Strange Myth:
A Hololive Fanfiction
Calliope Mori, Death's own apprentice, reaper of souls, stood in front of a nondescript health food store. It looked a little old, but the windows were clean and the people exiting and entering seemed happy. She looked down at the slip of paper in her hand, confused. "This is the place? Really?"
Her partner, Kiara, scratched her head as well. "The address is right. Doesn't look like any cult hideout that I've ever seen, though." She peered through the glass windows, inspecting what might be a facade. A child accompanying their mother waved at her, and she waved back, the charms on her wrist glittering in the sunlight. "Seems legit to me, Calli. Should we move on, or . . .?"
"No, let's trust our intel." This was the fourth potential hideout of a particularly active death cult in this city alone. The previous three were the real deal, and each of their locations were provided by the hideout that came before it, so . . . "We'll give it a quick check, and if nothing seems out of the ordinary, we'll try somewhere else." Kiara nodded and followed Calli into the store.
It was indeed a functioning grocery. Patrons carried baskets filled with product and inspected produce before taking it to the counter, which was taking money and returning change. Nobody looked at them suspiciously or eyed them like outsiders. It was about the least likely death cult base she'd seen.
They were about to leave, when something strange finally happened. A man entered the store. He went straight to the register and exchanged something with the clerk. When he spotted Calli and Kiara, his face went white as a sheet, and he hustled through a door marked 'employees only.'
Calli looked at Kiara, shrugged, and walked straight through the door after the mystery man. There was a little commotion from the clerk, but they weren't about to stop. And they didn't need to. The storeroom they'd entered was as small as one would expect from a humble local grocer, but there was a conspicuous staircase leading down below the surface.
Now that was familiar. There were plenty of death cults that liked to hide themselves and their rituals where the sun could never reach them. They had some notion about death and its relationship with darkness or some such nonsense. Calli was more than happy to clear up that misunderstanding.
At the bottom of the staircase they didn't find the dreary, dim basement they expected. Instead, they were greeted by a long, brightly lit corridor. They followed that corridor, taking turn after turn before realizing that they'd stumbled into some kind of maze. Calli groaned but kept on trucking. And by the time Kiara had made it halfway through her third anecdote about getting lost in mazes, they reached the end. Or, what Calli really, really hoped was the end.
They crept through the door at the end of the corridor slowly. It wasn't uncommon for these cults to get jumpy when they found strangers in their inner sanctums. The last three were straight up violent, and Calli wasn't about to assume they'd suddenly become timid four hideouts in.
Sneaking through rooms they eventually reached an alarmingly spacious chamber. They should have still been underground, but the high ceiling tapered up into a dome supported by a network of pillars at its base. It was almost like a ballroom. But the centerpiece of this space was a large, ornate shrine surrounded by a handful of undecorated stone slabs. A sizable gathering of people stood at its foot.
"It's bigger than the other ones," Kiara whispered. And it certainly was. The shrines they'd seen so far were about as big as a person, but this one looked like a large shed. It rose towards the ceiling, dwarfing everything and everyone in the chamber. Had they found the source? The center of this apparent web of cult activity?
Only one way to find out.
Calli marched out towards the center of the chamber to confront the congregation gathered there. Her swaying pink hair caught the eye of a man standing on a platform at the center of the group. He glared at her and directed the rest of the cultists to face her.
"I don't think I've ever seen a trespasser in these halls," he said. His voice carried up to the tip of the dome and dispersed. "There should be another. Where is she?"
The clerk at the counter must have been part of this, then. Not entirely unexpected. Calli's plan was unchanged. "Don't worry about that," she stopped and said, matching the volume of her voice to the leader's. "You're all gathered here to worship death, right? Well . . ." Calli held out her hand and a scythe–the crescent blade half as long as she was tall–appeared in her grip. "I am death itself. And I don't much appreciate what you're doing."
As a whole, the congregation shrank back. Not unusual in the slightest, but the leader regarded her much more critically. He narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down. Then he smiled and shook his head. "Death, you say? Your hue certainly stands out against the background, but no, what we worship is much more vibrant.
"Fear not! This interloper may indeed have their foot on a higher plane, but they are nothing before the Ancient Ones!" His words echoed, bolstering his followers' confidence each time they bounced off the high ceiling. In seconds, the congregation went from shocked to eager. Half of them dropped back, fleeing to the opposite end of the chamber. The other half produced firearms of varying calibers and aimed right at Calli.
