D/D Chapter 4: Cursing One's Fate.
Fact of the Day: Did you know that Nyx had children presiding over dark forces? Among them are Eris, who instigates strife and discord; Geras, who embodies the frailty of old age; and Hypnos, the god of sleep who can trap individuals in deep, unnatural slumber.
"Speech."
"Thoughts."
After three weeks of surprisingly smooth travel, Al finally spotted the impressive Babel Tower piercing the sky in the distance, its grandeur both exhilarating and overwhelming. He had arrived in Orario, not out of longing or dreams, but driven by a single purpose: to break Nyx's curse and leave this city behind.
As he approached the gate, he noticed a long line of adventurers, all equipped with weapons and gear, making him feel like just a "normal fellow" in comparison.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenges ahead, reminding himself he wouldn't be here any longer than necessary—when suddenly, a voice called out from behind him. "You've got soft hands, kid!"
Al turned around, surprised. "Huh? You talking to me?"
"Yes, and I said you've got soft hands!" The man yelled, drawing the attention of several nearby adventurers who turned to see what the commotion was about. "You're bringing shame to us real warriors!"
Troubled by the attention he was getting from his surroundings, Al tried to defuse the situation. "Uhh, look, man, I'm…, I'm not here for trouble," he replied, mentally adding, "Who the fuck is this weirdo?"
The man, sporting a wild beard and a confident grin, held up his own calloused hand. "Look closely! These are the hands of a real warrior!"
Al felt an awkward tension rising. "fuck me! Is this man serious?! How do I get out of this?!" He glanced around, hoping for an escape route. Just then, a liger—a tiger demi-human with bright orange fur on his head and a muscular build—yelled out, "Oi! Leave the kid alone!"
Al sighed in relief, thinking, "I'm saved!" He turned to face his unexpected savior, but then things took a turn for the worse.
"Don't listen to him, kid!" the liger shouted, completely unfazed. "Look at these!" He held up his hands, which were effectively rough and scarred.
Al groaned internally, "Please, someone kill me". The two men started to compare their hands like they were examining prized possessions.
"I've fought beasts ten times your size!" the first man bragged, flexing his fingers. "These hands have wielded weapons that would make you weep!"
"Heh, you call that a weapon?" the liger retorted, showing off his own hands. "Get this rusted back scratcher out of my face! These hands are the bane of a thousand monsters!"
Before Al could process how absurd this was getting, another voice cut in—rough, commanding, and dripping with a thick dwarven accent. "Yer showin' the wrong example fer the future generation, aye! Why don't ye princesses put them dandy hands ta proper use an' fix us a meal, while I show this lad what real warrior's hands look like!"
Now all three were deep into the hand-comparing spectacle, examining every scar and callous with fervor.
Seeing how the absurd situation was spiraling further, Al leaned toward the elf standing in front of him in line and asked, "Hey man, can we…, can we switch places?"
The elven man, visibly confused and dumbfounded by the exchange taking place behind them, blinked and then responded, "Oh yes, you may take my place if you wish to…" stepping aside without hesitation.
Al nodded to the elf and hurried ahead, finally nearing the city gate. Just as it was his turn, a stocky guard held up a hand, blocking his path.
"Name and reason for coming to Orario?" the guard asked, his gaze sharp as he looked Al up and down.
"Alistair Altirias," Al replied with a slight bow. "I'm here to seek out the Dea Saint, Airmid Teasanare."
The guard's eyebrow arched at the mention of Airmid's name. "And why would you need to see her?"
Al glanced around, then gestured to himself. "Well... if you haven't noticed, there's a bit of an evil aura hanging around me."
The guard squinted at him, leaning forward slightly as if trying to see what Al was talking about. "Huh? Now that you mention it…"
"I'm cursed," Al explained casually, "and from what I've heard, she's the one who can help break it."
The guard crossed his arms, now looking at Al with renewed interest. "Cursed, huh? That explains why you feel suspicious as hell."
He paused for a second before adding with a playful grin, "Well, I was gonna arrest ya, but honestly? I don't feel like you're lying, so I'll let ya pass."
