Corpses. Everywhere.
The stench of smoke and burning flesh infected my lungs, a throbbing in my right leg told me 'run, run', paired by a silent emptiness in my head that contrasted the ear-piercing screams of my aching body, something I didn't care to question. Something I was used to.
I look around to study the decimated lands. The Sacred Tree of Ruchavaya, so lovely and fragile, now burned with intense fury, its elegant fruit rotting as they fall from each ashen leaf. They were once golden and ripe, saving thousands from starvation and disease. Now they lie discarded near a barren hill, where beauty and flowers and life once resided. It was truly a pity. A pity, and a sacrifice. One that I lacked to understand.
I watched as the children cried for their mothers, as the mothers cried for their unmoving babies. The people of Ruchavaya would never forget this, and I couldn't tell if it was a good thing, or a curse. I watched as the many golden haired citizens ran and screamed, as some subjected themselves to their fate, letting themselves be taken by our soldiers. It was that memory of gold—the beauty, that reminded me of the sword at my hip, a beautiful rapier, light weight with a tightened handle, made to hold small and still-aging hands, just how I preferred it.
My gift for my 15th birthday.
It was with that reminder, that I remembered my purpose was for coming here—what that gift really meant, that I would attend my first 'purge' of rebellion against the council and palace and neutralize the fire within. Yes, neutralize that fire. Neutralize and conquer and adjust that fire—with another one. One that burned much higher and brighter and deadlier than theirs. The threat of execution and death, only in exchange for their surrender.
It wasn't my decision, but the truth of the matter is that I did this. I did this to those innocent people, those happy and peaceful lives who just happened to know the people inciting a rebellion. I did this. I should be ashamed, guilty. I should be on my knees begging for forgiveness.
But as the fire burnt on, I found nothing. Nothing of guilt, of sorrow, of joy. Nothing.
As if told me exactly what I was itching to know.
That nothing was waiting for me at the end of that tunnel. That nothing would hear me, see me, or miss me in my final moments, should I happen to die here. That, as if punishing me for my apathy, the word would not welcome me in its arms. And strangely, contradicting that mundane static in my head, a dreadful weight settled in the base of my stomach.
There it was, the emptiness at the back of my mind, staring at me. Consuming me whole.
It would eat me alive.
And not a single bone would be left of me.
In a fit of coughs and wheezes, air is thrown back into my lungs, forcing me awake. I clutch my chest, head reeling forward as I try to drag myself back into a sense of control, back into reality. My eyes acclimate to the light peeking through the library windows, a book at my front and a chair to my back. Almost like a song, my mind whispered promises in my ear. You are safe. You are safe. Like always, I had forgotten. The burning and screaming I so vividly saw no longer existed in this time, in this place.
The palace.
I grimace at the wetness of my cheeks, the static in my stomach stirring in a way so unknown but familiar. I feel a light tap on my shoulder, snapping me out of my head.
"Diana" The Rugen calls, his voice gentle and patient as it has always been. He places two bottles in front of me, the movement languid and graceful as he takes a seat to my side. "What have I told you about skipping your medication? Even if you don't feel it, I assure you, you will break." he scolds, choosing his words carefully. A silent warning.
I wipe my tears, opening the two bottles with careful precision, following a routine I've grown all too used to. He watches every move I make, making sure I actually swallow the medication before standing up to get me water from a servant nearby. He says nothing, not a comforting word or reassuring sentence. Despite his indifference, I know he does it to make me stronger. Not that I could even feel the comfort should he decide to provide it anyways.
His stare tells me everything, from his worries to his doubts. He doesn't say it, but the message is clear from his warning. A warning, and a constant reminder that I'm different, that I lack so many things that make me human, that connect my mind to my body, and yet, that is the only word that can describe me. Human. Painfully, and disgustingly human. At least, my body is.