Gunfire exploded from the center of the chamber, forcing Calli to flee. She was the embodiment of death, and as such she possessed durability and physicality beyond mortal man, but her body was still vulnerable to injury. Even if she couldn't die in the traditional sense she could still be sent to the world beyond, and getting back was a real pain.
Fortunately, these cultists weren't very well trained. Their aim was sporadic and she was able to slip between the bullets easily. She rushed, a blur, around the chamber. She had hoped to use the shrine as cover, but the cultists were quick to adjust their aim. As they did, their accuracy plummeted.
Bullets pinged off of the pillars around the outside, off the floor, and even the dome. Calli swung around the shrine, trailing a wave of gunfire. Sudden movement from the pillars caught her attention. Part of the group that split off was taking cover. They fled from pillar to pillar, dashing out into the open at just the wrong time.
Calli tried to change direction and save the hapless cultists, but her momentum proved too much. The wave of bullets fell upon them like a landslide.
A wave of heat was their salvation. Kiara practically flew across the chamber, trailing orange flames. The charms on her wrists sparkled and expanded into her armaments. Bullets pinged off her shield, protecting the cultists from becoming collateral damage. She held her sword at her side. She didn't like using it, and Calli intended to make sure she wouldn't have to.
The gunfire stopped as the cultists around the shrine realized what they'd almost done. It seemed like the perfect time to apply pressure and get them to lay down their arms, but the leader wasn't having it. "Worry not for the solidity of this house," he called out. "Our cup runneth over, so deliver unto the trespassers the full weight of our fury!" Blowhard.
A pair of cultists produced rocket launchers from somewhere. One of them took aim at Kiara, the other at Calli. Would they really . . .?
The cultists shouted, launching their payloads. Kiara raised her shield, protecting the noncombatants. Calli hoped her ability to dodge bullets would convince the armed cultists to reconsider, but that looked less and less likely to happen each second. She'd have to go on the offensive.
The world around her lost its luster as she entered limbo space, a realm usually reserved for consoling the dead before their spirits passed on. The cultists jumped as she vanished from their sight. They fired their weapons blindly at where she was moments before. Unbeknownst to them, however, she had already zipped into their midst.
She exited limbo space and spun her scythe, destroying guns left and right. They were completely disarmed before they realized what was happening. Calli stood between them and their leader and scowled. "The guns were your only warning. You'd best scatter before heads start rolling."
Their eyes widened. And then they bolted, leaving their leader alone to deal with death. Calli turned towards the man, scowl primed and ready. He almost turned and ran as well, but Kiara stood in his way. The guy was stuck between a rock and hard place.
"Rocket launchers? Really?" Calli said, demanding his attention. "It's like you don't even care what happens to your people. Or your base." It struck her as odd that he would encourage his followers to throw caution to the wind, especially considering how much it must have cost to build this place. "This isn't the headquarters of your organization, is it?"
The leader smiled, sweat dripping from his chin. "What could have given you that impression?" His eyes shifted between Calli and Kiara.
The more Calli looked at him, the less like a cult leader he seemed. People at the top of groups like these had a bad habit of profiting off the devotion of their followers. Death cults in particular had a penchant for preaching the abandonment of the material while simultaneously enriching their leaders. This guy didn't fit that bill.
He was dressed as plainly as the other cultists with the sole exception of an ID badge clipped to a lanyard around his neck. She'd jumped to conclusions because the scale of this hideout was greater than the others.
"Consider yourself lucky," she said, leveling her scythe at the phony leader. "If you were the head honcho, I'd be leaving here with your soul. Seeing as you're just another grunt, I'm willing to let you go. After you give us the location of the headquarters, that is."
The cultist turned to the shrine in the middle of the chamber and smiled. "You are correct, I am sorry to say. I am not the leader of this blessed order. And I am indeed fortunate. Before anyone else, I get to defend the Ancient Ones' path with the power they have bestowed." He faced Calli once again. A chill ran up her spine as he looked at her with darkened eyes, twinkling with star-like spots.
At once, he began to transform. His skin took on an almost purple hue and his arms contorted, curling up and unrolling like noodles. Two more pairs of noodly arms burst from his back. With a scrambled, monstrous cry, his arms stretched, shooting for Calli. It all happened so fast that she couldn't react. The monstrous cultist wrapped three of its hands around her scythe and pulled.