Al forced a low chuckle, exasperation building beneath the surface as he thought, "Is this guy for real?" He glanced at the guard, searching for any sign of sarcasm but found none. "Appreciate it. Do you happen to know where I can find her?"Bas du formulaire
The guard gave him a thoughtful look before pointing toward the center of the city. "The Dian Cecht Familia clinic is inside Babel. Airmid's usually there. Just head inside, and someone'll point you the way."
After thanking the guard with a quick nod, Al crossed through the gates, the sheer scale of Orario hit him like a slap to the face. The streets surged with life, a chaotic blend of vendors shouting their wares, adventurers strutting in polished armor, and townsfolk going about their daily routines.
Tall, intricate buildings crowded the skyline, their architecture a mix of ancient stonework and newer, gleaming structures that reflected the sunlight. Above everything, the imposing Babel Tower loomed, its massive form stretching into the heavens, a symbol of Orario's power and ambition.
It was a city like no other, a place where dreams were made, broken, and rebuilt, all in the shadow of Babel. Despite the excitement that seemed to pulse through the air, Al felt a growing unease. This was a far cry from the quiet, simple life he had known. Here, everything moved fast.
Still, his mission was clear: find Airmid, break the curse, and get the fuck out of here.
Steeling himself, Al pushed through the bustling streets of Orario, his resolve tightening with each step. The towering figure of Babel loomed ahead, once inside, the environment shifted immediately. The halls, though not particularly luxurious, were clean and functional, filled with the steady hum of activity. Stone walls lined with simple carvings and banners stretched upward, giving the space a practical yet imposing feel.
But as Al entered, heads turned, and he felt eyes linger on him, longer than was comfortable. Something about his presence seemed to disturb the people inside, even if they didn't fully understand why.
"Is it that obvious I'm cursed?" Al wondered, feeling the unease ripple through the air as whispers followed in his wake. Swallowing the discomfort, he pressed forward, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
It wasn't long before he spotted a random girl walking by, her attitude far more casual than those around him. Deciding to take a chance, Al approached her. "Excuse me, do you know where I can find the Dea Saint, Airmid Teasanare?"
The girl's reaction was far from expected. She turned to look at him, and as their eyes met, her entire body tensed, eyes widening in sheer terror. "D-Don't hurt me!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the hall before she darted off, running as if her life depended on it.
Al stood frozen for a moment, utterly stunned by the exchange. A long sigh escaped him as he scratched the back of his head. "Great... so it's going to be like that, huh?" He muttered under his breath, already dreading the rest of his search.
What followed were three agonizing hours of aimlessly wandering through Babel's interior, exploring endless levels filled with adventurers, merchants, and guild workers. The tower blurred into a confusing labyrinth, with hallways stretching on forever and stairwells twisting together, making each level feel indistinguishable from the last.
His frustration grew with each passing minute, and after a few more awkward encounters—where people either hurried away or eyed him with suspicion—he stopped asking for help altogether.
It felt as though the entire tower was avoiding him, treating him like a walking plague. Feeling more like a cursed needle in a massive haystack, Al's steps became heavier, his mind clouded with irritation. "How in hell does anyone find anything in this damn place?!"
And after what felt like an eternity of wandering through those endless corridors, Al finally spotted the unmistakable sign: Dian Cecht Familia Clinic. He stared at the bold letters for a moment, almost unable to believe he had finally found it. Relief washed over him as he stumbled forward, the weight of his exhaustion momentarily lifting.
The clinic's entrance was nothing short of grand. Polished marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of golden lighting, reflecting the opulence that filled the space. Ornate pillars lined the walls, each carved with intricate patterns that spoke of wealth, prestige, and an air of untouchable power.
The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of medicinal herbs mixed with something floral and expensive, a far cry from the chaotic streets outside.
Everything about the place exuded luxury, from the plush seating in the waiting area to the rich tapestries adorning the walls.
His eyes scanned the room, taking in the opulence, and that's when he saw her.
Standing near the reception desk was a young woman, beautiful in an effortless, almost regal way. Her long, silver-grey hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of moonlight, perfectly complementing her pale, flawless skin.
