Warnings: Unnecessary present tense.
Lingo: Mono is Japanese for thing. It could, of course, mean something completely different depending on how it's written, but this meaning stuck out to me and inspired this, so. There you go.
Also, I don't see the Dormin as a malevolent being. I hope this comes across here, though Wander has his prejudices. Gah, I could go on forever about this game's mythology...
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He's made mistakes in his life, but none so grave as this. The night Mono had been sacrificed is blank in his mind. It's as if it had never happened.
The cold corpse of Mono in his arms is the only evidence that something has happened.
And now? Now, he's on a fool's quest, prepared to do anything for a girl he's never even met. It's almost obscene, how he's handled her lifeless body without her permission, how he holds her close as they move inexorably toward the Forbidden Land. He can't bear to look on her; he keeps the coarse, plain blanket wrapped tightly around her, although it's almost as if he can feel her radiance through the material. Even in death, she glows.
Once he thinks about it, he realizes that, no, it's not about this girl. She's nothing special to him, really, beyond a pretty face. For all he knew, she could be the unwanted get of a whore. Who she was doesn't matter. It's what she is that bothers him.
She's a failure.
His failure. His inaction. His compliance with barbaric rituals.
And he remembers, long ago, the priests had told him of the god of this forgotten land, the god whom everyone exhulted, the god who had complete control over life and death and could reverse each condition as it saw fit. The Dormin - many in one, male and female - is who he must meet. He'll do whatever it asks, he'll bear its scorn for his kind, the people who were taught of a new god and suddenly found the Dormin to be blasphemous. It's been split into pieces, and he worries it can no longer work its magic.
It's not the time for worry any more. He's stolen the sword, he's stolen the girl. Each step Agro makes on the bridge built of impossible curves and runes marks the finality of his desicion.
Irony - it seems so strong here. The Dormin can control beings made of light, yet they manifest themselves in shadow, killed by the magic sword that amplifies the very light of which they're made. Perhaps the power has been tainted, or perhaps it's just an old lie to make a primitive god seem more palatable.
"Hmm?" More of a rumbling than an articulation, the voice is everywhere yet he can trace it to the ceiling where light cascades from a circular hole. "Thou possesses the Ancient Sword? So thou art mortal..."
"Are you Dormin? I was told that in this place at the ends of the world there exists a being who can bring back the souls of the dead," he says, unsure if the being can hear him, wherever it resides.
"Thou art correct... We are the one known as Dormin." It doesn't confirm that it can restore the dead, but, then again, it doesn't need to. Despite all he had been told about it, he finds himself pleading with it, looking to the frail spectre sleeping on the pedestal.
"She was sacrificed for she had a curse fate. Please... I need you to bring back her soul..."
A pause, and an earthquake of an unkind chuckle. "That maiden's soul? Souls that are once lost cannot be reclaimed... Is that not the law of mortals?"
If he were to place an emotion to the voice, he would say the god is bitter. He bows his head in anticipation of the denial. "With that sword, however, it may not be impossible."
His head snaps up again. "Really!?"
"That is, of course, if thou manage to accomplish what I ask." He can almost hear the smile, cruel and cold yet full of the promise of a fulfilled bargain.
A task set by such a being would not be simple. He hesitates, only for a moment, thinking of the price he will have to pay. Could he give his life, just to be rid of the guilt?
"What do I have to do?"
Redemption is never easy.