She didn't let go, of course. It would take more than a grotesque transformation to loosen her grip. The cultist's arms pulled taut, making for a perfect target. Kiara leaped past the deformed man and severed his arms with a swift swipe of her sword. Calli rushed him as he recoiled. He snarled at her as she plunged the tip of her blade into his twisted soul. That was that.
Or it should have been.
The cultist's soul was sent to the world beyond, but his body only transformed further. His fingers fused together and his neck extended in the same noodly way as his arms. The soulless creature shrieked and lashed out.
Calli spun, whipping her blade through its torso, cutting it in half. Kiara followed up with a slash of her own, setting the halves on fire. They watched its limbs twitch as it burned to ash.
"Well. That was . . . odd." Kiara said, her weapons returning to their charm forms.
"Tell me about it." Calli watched the ash piles until the last embers went out. She couldn't wrap her head around it. The transformation was one thing, but for the body to keep on going without its soul was an oddity that shook her to the core. "He didn't tell us where the headquarters is," she realized, slightly numb.
Kiara crossed her arms. "We could have asked one of the others, but you scared them all off. Again," she said.
Calli rolled her eyes. "You say that, but when have cultists like these ever listened to reason?" She let go of her scythe and it vanished, leaving behind a faint black vapor. "I try to get them to disband with words first every time. Not one group has taken me up on the offer."
"I wouldn't either if a woman just came up to me and said, 'Hey there, I'm the object of your worship. Shut this place down cause I said so, 'kay?'"
"I do not sound like that . . ." Calli mumbled. She tried to take in the chamber around them now that there weren't any threats to dispatch. It was kind of amazing.
Cults of any type often used funds donated by members to construct their own complexes. It allowed them to isolate the faithful, drawing them further into the cult. One or two houses, a ranch-style stand of buildings, maybe, were the norm for wealthier groups.
This worship chamber had to be integrated into the city planning. It couldn't exist like this otherwise. And as crazy as that was, it was only part of the problem. Calli looked up at the complex mass of symbols etched onto a plaque in the shrine. Swooping lines formed abstract curves interspersed with sharp, crooked angles. "Is this one the same as the others?"
Kiara squinted at the mess. "As far as I can tell, yeah."
"And you're sure you can't decipher it? You've never seen anything like this?"
"Not once." Kiara shrugged, "It could be an ancient language from some lost culture I never encountered, but you would know that better than I would."
Calli wracked her brain, looking way, way back. She wasn't present for every single death, that would be completely unreasonable–especially nowadays–but she foresaw the passing of most every recorded ancient civilization. And even some that weren't recorded. She never came across anything like this, though.
Maybe it was just scribbles after all, then. The shrine itself didn't hold any inherent power, and none of the symbols had any noteworthy associations with death. So what exactly happened to the phony cult leader?
The piles of ash that used to be a monster's corpse glowed softly, grabbing both Calli and Kiara's attention. A mysterious power leaked from the piles. It was a miniscule amount, barely perceptible, but it was there. A red-tinged smoke drifted up from them like the last vestiges of a campfire, disappearing into the air. Calli had seen countless wackjobs sacrifice people to gain power over death. This group was the first she saw to actually succeed. Except it wasn't death they were subjugating. Not knowing exactly what it was made it all the more dangerous.
Kiara kneeled and said a short prayer. Sentimentality was a bad habit in this line of work, but she just couldn't let it go. No matter how many people this guy sacrificed for his own gain he could have had a family. There might've been someone out there who was going to miss him. Didn't they deserve answers? Calli didn't really understand, but she couldn't argue.
She turned back to the shrine running her fingers over the slabs surrounding it. They didn't give off any unusual power either and they were immaculately clean, but people definitely died on these things.
"Calli?" Kiara said, noticing her mood dipping.
"These guys aren't worshiping death. They said as much themselves. But I don't think they're much different from run-of-the-mill cultists." Calli examined the patterns on the shrine again. Still just scribbles. "These people can't operate on faith alone, they need something to ground their beliefs." She turned to Kiara, uneasy. "Death is a tool to these guys. What they really want is that," she gestured towards the ash piles.
Reaping the leader's soul did nothing to hinder his transformation. If anything, it helped it along. What was she supposed to do about that?
Kiara clapped her hands together, shocking Calli out of her thoughts. "So we don't know who these people are. We have an idea of what their goal is, but not why they're pursuing it. We have our work cut out for us, don't we?" Her tone was cheerful, but Calli knew her well enough to know she was forcing it. It wasn't unwelcome either way. "I guess we'll just have to figure things out as we go. They better watch out, cause the dream team of life and death are coming at 'em!" She put up her arms and bobbed back and forth like a boxer, wrestling a smile out of death's self-proclaimed apprentice.