She moved with a quiet grace, her steel-grey eyes both sharp and gentle, reflecting a wisdom beyond her years. Dressed in a pristine white and blue healer's robe with delicate gold embroidery, she looked every bit the part of someone who belonged in such a refined place. Pinned neatly to her chest was a name tag: "Airmid Teasanare."
Al's heart skipped a beat—"bingo." He stepped forward, excitement and anxiety swirling in his chest. "Airmid Teasanare!" he called, his voice echoing through the grand hall of the clinic.
But the moment she turned to face him, her expression shifted from curiosity to alarm. "Guards! There's a suspicious man approaching me!" she yelled, her voice breaking the calm atmosphere.
Before Al could react, two guards charged at him, their faces set with alarm. "Step away from her!" one barked, grabbing him by the arms. In an instant, they forced him to the floor, his cheek pressed against the cold marble as the weight of their armor pinned him down.
"Oi! Oi! Wait! Let me explain!" Al exclaimed, wriggling beneath their hold. But his pleas fell on deaf ears. One guard pressed a knee into his back, while the other bound his wrists with ease.
As soon as they had him restrained, they yanked him to his feet, half-dragging, half-pulling him toward the exit. "I'm cursed!" Al yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "You have to believe me! I really am cursed!"
Just as they reached the doorway, Airmid stepped forward, her expression firm. "Let him go," she commanded. The guards paused, confusion flickering across their faces, but her tone left no room for argument. "Take him to a room where we can talk." Reluctantly, they loosened their grip and guided him back inside.
Once they entered a private room, the guards exchanged wary glances before stepping back, waiting for Airmid's signal. With a subtle nod, she dismissed them. The door clicked shut, leaving Al and Airmid alone. He felt a mix of relief and trepidation wash over him as she crossed her arms, her steel-grey eyes fixed on him. "Now, explain. What's this about a curse?"
Al took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "A goddess cursed me," he began. "I was told you're the best healer in the world, and that I need your help to break it. So, I traveled to Orario to find you."
Airmid raised an eyebrow, her confidence radiating from her. "Sounds like light work for me," she replied with a smirk. Rising from her seat, she began to chant her magic, her voice flowing like a soothing melody that filled the room with an air of anticipation.
"Healing droplets, tears of light, eternal sanctuary. Compose a medicinal hymn—three hundred, sixty, and five. The melody of the healer's almanac saves all things. Come, destruction of evil. The burial of wounds, interment of disease. Curses be gone in the light of vitality. In the name of all that is holy—I heal you!"
As the final words left Airmid's lips, a strange sensation filled the room, heavy and foreboding. Pressure settled on her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Then, without warning, darkness surged, swallowing her vision whole.
he warmth of her healing magic evaporated, replaced by a stifling cold that clung to her skin like frost. It felt as though she were submerged in an endless void, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in from all sides. Sweat beaded on her brow, her pulse quickening as the darkness coiled tighter around her.
An unseen presence lurked at the edges of her awareness, like a predator in the shadows. A prickling sense of danger crept up her spine, the weight of a cold gaze drilling into her. Her heart raced, the silence amplifying the thrum of fear that echoed through her body.
"My, how amusing," a voice purred from the abyss, laced with dark amusement. It slithered through the void, its malice palpable as it wrapped around her like a vice. Every syllable coiled tighter, suffocating her with dread.
"But I don't remember inviting you into my garden, saint." The voice, sweet yet venomous, resonated deep within her, sending a jarring sense of unease through her core.
"Now begone." The command was sharp and final, cutting through the darkness with deadly precision. Its authority left her frozen, as though the very shadows sought to devour her.
In an instant, Airmid was ripped from the void and hurled back into the light. The oppressive gloom faded, and the clinic's walls came into focus, awakening her from a nightmare. Gasping, she felt the weight of fear lift, though her limbs trembled.
The familiar scent of healing herbs and the warm glow of magic surrounded her, but the memory of that unseen gaze lingered, haunting her thoughts. Before she could steady herself, her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.
Al rushed over, concern etched into his face. "Oi! A-Are you okay?" he asked, trying to help her up.
