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40. The blessing
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 09:55:30 +0000 UTCThe messenger slowly levitated down from the sky. He descended with otherworldly, inexplicable grace. It was like watching a tornado slowly extend itself from the clouds, a sense of nature’s deadliness ever-present in the air.
The being finally stopped a few centimeters above the ground, never touching it fully. It then raised its clawed hand, lifting two fingers up in a gesture of welcome.
After that, the aura lessened a bit. People kept their heads lowered, but some breaths could be heard as they remembered to take in the air.
The creature then slowly levitated towards the priests standing in a row with their heads bowed, but not kneeling. As it approached, the people who would be sacrificed were the only ones to raise their heads. There was no fear in their eyes, except for Tom, who lay frozen, his face pressed to the ground.
But the rest looked at Stjarnmosa, not an ounce of hesitation in their eyes. There was worship and awe, and happiness, as they gazed upon the creature as if the aura did not affect them, or perhaps touched them differently.
The sacred being first approached the person farthest to the left, placing Astrid fifth, and Ophelia as the last to be blessed.
The young man gritted his teeth as the eyes beneath the elk skull arrived before him, gazing down at him. I could see he was fighting against something, as if there was a weight pressing his head down. He finally raised his head in jittery movements. Once his eyes met the messenger's, he froze, his chest rising in quicker and quicker movements. I could practically sense the panic slowly growing inside of him.
The being slowly straightened itself, raising its paw to show the sharp claw. The man was about to panic, but then the person kneeling before him touched his hand. The future priest looked down.
The old man had a leisurely smile on his face, completely unfitting for the scene of struggle and horror that took place. With love and care, he took the young man's hand and squeezed it, as if asking him to do what was right.
The man gritted his teeth, one of his hands staying in the embrace of the older man, and the other going to his chest where a dagger was in a sheath strung around his neck, previously hidden under his clothes.
The older man went back to gazing upon the messenger as if he were watching a particularly beautiful sunset, while the younger man pulled out the dagger. After a bit of hesitation, he placed it against the man’s back and, with every last ounce of will and tears slowly falling from his eyes, he pushed the blade.
The man did not even wince, his face rather showing ecstasy as the hands of the sacred being slowly, and with surprising gentleness, extended to him. The palms cupped his face as he fell forward, or rather, just his body fell.
With my own soul being quite strong, with 18 according to the pendulum, I managed to sense something. The body fell, but the soul was gently held by the messenger. At that distance, with the aura in the air, it was more of a guess, but I was quite sure.
The man would get the afterlife he had agreed upon in the contract. His body fell with bliss written on his face.
The messenger’s hands twisted unnaturally, turning 180 degrees, and placing something on the creature’s back with gentleness. The man’s soul was probably now riding him.
The creature then extended its hand toward the young man and put its claw in front of his face. It then pressed it against the man's forehead. A bit of blood was drawn, but the man did not wince. His eyes rolled back, and his mouth moved as if he were having a silent conversation.
Finally, he fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The man was struggling to get up, confusion, happiness, and sadness mixed on his face.
I could sense a new aura radiating from him. He received some sort of blessing, likely also becoming a full-fledged cleric.
The messenger moved on with the same thing happening with the next three people until it was time for Astrid. She raised her head and looked at it. Her posture was rigid and tense, but her movements were fluid and decisive. She took the dagger and, with one quick movement, put it in the back of the person kneeling in front of her, only a shadow of sadness appearing on her face.
But this time, there was a bit of a difference. First, the creature also took hold of the person’s soul, but he placed it higher on his back, almost on his own neck.
But the biggest change was what came after. It extended its clawed hands, but instead of leaving a mark on Astrid’s forehead, it cupped her head. The creature then brought its head closer to hers, slowly matching the level of Astrid’s eyes.
I could see some light start to shine in the previously dark hollows of the skull. Astrid opened her mouth in a silent scream. I could see she was fighting with herself not to try to fight the hand holding her. I watched in silence, rooting for her. Whatever was happening was clearly taking a toll on her.
Her breath quickened, and blood slowly seeped from her tear ducts as her previously lively eyes started to become milky white, the same as the oracle’s. This time, the blessing took twice as much time as before, but finally the creature let her go.