Calli had known Kiara for millennia at this point, but she still couldn't figure out how she did that. However she did it, Calli was feeling a bit better. She pushed her worries down and let Kiara's enthusiasm carry her along.
There was one more job to do before they left this hideout. Calli faced the shrine, her scythe appearing in her hands, and cut it down. Reverence for death was one thing, but she'd be damned if she was going to let using death as a tool slide. She turned to leave, falling into step beside Kiara and said, "Thanks, partner."
Kiara beamed, and her steps took on a bouncy quality. She practically skipped out the door. Calli had to hurry to catch up.
+ Break +
The sky was gray again today. It was gray in the morning, and it was gray in the evening, and for all the time in between. Amelia had seen pictures of blue skies and orange sunsets, but reality was much more dull. Color was the stuff of hopes and dreams. And sometimes nightmares.
She drudged through gray streets, passed gray people who looked at her with gray, suspicious eyes. Even the people with whom she was most familiar looked at her derisively as she entered the ramshackle market and got in line.
Various tents and tarps were erected over shops in the empty lot that was the Holiv market. Food and water were the biggest sellers, of course, but Amelia had her eyes set on something else. Something that only exacerbated people's suspicion of her. She sought electrical parts.
Only one other person seemed as fascinated as she was by gadgets and gizmos. And he happened to be standing in the line next to hers.
Carlos was small for his age, weaker too, but that didn't stop him from smiling wider than any adult ever did. Such was the innocence of youth. He pulled at his mother's sleeve and pointed at Amelia. Mrs. Hernandez gave her one curt look, rolled her eyes and waved Carlos along.
He pumped his fists and bounded over to Amelia, practically vibrating with excitement. As to why . . .
"Did you bring it, Ame? Did you?" He eyed her satchel like it was a powerful magnet and his pupils were ferrous metals. Amelia chuckled. The kid didn't even know what he was getting excited for. She'd promised him a special present next time they met, that was all. Honestly, though, she was a little excited too.
She stuck her hand in the bag and pretended to rummage around. She knit her eyebrows and pursed her lips, acting like she'd accidentally left the gift behind. Carlos stopped vibrating and his eyes shot open real wide. Did she really forget? Was he going to have to wait even longer?
Amelia smirked and pulled the little toy she'd constructed out of the bag, hiding it behind her back before Carlos could see. His eyes lit up and he started bouncing in place, leaning this way and that to sneak a peek. "C'mon, Ame! What is it?"
"Want a hint?" He nodded furiously, so she pointed at him. More specifically, she pointed at his shirt. It was a little too big for him and riddled with holes, but it was also one of the brightest things she'd ever seen. Carlos loved to point out how similar the color was to Amelia's blonde hair. The star of the show, however, was the cute cartoon alligator on the front. It was worn–some parts of the image were completely shredded–but he loved it all the same.
Carlos followed her finger and landed right on the alligator. It took him a second to put the pieces together, which gave Amelia plenty of time to hold out a small wind-up alligator. It was made of scraps and garbage, but when he saw it, he may as well have been looking at a gift from God.
He squealed, earning a few irritated grunts from the people around them. But they let it slide. People these days were beaten and broken at an early age, but no one was so busted up that they couldn't appreciate the unbridled joy of a child receiving a new toy.
Amelia patted the boy on the head and sent him on his way. Mrs. Hernandez smiled at him and even spared a small, grateful nod to her.
When Amelia reached the front of the line, the peddler sighed and dragged out a heavy looking box of scraps. No one else would trade for junk like this. It was a niche, to be sure. Why tinker with machines when death could come at any time? A flashlight couldn't keep monsters away. The other people in the market–including the peddler who begrudgingly traded for the parts–weren't wrong, but their values were skewed in her eyes..
She didn't like focusing on survival, constantly worrying about the next meal, constantly fearing what might be around the next corner. Simply being alive wasn't enough. That was how they all lived, her parents included. They could never understand what it meant to desire more. She didn't want what already was, she wanted what could be.
She'd transform this gray world into the colorful one she saw in books. Not just for her own sake, but for Carlos and his mother. For the peddlers who begrudgingly facilitated her bizarre dreams. For all the people who jeered at her because they couldn't stand to see someone trying so hard when they'd already given up. For all the people that came before her, and all those that would come after. She would definitely do it.
Assuming she could actually get her machine working.