Airmid fought to steady herself, the air thick with unease. Suddenly, the door burst open with a crash, reverberating through the private room. A voice boomed, slicing through the tension. "Hey! What the hell are you doing to my Airmid?!"
The intruder was an old man in a white robe, adorned with an abundance of jewels that gleamed in the light. His divine aura filled the space, marking him unmistakably as a god.
Al quickly turned to him, hands raised defensively, his voice trembling. "N-Nothing, my lord!" He stuttered, panic rising in his chest at the thought of being convicted of assaulting the world's greatest healer.
The deity paused, humming thoughtfully as he scanned Al's face. He looked visibly shaken. "Mmh, you aren't lying. Airmid, are you okay?"
Airmid nodded, still a bit shaken. "Y-yes, L-Lord Dian Ceht, just…, just s-shook is all."
He pulled her to her feet with a firm grip, his expression unmoved. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes flicking between the two of them, no hint of sympathy, just demanding an answer.
Al cleared his throat, suddenly feeling the weight of what just happened. "I—I got cursed by a goddess," he began, his voice faltering slightly. "And I came to Orario to ask Airmid to break it..." He paused, his mind flashing back to the moment she fell. "But—when she was casting magic, she... she just collapsed. Fell to her knees like something hit her... I-I don't know what happened!"
Dian Ceht's brow furrowed as he asked, "What was the name of the goddess that cursed you, child?"
Al grimaced, thinking back to the encounter. "That creepy woman called herself Nyx." At the mention of that name, Dian Ceht's expression twisted with alarm. He rushed toward Al, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Child, are you sure it was Nyx who cursed you?!"
Al felt a wave of fear hit him, unsure of how to handle the situation. He scratched his head, trying to find the right words. "Y-yeah, long dark hair, big… uhhh, assets? Dark eyes, and a generally creepy aura. Like, she'd give you nightmares just by looking at you?"
Dian Ceht released him, his eyes wide with disbelief. "By the heavens, it really is her! That crazy woman descended?!" He stormed out of the room, only to return moments later, looking even more frantic. "Child, you're doomed! Nobody in this world, not even gods, can lift your curse. If you wish to be free, then fulfill whatever condition she imposed on you!"
With that, he dashed out again, yelling, "I've got to tell the others!"
Al stood in shock, the weight of Dian Ceht's words crashing down on him. He was doomed—nobody could release him from the curse. Panic began to swirl in his mind, threatening to pull him under. The room felt constricting, the walls pressing tightly around him as if sealing his fate.
Before he could spiral further, a soft cough broke the suffocating silence. Airmid, still weak but determined, cleared her throat to get his attention. "Since I failed, I won't charge you," she said, her voice softer than before.
Al blinked, still dazed. "Ah, uhhh, thank you..." he murmured, his thoughts hazy.
Airmid took a steadying breath, trying to inject some optimism into the dire situation. "If you fulfill the conditions, you'll be fine. They can't be that bad, can they?"
But as she met his gaze, a chill ran through her. Al's eyes reflected a thousand-yard stare, empty and distant, causing her to freeze in place. "The condition is that I must kill the one-eyed black dragon within one year. If I fail, I die."
Airmid's expression faltered, her lips parting in shock. "Oh, uh…" she stammered, but before she could respond, he was already gone.
Now roaming the streets of Orario, Al moved like a living corpse, his eyes devoid of light as he wove through the bustling crowd outside, each step heavy with the weight of his grim fate. In a daze, he drifted through the vibrant life around him, his vision blurring as static filled his mind, appearing like a ghost, his erratic movements betraying a deep sense of loss.
Scenes from his past flashed before him: the day he faced a goblin, frozen in fear until his father intervened; the harvest festival when he nervously asked Elysia out, only to be rejected; and the warmth of family dinners, once filled with laughter. Now, these memories felt hollow and useless, overshadowed by his impending doom.
Lost in these echoes, he drifted until he found himself in a dark alleyway, collapsing against the cold stone wall, in search of solace. His hand trembled as he pulled out his lucky coin, biting down on it for comfort.
