Shadow of the Abyss

Aria had been taken back by the sudden shout and jerking of the carriage, tossing her off the chair into Altair's embrace. She winced, brushing her rosy nose that had struck his chest, and looked up teary-eyed.

"What's going on?" Aria sniffled.

Distantly, Altair listened to the outside chaos and touched Aria's bruised nose. His finger shone a golden hue, and in the blink of an eye, the rosy blemish vanished.

"It will seem the Bastard has fallen off his horse," Altair said. "Better?"

Aria nodded with a bright smile. " Thanks, Big Brother, I didn't know you knew Healing Magic!" she exclaimed vibrantly, squishing her nose with wonder in her innocent eyes.

Liana, seated beside her Lady, smiled graciously and peeped her head out as Greymort approached. "Vanro was poisoned." he said, "And the Iron Maidens are refusing to aid him on account of his disrespect. I fear the Sisters of Silence might just outright kill him if he can't make a sufficient offering."

"They wouldn't do that in the open," Liana said, unconvincingly. She had heard many tales of the Sisters of Silence's brutality on the battlefield. Mercy wasn't something they cared about.

"I'm sure they would," Greymort uttered. "And it'll be an issue if it's done before the Lady. That kind of disrespect will surely anger Lord Edwin." he glanced back, cursing beneath his breath. "I merely hope that the Iron Maidens can convince those of the Silence to stay their blades. God knows how much blood they've spilled already."

"Tell the Sisters of Sepith that her Lady wishes no blood be spilled before he's had his chance to pay tribute to Aidios. " Altair said. "As for Vanro, tie him to the carriage and drag his body if you must. What poison?' He rolled his eyes. "He's surrounded by guards all day and night. It's foolish to believe someone managed to poison him.

He's probably hungover. Does he drink a lot?"

"He does," said Liana.

Greymort seemed hesitant. "You do have a point, but—"

Aria rolled her eyes. "Have one of the Knights carry him," she said, unconcern. She had heard how he tried to defend Ser Lim when she woke and had been furious. Storming into her father's office to scream.

Lord Edwin had been so surprised he laughed, seeing his daughter so riled up for the first time in his life.

"As you Command," Greymort said and galloped off.

When the carriage had begun again, Aria had been filled with excitement. It had been her first time in the Free City of Forwin. In the North, within the Iron Citadel of Velmor, Aria rarely saw people aside from humans.

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Curiously, she stared out the window, waving at the various beastkins, orcs, elves, dwarfs, gnomes, and more that caught her eye.

Altair glanced out the other side, catching sight of the Cathedral in the distance that seemed to tower over Forwin. It stood glistering a deep virgin white as if it had never experienced the touch of rain or snow before. Statues of towering angels could be seen in the distance, covering their eyes, mouths, and faces. 'Probably to signify the various Vows,' he thought.

Along the walls, banners of a Winged Blade and Sun stood over a field of gold was erected.

Even a few leagues away, Altair could feel its holy might weighing over his head like a great mountain, seemingly rejecting his existence. He frowned, uncertain as to why he felt this way.

As they moved closer toward the bridge, mountains of guards stood, armed with spears, morningstars, and shields, clad in golden armor forged of mythril. They stood unmoving like statues.

"Paladins of the Dawn, Dawnbreakers," Liana whispered. "The bane of all that is evil."

Altair smirked. "If only that were true," he said. "True evil has no weakness."

"How long do you think it took to polish that armor," Aria asked. "Must be hard. It's so shiny."

"Hours," Altair assured her. "That or minutes if you used a cleaning spell or something." He added, sensing great power held in all of them. 'Three Circle,' he counted silently, shaken by the level of faith and power the church held. With such a force, it was no wonder they survived Seven Hell Tides.

Finally, when they arrived at the great threshold of the Cathedral, one by one, they stepped out like ants before a mountain. They marveled at the grandeur. And before long, they were led inside through the great halls, up flights of stairs into a waiting room.

"You seem uncomfortable," Liana said, noticing Altair's frown.

"... They all feel the same," Altair said, glancing at the Iron Maidens coming and going. "Every person has a unique aura. Everyone. Even the Gods. Yet… these women don't." He stared one down, and as if she sensed him, iron welcomed his gaze as she whirled to him.

"It's like they are the same person."

To her credit, Liana tried. Pushing out her perception, only to frown. All she saw were those who took the Iron Vow.

The Iron Maidens, unlike the Sisterhood of Silence, did consist of men, though not many had the courage or sense of will to castrate or spay themselves before the Iron Vow. Men, more often than not, fled. While women, especially younger women, were all the more willing to make the sacrifice.

"The Seven Vows were ordained by the Seven Seraphim," Liana said grimly. "And once it's taken, the mana will become a part of the Divine. There is power in sacrifice."

"What about you? Would you ever take the Vow of Silence or the Iron Vow?"