Supplies in hand, she waved to Carlos and skulked out of the market and onto the ruined city streets. She could just barely imagine how they might have looked before the end of the world. Clear roads flanked by sidewalks full of happy, motivated people. Not just surviving, but living. The streets she traversed were littered with the refuse of disaster, but it wasn't all bad. After all, a clean city didn't offer much in the way of cover.
Monsters stalked the avenues of Holiv city. Wriggling things that could run a person down in no time thanks to their multitudinous limbs. Their arms were powerful enough to crush steel, and though they often hunted alone, they would let out a shrill cry to alert nearby monsters of prey.
They had to be avoided at all costs. Amelia checked her satchel again, making sure things wouldn't shake loose if she needed to run. She rested a hand on the firearm at her side. Her supply of ammunition was thin these days; components for her machine were more important.
In the shadow of a collapsed building, she waited for one of the monsters to pass. Then, holding her breath, she sprinted to the neighboring ruin, keeping her body low. She did so over and over. No mistakes. She was lucky. On occasion this part of the city–the part surrounding her workshop–became infested with the ruinous things. She had just one more street to cross.
A tremendous sound shattered the already broken windows of the buildings nearby. A shockwave followed as a building further down the road collapsed, sending a storm of bricks and rebar crashing to the ground. A giant figure, veiled in shadow, emerged from the wreckage. Amelia's breath caught as the creature's rows of sharp teeth glittered in the muted light of the gray sky.
The beast's thick tail swung over the road, crashing into another building, spreading the devastation further. It growled, a deep sound that Amelia could feel in her very core, and its smokey, swirling skin pulsed with a violent red glow.
Another figure burst from the wreckage. It was only about as big as a person, but no less terrifying. It too was cloaked in shadow, but its darkness was much colder. Death left a bright trail of pink as it flew through the air at the giant abomination. Its wicked scythe screamed as it slammed into the pulsing red flesh.
The giant swung its arm, sending another shockwave down the road. It shook the foundations of the building Amelia was hiding in and knocked her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and made a break for her workshop. Her heart was beating so fast she feared it might explode. The monsters were fighting no further than a block and a half down the road. That was all the space between her salvation and utter disaster.
Relief washed over her as she reached the workshop, but it was short lived. She froze with her hand on the knob, her blood running cold. A third monster joined the fray. A woman draped in a black so deep it seemed a hole in the universe floated up beside the giant's head. Her broad halo and low-set wings belied the horrific truth that every living person knew.
She was the Priestess, and she destroyed the world.
The Priestess raised her hand and the giant monster roared in response. Together, they attacked death. Their clash snapped Amelia out of her terrified stupor. She practically busted through the door and dumped the contents of her satchel onto her workbench. Tools in hand she worked amidst nauseating tremors and ominous trails of dust falling from the ceiling. It didn't matter if those monsters didn't know she was there. Simply by existing in the vicinity, they were threatening her work.
Amelia's hands moved deftly, if a little shakily, attaching bits and bobs to her machine. As the sounds of devastation grew louder, she dove into the electronics, wiring everything together. Sweat soaked her tip to toe, but with shaky, slippery hands, she managed to bring it all together. She licked her lips, ignoring the salty taste, and finally attached the power source.
The machine hummed. Its main panel flashed into life. Amelia nearly collapsed as tension fled her body, but she couldn't relax. A crash greater than any she'd felt before rocked the workshop and the ceiling began to cave in. Large chunks of plaster and concrete fell all around her and her machine, crushing her tools and benches. The end had at last come to her hopeful little world of invention.
She dove into the seat of her machine and frantically flipped every switch and pressed every button. There was no room for caution or testing. There was no wasted space. Every part of the machine served a purpose. Each and every wire, screw, nut and bolt was meant to do one thing and one thing only.
Travel back in time!
Safety be damned! If the machine didn't work, she'd be dead anyway.
A faint glow appeared around the time machine. The engine underneath Amelia's seat made a horrible racket and got so hot she could smell it singeing the underside of the chair. The world around her began to shift, becoming blurry and indistinct. She held her breath as part of the workshop collapsed entirely, opening a large hole to the outside.
Through the hole, Amelia spotted the Priestess. Her jet black form was somehow fully in focus, and she was looking directly at Amelia. Hope evaporated as the Priestess raised a hand swirling with dark, otherworldly energy. Doom and despair resided in that violet light.
