign power. I looked towards the sky, letting the rain drops fall and caress my bare face. Longing for a moment of respite, I hoped to be left in peace in a passing of solemnity. 

'Oh, shut it! I can't believe I agreed to this,' a seemingly annoying voice called out, hindering me from it. 

A light frown appeared on my taciturn visage at that improper remark. But before I could act upon a response, a different voice echoed in its wake:

'Have you lost all rationality, you fool? Don't talk with such vulgarness!' This voice scolded as it also failed to keep its displeasure under control. 

"Silence!" I commanded with the last of my breath, resting my hand on the round rocks of the tower level when a further migraine swayed my figure. Nevertheless, joy found its way to my heart. The reality of this situation was now clear and, though the pain of my shattered soul was unbearably persistent, I could breathe a sigh of relief.

Indeed, with no one but corpses around to heed my command, it would have seemed as though I may have gone mad — irritated by apparent thin air — since the voices were only audible in my mind. 

Perhaps that would even be the eventual outcome — the repercussions and risks of this gamble were abstruse and unclear. But right now, though maddening as I must've looked, I was as sane and focused as a person could be.

Because the sin I committed was not something as banal as manslaughter. Nor was it as despicable as treason, though people would definitely assume as such. No, the sin I committed was going against my own ideology and morality, and although it was committed with righteous intentions, to me, it was worse than betrayal. 

In a world where mortals awaken with an unique affinity to a God, breaking that devotion — especially as a priestess — was a deeply frowned upon act. With the devotion to one's God, a mortal was blessed with powers known as the Graces. Divine gifts that grew in strength with the depth of one's faith. A miniscule fragment of that deity's reign. 

Only a fool would choose to willingly turn their back to their God. Which sane person would choose to willingly give up power?

But most critically, breaking that connection and forsaking one's deity was a sign of doubt. And as a person with the highest order of influence, that made for a poor development. 

So when the Veiled and I, as high-ranking worshippers of the Church of Frivol, decided to use an Aptitude originating from Consciousness — a power of which's essence was wielded by a different God — to morph our souls and minds into one body, the threads of our Lord's reign were all but sewered. 

Concealing such an action was impossible. Soon enough, the followers of distant Churches in this world and others will wage war over our lands. They'll kill our fanatics, burn our temples, and rewrite our history. With its champions gone, there was no hope in resistance. Only ash and silence would remain of our culture. 

I knew this. I was as sure of it as I was sure of this risqué play of mine. But that's exactly what this was. A gambit. One played out of desperation. 

Because I could not allow the child born of fate to be reached. Could not allow that child to be influenced, nor could I allow it to live freely of his own accord. 

The importance or significance or role that child possessed was unclear, but for age-old prophecies to not only have existed, but to also have been fulfilled, it had to be something monumental. 

And I could not be as arrogant as to assume my sole power, while substantial, to be consequential enough to accomplish my Lord's will. I needed power and, as critical as it may sound, I had to find a way to gain it outside of my Lord's allowance.

Because I was not as ignorant, nor could I be as careless as to treat an existence born of fate lightly. Even with the combined power of five Veteran-Warriors merged within my body and soul, I doubted even this monstrous amalgamation, if it were to miraculously not spontaneously self-combust in the nigh future, would be enough to subdue fate. To endure the immortal's new will over fate. 

I was putting not only my own life, but also the lives of millions of followers, at risk for a gamble. 

And all this for what? 

I guess I would find out eventually. Fate was a difficult concept to grasp. To understand it, one needed to take a leap of faith. To bear the complications until the plot eventually straightened out and you could see the end of the line. Fortunately, the followers of Frivol were all too adept at that. 

The complication came at the impossibility of overcoming the concept of fate. Because how would the child behave in the nexus of the complexities of fate? Would it merely be a means to an end — a pawn ironically played of desperation by our Lord himself? Would it be unbound to fate? Or would it be an unpredictable variable altogether? 

I wasn't sure. I couldn't be sure. Nobody could. At least not until I met them. Until I got to know them. And when I did, I would either mentor them — edify them — or kill them… And I sure as hell hoped it wouldn't be the latter.

Now somewhat replenished from the cruel burden of using the Aptitude, I gained my footing and stumbled an uneasy step forward to watch the fog of the heavy downfall reach halfway up the rock tower. 

Letting go of the jian, the black wind dispersed into a whirlwind around my boots. Ignorant of the rain, which now looked like I was standing in a waterfall, I jumped over the parapet and off the rock tower. The black wind around my feet spread out, levitating me first, then rocketing me upwards with speeds I never once imagined to reach. 

The voices in my mind broke their silence for a gasp, and I could feel their surprise and astonishment as their emotions flooded into me. But I did not care. I could feel it. Even with our now combined vitality, it was still not enough. It wouldn't be enough. 

The more I continued to gust in a vertical line against the rain, the drops whisking my face like razors, the more I felt this indescribable emotion of insignificance. The clouds, which would normally carry the heavy rain, seemed to be non-existent. 

Of course they would be. How else would I be able to see the moon? I thought in hindsight. 

Rain clouds always covered the view of the sky. And even on a night as dark as the Underworld, they would be noticeable in light of the crimson shade. But they weren't. It was as though the downpour was truly coming from the heavens. As though this downfall was truly, simply Frivol's tears.

Strangely, I found comfort in that fact. It was a confirmation of sorts. The prophecy I was led to believe and prepare for held its merit. Faith was inconsequential if one had proof. I hadn't betrayed my own morality for nothing.

I flew through the open sky, cold wind drying my eyes. It was maybe a hundred leagues into the air when I suddenly heard it. No, first I felt it. The air, which was already scarce in such altitude, started to vibrate. Slowly at first, but then my insides began to feel odd and my heartbeat became unsteady. It was as if tiny hammers were hitting it from all sides in an inconsistent rhythm. 

The sky rumbled in tact to the vibrations. I looked around completely unoriented of myself. Everywhere I looked, the same scarlet toned fog could be seen. The direction of the downfall, the only orientation I had of where was up and where was down. 

Then I heard it. A blood curdling sound resonated amongst the horizon, responding to the prior rumbling, loud and terrifying. My palms, cold by the high atmosphere, began to feel sweat, and I subconsciously held them to my ears. 

A sound which sounded like a truly powerful being was all but spitting down on the world. It could not be muffled by my futile attempts as it visibly vibrated amongst the sky in a wave of terror. I felt liquid dripping between my fingers as my mind responded to the vibrations in kind, shaking my insides to its rhythm. 

Then I finally saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, a red thunderbolt struck down hundreds — if not tens of hundreds — of leagues away. I could not be sure of the distance. The fog of warm rain was much too thick for me to be of any certitude.

And I was modest in calling it a thunderbolt. No, the way it struck straight down, without a curve or dent, made me remember my prior feeling of insignificance. 

The sudden flash made it look like it was day for a heartbeat. Then it was gone. The rain along with it. The moon, back to its original color. The fog slowly evaporated as the sky began to sensitively cool down. The night, once again nostalgic. Everything was silent. 

I looked towards the direction of the thunderbolt, my mind as blank and silent as the now empty night's sky. Blood dripped down the sides of my neck, but I ignored it. This went on for a few seconds, or a few eons. I had no way of knowing as my perception of time was suddenly lost on me. 

'Well, too late to back out now,' the improper voice of reason suddenly broke the tension.