I take this medication to protect me from whatever mental blight infected me during my first 'gift' on my 15th birthday. My natural constitution makes me unable to feel the distress that comes with it, but The Rugen is convinced that this particular illness of mine will one day break me, like a fragile porcelain doll that is capable of being broken. He sighs, studying my tired eyes, my sunken cheeks.
"Diana, do you still dream?" he asks. His question isn't specific, but I know what he means by it. My nightmares. The vivid dreams of blood and ash that I can't quite seem to shoo away. The same dreams that began to plague me ever since that first trip to the southernmost borders of Ruchavya, my first taste of blood. I nod, earning a troubled noise from him.
The Rugen is my guardian.
More specifically, he's the closest thing I've ever had to a parent and a teacher. He raised me, fed me, and trained me. I've gone through many trials throughout my years in the palace, all of which steeled and prepared me for the role I now fill. A role I inherited from my late father. Many of those trials were not for the faint of heart. It seemed my human body recognized this, and on the eve of my 15th birthday, I was gifted with an illness. One that stripped many things from me.
I could not eat. Many times, I could not sleep. I was plagued with vivid nightmares and visions I would sometimes get from certain 'triggers' that I'd smell or see. My mind could no longer contend with my body. The crying, the screaming, was a side effect of that loss of control. Even if the static would erase all emotional traces of that illness, it was clear even to me—even if I did not fear it, that something in me was breaking.
"Remember what I taught you. You may not feel as intensely as others, but that doesn't mean you completely lack emotions." he flicks my nose playfully, causing me to scrunch my face in an ugly expression. He laughs. "You are no different than any other, Diana. You may not feel, but you can almost feel. Use that to take care of yourself, for Hiraeth's sake." he huffs. I nod, taking the water from his other hand, which he dangles in front of me.
I've always been this way. It was a trait carried from my father, from his father, from his father's mother, and so forth. This emptiness I carry, in place of the emotions I'm supposed to feel. It's clear that my body doesn't carry that same sentiment, however. I think, maybe through all of these nightmares, that I almost feel scared. I almost feel guilty. But what would someone like me know anything about what I should've felt?
"I assume that is all you're packing?" he asks, gesturing to the small pouch to my side.
"Yes" I reply, holding it out to him. "It has some documents and my library pass. I packed minimally because you said my essentials would already be provided for me." I explain. He raises a brow.
"Documents? You finally get a break from work and you've brought documents with you?" he huffs in disbelief, brushing through my things. "I suggest you bring a coat, some food, and return all of these back in your office, Diana." he says firmly, holding out the few documents I stored in that pouch out in the open.
"No need." I deadpan, grabbing the documents from his hand. "I have nothing that will disturb the Vow of Fog, and besides…"
I wouldn't exactly call this a 'break', are the words I lack to omit. A lesson is what the Rugen called this trip. And though I wasn't really fond of my work (or anything for a matter of fact), I was not about to come back from my 'break' just to be worked to death by the papers I'd miss. The Rugen rolls his eyes, the only indication of annoyance I can see behind his checkered mask, and rips the documents from my hands.
Before I can protest, a wave of his wrist makes the documents disappear and a bag of dried meat and a canteen of water appear in my pouch. It's times like these where I learned to forfeit battles I can't win. Another lesson he's taught me. I sigh, taking the pouch from his hands in defeat. He pats my head, a familiar gesture he's repeated for as long as I've known him, and moves his arm to the door.
"Shall we be off, Angel?" he grins, the nickname rolling off his tongue so naturally. It was a play on 'An', the other nickname he called me when wasn't scolding or teaching me. A nickname I hadn't realized I had gotten used to, had acknowledged. I suppose it really has been a long time since I started living here.
I nod, taking his hand. To the palace gates, where I'd start my 83rd trial.