She fell to one knee, not dropping to the ground entirely. She seemed to be looking around, blinking. I could not tell if she was blind now, but it didn’t seem that way. Also, a new aura radiated from her, similar to the previous priests, but it was stronger and, in a sense, deeper.
But it seemed whatever it was, she pulled through.
Like that, the other four were also blessed. They all pulled through, although with mixed results. From what I noticed, the higher the messenger placed a soul upon its back, the stronger the aura radiating from the person after the blessing.
But finally, it was time for Ophelia.
Whatever was happening to the other sacrifices, it was not the same for Tom, as there was not an ounce of the calmness and awe of the people in brown robes. Instead, he was screaming in horror, trying not to look at the thing in front of him.
But I couldn't care less about him. Instead, I focused my gaze on Ophelia.
She was trembling like a leaf during a storm. She was hyperventilating, her eyes glued to the ground.
“Come on, raise your head,” I whispered. “Take what is rightfully yours.”
Tom shut his eyes and turned to her as far as his bindings allowed him. His panicked voice was loud enough to be heard through the sound of lightning jumping between the trees.
“Please!” he was pleading. “I—I can do anything.”
I clicked my tongue as I saw she was slowly losing the resolve she had.
The messenger straightened himself, showing the claw.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Tom continued.
Ophelia was breathing faster and faster, her hand frozen by her side, her eyes darting from left to right, not willing to raise them.
“I will help you! When we get out of here, I can pay you as much as you want!” Tom screamed. “I’ll ask my father, and you can work in any hospital you want, I swear!”
Ophelia’s eyes opened a bit. Anger surfaced in them. The anger of someone who wanted to decide her own fate, not to be just someone to be bought and traded by those with more power. Those were the eyes of someone who wanted the power over one's own fate.
I only hoped she had the will to seize it.
The messenger floated a bit higher, spreading its arms in a threatening gesture. It was losing its patience.
Ophelia screamed as she finally raised her head. Tom continued to scream, but she finally looked at the creature. Her eyes opened even wider than before, but she held her head high.
The creature brought the clawed hands closer. The threat was obvious. It was her or him. Tears swelled in her eyes as her hand went for the dagger. Her sacrifice was screaming, trying to buy her, not understanding the situation, not knowing he was just helping her resolve.
A moron raised in the belief in power of money would now be killed by it. I smiled a bit.
Finally, her fingers tightened around the handle of the dagger as she pulled out the blade from the sheath.
The sacred being floated in front of her, its arms raised in the air as if to strike.
With a scream, she swung the dagger.
And—
Nothing.
She expected some change, some sensation that didn’t come. She looked down. The blade did not bite into the skin. She stood there in absolute shock as the creature let out a threatening whistle-like howl.
I now understood why the chief’s son was smiling. Someone had switched her dagger for a dull blade during the preparations. Probably him or an elder associated with the little shit.
She tried desperately to stab again, now with more fear than determination, as the thing seemed ready to strike her down for disobedience. But the dull blade only bruised Tom. It would not deal a fatal wound.
And then what I did not want most to happen, happened.
The creature gave a warning strike.
The clawed hand came down. It was only a warning, but the strike was enough to leave a nasty gash on her arm. Ophelia winced in pain and dropped the dagger. Tom, on the other hand, seeing her bleed instead of him, started laughing.
The blade wasn’t enough to kill him. He celebrated with maniacal laughter escaping his lips. He himself was wild-eyed and barely sane, as he jeered at her, thinking it was some divine punishment for Ophelia for daring to hurt him. He screamed some incoherent words about her getting what was coming to her as the messenger raised another claw.
I sighed. I would have to beat the living shit out of that annoying guy when I got the chance. She had real promise.
But then something happened that surprised even me. With a wild scream, Ophelia jumped onto Tom. With vision blurred by tears, she straddled him and closed her hands on his throat.
The messenger froze with a claw ready to strike, as Tom tried to fight, but with both hands and legs bound, he stood no chance.
Ophelia screamed as she continued to choke him until finally his body went limp. She still straddled him, breathing heavily, until the creature moved.