And then she was gone, replaced by a flash so bright that Amelia cried out in pain, blinded. The searing light faded as suddenly as it appeared, and after a few moments her vision returned.
Amelia found herself in a dark alley. It smelled of damp trash. Her ears perked up long before her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The hum of engines. The din of laughter and conversation. Civilization.
It worked.
It worked!
Amelia's heart nearly stopped as relief and joy overwhelmed her. She stumbled off of her machine and rushed towards the sounds that were only familiar in her wildest dreams. What she saw at the mouth of the alley astonished her.
The buildings looked pristine! And there were cars. Working vehicles! The sun was set, but everything was well lit by lamps dotting the roadside. And the people! So, so many people just walking around without a care for monsters or hazardous terrain. It was like the books she'd read to pieces as a kid had come to life!
She'd actually, truly succeeded.
But she couldn't relax. Not yet. She had a mission, and her machine was rather conspicuous. The last thing she needed was some random passerby asking questions she couldn't answer. She returned to the time machine, taking only a moment to marvel at what she had created. Then, she got behind her miraculous invention and pushed.
The machine moved slowly, rolling on little wheels that Amelia had installed for just such an occasion.
+ Break +
Ina turned a corner and stopped. She looked between the hall she'd just walked and the one through which she was about to pass. They were identical. Bare walls, soft lamps just bright enough to not strain the eyes, walls painted in deep orange tones to imply warmth. She knew these halls like the back of her hand, but how would they look to someone who had never seen them?
This compound was supposed to be a haven for the disillusioned. It was constructed with comfort in mind. On an ordinary day, Ina wouldn't even think to question that intention. She'd have just kept walking from one identical hallway to the next, not necessarily happy with her circumstances, but content. Standing on the precipice between these paths, she couldn't ignore her unease.
"Priestess?" Ina jumped at the voice. Elder acolyte Johanna, a kindly old woman in deep blue robes, stopped and bowed to her. "Are you well? The sermon wasn't too taxing on you, I hope."
Ina blinked and finally remembered to breathe. She shook her head and did her best to smile. "I'm alright, Johanna, but thank you for asking." She stared at the older woman's affable face. When exactly had the wrinkles on her face grown so pronounced? "Are you heading to the gardens, by chance?"
"Indeed! I volunteered to teach some of the younger children how to sew. I would be honored if you would accompany me on my way."
"I'd be happy to," Ina said, walking beside the older woman. "So you're teaching sewing again? Maybe I should sit in. I remember struggling at it quite a bit when I was little."
Johanna gasped, "Priestess! That was surely a joke. As I recall it, you were quite dexterous. Certainly more than the avatar has ever been, bless her. Just look at all the lovely paintings you've graced us with!"
"I suppose . . ." The image of a lumpy blob of fabric that was meant to be a vest sprang into Ina's mind. Johanna was hardly a sycophant, but she did like to exaggerate.
"I'd be happy to have you along, either way. Though, and don't take this the wrong way, Priestess, you may want to consider changing first. That ceremonial garb is lovely in the midst of scripture, but isn't exactly practical." Johanna smirked and Ina laughed. The shoes were pretty hard to walk in.
They paused at an intersection. Four identical hallways coming together, bearing down on the women as they talked. Ina did her best to ignore the uneasy pressure of the space. "I'll go get changed, so please go ahead," she said, bowing slightly.
Johanna looked mortified and bowed deeper, bending herself at a near right angle. "As you wish, Priestess!" The old woman shuffled away, head bowed to Ina until she vanished around a corner. That sort of thing had to be murder on her back.
Ina sighed and spun around. She knew where each of these halls led, she had lived in this place all her life, but looking at them from the perspective of a newcomer, they'd seem like a trap, twisting and winding and doubling back on each other. For a while now, Ina had been feeling exactly that.
She could go anywhere in this vast complex–almost anywhere–but she had never been allowed to leave. She hadn't wanted to when she was small, but after the ritual that marked her as "Priestess," she couldn't help but want to see the outside. The response from the order's leaders was firm. So she stifled that desire.
But desire was a monster, she'd learned, and it had grown and grown over the years.
She passed door after identical door until she reached her own. It was the same as all the others, but the acolytes had a habit of leaving flowers and other small offerings outside. The room itself was the same as the others as well, though she was afforded luxurious amenities. She had a bed, not a cot. She had a shower and tub in addition to the toilet and sink. And she had her easel. The acolytes were discouraged from pursuing creativity in private. The leadership didn't want anyone coming up with any crazy ideas on their own.