Liana nearly laughed. "I'm looking forward to having children," She said. "Perhaps when I was younger, when I was beaten and whipped. But not now." She grinned. "If I'm to die, it'll be with a man in my bed, a beer in my hand, and a child on my tit."

"Quite the response," said Altair when the door to the Archbishop's office opened. They rose and were herded inside by an Iron Maiden.

The Archbishop had been a man of countless years but looked to be in his sixties with a shadow of a youthful vigor. He stood dawned in his ceremonial robes of silver, white, and gold, welcoming Aria with a bow.

"Chosen," he said. "It's an honor to see you yet again. Are these your companions?" He glanced to Greymort, Liana, and finally, Altair, where his eye lingered over the Prince's left. He frowned deeply.

"Archbishop Albert," Aria greeted with a graceful curtsy. "I hope you're well?"

The Archbishop's frown faded into a smile. "Of course!" He said, lifting up his arms to showcase frail muscles. " never better, girl. Though I see you walk with dangerous company." He glanced at Altair. "might I ask your name, child?"

"Altair," he said calmly, his half smile present.

Again, the frown had returned to the Archbishop's aged face. There was something off about him. He sensed evil that wasn't evil, good that wasn't good around the boy.

"Big Brother Altair is kind to me," Aria said, seemingly sensing something in the air.

But the Archbishop would not listen to the words of a child. Chosen or not. Evil usually was kind and sweet. Gentle and caring. And in all his heart, that throbbed with the power of his Six Circles, he knew when he spoke with evil.

And today, its talons had nestled into the Chosen of Aidios.

"Altair," the Archbishop repeated slowly. His voice was somber. "How old are you by chance?"

"Twelve. I'll be making thirteen in the Fall next year," Altair replied, wondering why he'd ask such a question.

Would knowing his age help?

The answer brought no comfort to the Archbishop's grimace. "For a boy of twelve, you carry a lot of blood on your hands." He said, masking the disbelief. "Have you ever thought of taking the oath?"

"No."

Aria lifted her head to Altair, sensing a tension in the air, and shifted her gaze back to the old man. " Don't be mean to Big Brother!" She cried, hugging his leg.

The frown over the Archbishop deepened even more. "That boy is–"

"The Prince of the Vale, the herald of Night," Aria said in a firm and proud voice well beyond what she knew or comprehended, but the words exited her mouth with vigor. "And you will—"

Altair covered her eyes, which had begun bleeding plump slivers of blood; he whispered, "Look no more, Aria." He glanced at the ashen Archbishop with a knowing stare. "It's all right. Big brother isn't in any danger, right?"

"Yes… " the Archbishop said grimly. "If I've offended, then I do apologize. My intent was not to harm but to spread the last word of truth. To persuade… the Prince to join our congregation. Forgive me, princess."

Liana had been frowning, and Ser Greymort trembled with a furious clenching of his jaw.

Altair said nothing and activated The Hands of Nirvana. Soon, a golden radiance fluttered through the Archbishop's office, flooding the room with brilliance seen only by the Divine Arts.

'Was this why the Sisters didn't strike him down?' The Archbishop asked himself, shaken by the light.

Mending the broken blood vessels and damaged meridians that had been strained. Altair patted the little girl's head as she glared at the Archbishop with two fat plump cheeks.

The Prince gave a warm smile, patted her head, and excused himself. When he stepped out, Altair's smile crumbled to a scowl. He touched his left eye, cursing his luck, and stormed off.

It had been his eye that had made the Archbishop suspicious. And then there was the girl, Aria. The more she spoke, the more suspicious Altair became.

'Prince of the Vale,' He recalled Aria's words and wondered if those were her words or the Angel of War, Aidios. If so, how much did she know? Altair clenched his fist and strutted off to the outside with a cold expression. He was missing Ren now. And the ache of his wounds was making him irritable.

Entering the inner Sanctum from the second story, Altair looked down, scrunching his brow at the sight of Vanro below the altar, kowtowed before seven ancient statues.

"... Surely you jest!" Vanro shakenly cried, looking up at a scar-faced woman who bore no mask, yet her expression was hard like iron. Copper-skinned, with almond eyes, the Maiden seemed almost radiant if not for the black scar that had carved through her cheek, tearing it off to reveal bits of jar and cheekbone.

"This is the price." The scarred woman said. She sounded hard as if her voice was tempered by war.

"I will give you money!" Vanro screamed, lifting his teary-eyed face. "Please do not do this!" He cried, clasping his hands together. Vanro looked at her with his pale greenish skin. He pleaded with a coat of sweat burrowing through his surcoat. "My Father is rich! Rich!

I can—"

"We seek not the possession of the High Lord, but the possession of the one to be judged." The scarred woman said.

"Please…"

"You will be given a month to consider your tribute." She said, without expression, and left, leaving Vanro shaking.

"I… can't… I can't," He cried, slouching over as he fainted, muttering a mournful cry.