She flinched, ready for another strike—but it didn’t come.
The thing went for Tom’s body, and with moves lacking any previous gentleness, it swiped its claw. This time, instead of moving the soul to its back, the claw went toward the darkness that was its head under the skull. The soul was taken, now for the gift.
Ophelia sat there, her hands resting limply alongside her body as she looked at the creature. The messenger bent down. I thought for a second it would be the same as with the oracle, and it would look into her eyes, but that didn’t happen.
Stjarnmosa bent down even lower, as the many hands on its head froze in place, ceasing their strange dance. It brought the hands closer to Ophelia as they started to touch and gently stroke her face, drying the tears on her cheeks.
Then, all of a sudden, they grabbed her by the neck and torso and raised her in the air, bringing her closer to the messenger. She tried to fight, but she stood no chance against the strength of the sacred being.
The thing then raised its head toward the night sky, and Ophelia went limp, her mouth moving in the same way, without any words spoken, as the previous chosen. After a while, she returned to herself as a strange aura started to swell in the air.
Unlike the previous cases, she did not go limp. Instead, the thing used its claw to pry her mouth open. It then parted its own jaws.
It was a strange sight. The maw moved, revealing an opening in the darkness. It looked as if its mouth was a lake of night sky, stars, and galaxies inside, as a black snake with a crescent moon on its forehead slithered from the messenger’s mouth and into Ophelia’s.
She gagged and struggled, but to no effect. The creature finally disappeared inside her.
The being then let go of her, having finished its duty, as it went back into the sky.
She was left on the ground coughing and dry heaving, but that was useless. The creature had not gone into her stomach, but into her soul. I immediately knew what it was. She received a familiar. It was living inside her astral body.
I looked up as the messenger finally disappeared into the night sky. The lightning slowed down, finally stopping, as the clouds swam back into their place, filling the rift in the sky.
The people seemed to slowly come back to themselves, and the chosen were beginning to stand up, looking around. I had maybe five minutes to do what I wanted to do before the knowledge she received settled into her subconscious mind.
I stepped down from the platform and approached the woman, still dry heaving on the ground in shock.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and raised her to look at me. I saw Astrid turn toward us, not sure if by sound or sight. I had to ask her later, but now was not the time. Ophelia tried to speak, but I cut her off.
“What is your name?” I asked firmly.
“What?” she asked back, confused.
I released some of my mana, trying to attune it to the space element I sensed inside the messenger’s altar, as I asked again, “What is your name?”
“W-why? It’s Ophelia, what jus—” she started.
But I cut her off again. I needed her confused. I needed her mind to start looking for answers on instinct, not reason. “Who are you?”
“What?”
“Who are you?” I repeated firmly, not letting her look away from my eyes.
“I’m Ophelia, I’m a student.”
“Praised be the Vastness, the Everpresent,” I said as I pushed my attuned mana toward her.
“Why would—” Her confusion grew.
“What is your name?”
“Ophelia.”
“Who are you?”
“A ser—student,” she stammered.
I pushed even more of my magic around her. “Praise the Everpresent, fabric of all things.”
“Praised,” she answered in a sleepy voice, just to go back to confusion. “Why are you doing this? What d—”
“What is your name?”
“Wha—”
“What is your name?”
Her confusion grew alongside panic. “Oph—”
“What are you?”
“I—I—”
“How could you ever bend the veil?” I announced in a taunting voice.
“What did you say?” she asked with anger, the confusion disappearing for a split second.
“What is your name?”
“O—”
“What are you?”
“...”
“What are you?”
“I—”
“The veil could never listen to you.”
“How dare—”
“What are you?!” I finally screamed the last part.
She stiffened, her eyes starting rolling back as she was about to pass out—but at that very moment, I felt her push me away.
She screamed her final words before she fell forward. “I am a servant to the ancient stars! The voice of the Lady of the Blessed Night! Songstress of the unmaking! The priestess of the many-eyed sky! How dare. You. Ask. T-those. Ques—” She lost consciousness as I caught her body.
I smiled, looking at her, having made my decision. “You did very well. My new apprentice.”