When we arrive at the outer gates of the palace, the head mage, Miriam, is already waiting with a soft smile on her face. She bows, crossing her left hand to her right shoulder, before rising to meet my gaze once more. Like most citizens of Morgana, she was merfolk, with golden scales and webbed fingers. Her hair was a dark blue, covered by her large robe and conservative clothing, which covered most of her skin. "My lady," she greets. The title was new, nothing like the grandness and reverence of my old one, but it was necessary for the vow I was about to take. The Vow of Fog, a vow meant to erase any and all memories pertaining to the palace. A vow meant to cover and hide secrets anyone may know about this place.
"The other mages and I have already finished the mass glamour you ordered to be set in place last Tuesday. No one but the High Council or the 25 Heirs should be able to recognize you." she explains, pointing her palm towards a large glowing orb at the top of one of the palace's many towers. That must be the conduit for the glamour then. I nod, extending my hand out in a silent order. Nervously, she places my hands in hers.
"A-Alright. Please recite the words that appear in your mind after the spell is cast." she stammers, her eyes glowing faintly in the shadow of the palace gates. As she speaks her next words, her voice booms in the same way that magic reverberates in the air around us. "You shall speak no secrets, Tell no soul. Remember none that binds you, find none that shackles you. Live from which our ruler wills you, and that of which our palace gives you." she commands. Something tugs at the back of my mind, beckoning me to speak the words that will bind me to the vow.
"I am the fog that will live to block prying hands. I am the will in which the ruler gives me" I vow. I feel something snap around my mind, like a lock placed over a steel gate around my essence. It feels weird vowing to her, that so-called 'ruler' I vow to. Weird, because...
I can't remember why.
The Rugen places a hand on my shoulder, causing me to turn to where he now stands.
"Hello Angel, can you tell me who you are?" he asks. My lips form into a thin line as I genuinely consider his question.
"I am…" I begin, trying to grab at thoughts and memories that now escape me. "I… work in the palace. The Rugen is my teacher, and I am…" I think again, looking around at every servant around me, which tense whenever my eyes turn in their direction. I pause. I was someone to fear, that's clear enough to me. What is it that all servants of the palace share? Oh right…
"...and I am a servant of Her Majesty the Razier" I finish. The servants around me physically relax, with the Rugen showing a similar reaction to my words. For some reason, the static in my stomach stirs at the mention of her, and though I seem to work for her, I can't seem to remember a single thing about Her Majesty herself. A side effect of the vow, I suppose.
"The vow was effective. Miriam, you may leave." he announces. Miriam nods and quickly re-enters the palace, not even looking back as she escapes into the garden. The Rugen turns back to me, a stern air around him I can't quite decipher.
"An," he addresses me with a sigh. I look him in the eyes, a soft gentleness lies within them. "This trip is meant to help you, so as much as I say it is, this is not a lesson. Live and learn, angel, and I'll see you in a few seasons." he pulls me in a hug, and as much as I'd like to return it, I don't know how. He holds me with a type of affection I've only felt from him a few times, and one that I severely lacked in any realm, both human and Zariera.
One of a parent and his child.
I nod, the only sign of acceptance I can give him, and he smiles, pulling away.
"Stay safe, Diana." he squeezes my hand affectionately before letting go.
"As to you, Ruga Shen." I reply, addressing him by his official title to set a wall between us, the right hand of our Emperor, The Zen Razier. Nothing more, nothing less. It was a wall I knew we both needed, the wall wedged between the second most powerful being in Zariera and the girl who was forced to take on a similar power. A girl dragged into his world. We could never be family, even if I found it in me to feel the happiness of a girl who's finally found home, I could never truly call this place my home. Not the palace, not ever.
I turn to enter the carriage, not bothering to look back his way, to see the disappointment that may be painted over every part of him I could see. Not to mention the part of him I couldn't see. His face.
Right, his face. In the time we've known each other, not once had I ever seen his face. How could I possibly be family with someone who didn't even trust me enough to see the bare minimum, the part of someone that almost everyone shows.
As I see the hills fly past me through the carriage window, I feel the static in me stir in a way I couldn't quite recognize.
Then there was that too.
Who could ever be family with someone like me?