Changing out of the ceremonial garb was a process. She carefully stepped down from the shoes. The dress was tied and pasted in several inconvenient places, so by the time she got it to slip off, her arms and shoulders ached. She put on a light jersey and slipped her robe over it. She fought the urge to tie her hair up. The leadership would expect her to keep it down around the acolytes. Especially the children. Indoctrination was most effective at a young age.
Ina shuffled out the door in a cute pair of comfortable slippers, another luxury afforded by her station. She navigated the identical halls as they became less angular and more round, greeting acolytes as they passed, until she reached a pair of large sliding doors. They slid open as she approached, bathing Ina in bright daylight.
A soft breeze blew through her hair and the sound of rustling leaves reached her ears. The "sun" hung high in the baby blue sky as she followed the quaint brick path leading further into the oasis. Between stretches of dark green hedge there was a group of acolytes painting. Further down, there was a spot laid out for light exercises and a pole with a ball connected to the top by a rope. Ina was never allowed to play with that one.
On the next lawn there was an acolyte teaching some mesmerized children how to juggle. Ina stopped and watched for a while, but when the juggling acolyte noticed her he stiffened up and dropped the balls. He bowed to her as the children laughed. Ina offered a nod and continued down the path. Johanna would be set up near the gardens past the pool.
She saw the tops of the tropical palms long before she heard the splashing of water. Like most of the vegetation in the oasis, the trees were transplanted from their native habitats. In fact, the trees she was looking at weren't the same trees she would have seen a month ago. They couldn't survive long in this environment no matter what the order tried.
Because none of it was real.
That baby blue sky wasn't the sky at all. It was a ceiling. The same one she'd been looking up at since she was born, its illusion of vastness evaporating the closer one came to the walls. The sun? A powerful heat lamp. All of it was artificial. Same as it always was.
As she got closer to the pool, she wondered if she would still believe this space was the beautiful oasis the order wanted its followers to think it was if she weren't the priestess? If she hadn't been absorbed into the very edges of the upper echelon, would she still be under their illusion? She would, wouldn't she?
If only she could delude herself and enjoy living in this box the way the acolytes did. But she couldn't. She wasn't allowed. After all, she was Ninomae Ina'Nis, priestess of the Heraldic Order of the Ancient Ones. She was to guide the congregation in prayer, beckoning the Ancient Ones to "bring color to the world." Whatever that meant. And she did what she was told.
They wanted the others to look to her for guidance, so she lied to them. She told the acolytes that everything they were enduring was worthwhile. They weren't whiling away each day waiting for some nondescript prophecy to come true. They were actively contributing to the reformation of a bleak world. And they all believed her because she was their prophet and they her loyal followers. It made her feel ill to be so important. Too important to be kept in the dark.
Knowledge was a frightening thing, she had learned.
The shadow of a memory danced across the edges of her mind. Darkness. A friend. Fear. Loneliness.
She wanted out. She wanted to escape the clutches of the order, cut the strings they had attached to her limbs. But she couldn't. They had also tied a string around her neck. If she stepped out of line . . . well, she hadn't been the only candidate for priestess.
A pair of young acolytes passed by. They bowed and offered Ina a fruit from the recent harvest. She smiled and took a small, withered orange. The acolytes rushed off, giggling at being thanked by the priestess. When Ina was sure they wouldn't turn back, she turned the fruit over in her hands and grimaced.
The acolytes worked so hard to maintain the gardens, but the soil brought into the compound was lacking in nutrients, so everything they grew came out withered like this. Ina ate the meals made for her, but she was reluctant to eat this sad little citrus.
The orange suddenly felt very heavy. The acolytes were so proud of their yields. They did their best to enjoy living in this box. Why couldn't Ina?
She was falling deeper and deeper. She could tell, but there was nothing to grab hold of that could slow her descent.
The sound of splashing water pulled her attention away from the orange. She'd reached the center of the oasis. Her friend, Gura, leaned against the side of the pool, kicking at the water. Her floaties did most of the work keeping her afloat, though. "You gonna eat that, Ina? I'll take it if you don't want it!" Her eyes sparkled as they followed the fruit.
Ina tossed the orange, happy to be rid of it, and Gura caught it in her mouth. Her thick, piscine tail flapped in and out of the water as she chewed, rind and all.
"Why don't you join me, Ina? The water's real nice today." Gura said.
"It's nice every day, Gura." Every single day. "Thanks, but no. I don't really feel like swimming, and I promised Johanna that I'd visit her sewing lesson."
Gura groaned and kicked a little harder, sending water flying across the length of the pool.
Ina smirked, "I could sit and chat for a bit, though." As she said it, Gura grinned from ear to ear.
"I'll take it! You held a sermon earlier, right? Tell me about it!" She bobbed up and down, her floaties in line with her head.
"The sermons really aren't that exciting, you know," Ina said, dragging a pool chair over.
"You only say that 'cause you get to be in 'em. Think about how I feel having to wait outside the church." Gura pouted, and Ina couldn't really blame her. She had her own position within the order, and with it came certain expectations and restrictions. Thinking about it, she had it way worse than Ina.
Ina was a person, normal by all accounts besides her divine fate. Gura was, despite her outward appearance, not human. She tended to avoid the topic, but she was descended from the mythical city of Atlantis. She'd seen the world over the course of her many, many years of life. And yet, she was here. Trapped in the same prison as the rest of them. She didn't seem to mind, but that only made it more tragic in Ina's mind.
Gura was to be the avatar of the Ancient Ones; a divine vessel that could allow the deities to manifest in the world. In less flowery terms, she was to be a sacrifice. A fate that seemed to befall any whom Ina called friend.
Another memory, quickly repressed. The warmth of a hand. The coldness of a void.
"Ina?" Gura said, resting her chin on the edge of the pool, "You okay?"
Ina perked up, putting on a brave face. "I'm fine! No worries! I was just . . . thinking about some stuff."
Gura gave her a flat stare, "Uh-huh. What stuff were you thinking about?"
"Just . . . you know. The next sermon's supposed to be a big one, so I was kind of . . ." She trailed off, feeling the pressure of Gura's gaze. It was no good. She couldn't think of a lie, convincing or otherwise.
Gura climbed out of the pool. She sat next to Ina and waited, humming a little tune.
Ina glanced around, making sure none of the acolytes were in earshot. More importantly, she wanted to make sure there were no agents of the heraldry about. The envoys could be sneaky when they wanted to be.
She spoke softly, "I don't think I can keep lying to myself. This place is stifling. The more I think about it, the more sinister all of this feels. Something is wrong, but despite my station, I don't know what it is." She pulled her knees up close to her chest. "I feel useless, Gura. Trapped in a terrible cycle that will eventually claim all of our lives. And I don't know what to do."
"Izzat so?" Gura looked up at the sky-painted ceiling, kicking her legs. Eventually she nodded and turned to Ina with a dangerous sparkle in her eye. "If things are bad, why don't we get out of here?
It took Ina a moment to process the suggestion. It was just so . . . frank. And, tragically, it was exactly what she wanted. She smiled bitterly, "I'd love to. But you know, I can't just leave. If I could, I definitely would have already." Gura cocked an eyebrow at her. Maybe Ina wasn't being totally honest with herself. "I mean, I guess I could leave, but can you say the same? Your role in the order is huge, easily bigger than mine. They wouldn't let you go."
"And? You could leave without me. I can take care of myself."
Ina shook her head. "I wouldn't want to leave you behind! But even if we left together, they'd hunt us. I'm sure of it. The order would send everything at their disposal to bring us back. And you . . ."
"I'd have to get my hands a little dirty?" Gura said, growing tired of Ina's excuses. "I can handle that."
"But you shouldn't have to!" Ina practically shot off the chair. "Look, I know you're strong, but fighting for your life, constantly running, can't be a good way to live!" She grabbed Gura by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "I don't want you to get hurt." More memories. A cry for help. Silence.
Gura smirked, of all things, and patted Ina on the head. "That's very nice of you, Ina, but you don't have to worry about me. We're buds, so I don't have any issues getting a little scrappy for your sake."
The sentiment hit Ina like a slap in the face. Her eyes burned, her face burned, and her chest burned. She grabbed her only friend in the world and squeezed her tight, trembling. That offer of help, of salvation, was so heavy it was scary. But it was also liberating. She had to trust that Gura meant what she said She desperately wanted to.
"Alright then," Ina said, wiping her eyes. "We'll go. Both of us."
"Great! So, how are we gonna do it?"
Ina froze. "I'm . . . not sure, actually." She looked at Gura, then the pool, and then to the acolytes enjoying their free time nearby. "There's that sermon coming up . . ." A flash of inspiration. She pulled Gura close, "You wanted to attend a sermon, right?"
Gura's eyes widened and her mouth stretched into an eager, conspiratorial smile.