"I'm going to die." The words echoed in his mind like a relentless drumbeat, drowning out all else. Each repetition carved deeper into his sanity, driving him closer to the edge. Al bit down harder on the valis coin, the metal piercing his gums and fresh blood pooling in his mouth—a bitter cocktail of despair.
"I'm going to die. I'm going to die!" The phrase grew louder, chipping away at his composure. Trembling, he clutched his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as tears streamed down his face. Blood gathered within his mouth, a crimson testament to his struggle, each drop a silent scream of anguish.
"I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die!" The mantra spiraled into a haunting chorus, echoing off the walls of his mind like a judgment. The weight of hopelessness bore down on him, suffocating and relentless, until he felt himself trembling uncontrollably, threatening to crumble under its pressure.
As he descended deeper into despair, a gentle voice broke through his hellish descent. "You must be very hungry to eat a valis coin. Here, have a Jagamarukun; it's on the house!"
He lifted his head slowly, struggling to see through his tear-blurred vision. Finally, he discerned a short woman with a pair of pigtails. In that fleeting moment, clarity struck him—this was a goddess.
Swallowing the blood pooling in his mouth, Al stuttered through his tears, "I—I don't care if I'm hungry, bleeding or trembling! I'm... I'm doomed!"
The goddess tilted her head slightly, her expression both curious and compassionate. "Doomed? How?"
"I'm going to die!" he yelled in desperation, his voice echoing in the alleyway, reverberating off the cold stone walls.
The goddess, surprisingly calm amidst his anguish, replied, "Well, you're mortal; isn't that a given?"
Al, raising his voice further, retorted, "You don't understand! I'm cursed—cursed to death! And there's no way to lift this curse!" His hands clenched his coin tightly, fingers whitening with the strain.
The goddess raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in her eyes. "You know you can't lie to a deity, right? Are there really no way to lift this curse, or do you think there's no way for you to lift it?"
His fists clenched with vexation. "It's an impossible task! It's never been pulled off, so how can a nobody like me hope to achieve it?!"
"Won't it be better if you tried though?" she countered, "If you're going to die anyway, shouldn't you curse your fate with an attempt? Would you prefer to die wallowing, or die with satisfaction knowing you tried your hardest to break your curse?"
Al froze, her words striking him like a lightning bolt. The truth of her question reverberated in his mind, rattling the very core of his despair. A flicker of realization sparked within him—she was right. If he was destined to die, then wouldn't it make sense to at least try? He felt a rush of conflicting emotions, a mix of anger and hope flooding through him.
As he wrestled with his thoughts, she settled in front of him, her relaxed demeanor radiating warmth and understanding. "You can tell me all that's troubling you; after all, I'm on break," she said, her eyes encouraging him to open up.
He felt himself drawn in by her soothing words and took a deep breath, attempting to purge the remnants of his earlier anguish. The weight of his fears and frustrations threatened to spill over as he began to explain the situation: how he got cursed by Nyx and the terrible conditions of his curse that hung over him like an executioner's blade, ready to fall at any moment.
The goddess listened intently, her expression shifting from curiosity to empathy. "Humu Humu, that does sound like Nyx, but I had no idea she descended too. I'm terribly sorry you had to run into her."
She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought. Then she asked, "Would you have to make a deal?"
Al blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation. "A d-deal?" he repeated, the word tasting foreign on his tongue.
She lifted a finger, her expression earnest. "Yes, a deal. If you want to attempt to lift the curse, the very first thing you would need is a blessing, so you'd need a familia. But since you got cursed by Nyx, there will be no one willing to accept you into theirs for fear of attracting her attention."
Al flinched at the realization of his isolation as the weight of the goddess's words settled heavily on his chest. "So, I'll give you my blessing and let you into my familia," she continued. "I'll become your goddess. Should the curse weigh on your mind, I'll help you with that too. I'll soothe your worries and become a pillar you can rely on."
He then looked at her, a mix of hope and uncertainty swirling within him. "A-and what should I g-give you?" he asked, a hint of skepticism lacing his voice. Was it truly that simple?
The goddess smiled brightly, her enthusiasm infectious. "I want you to try your hardest and give me a good show! After all, we gods descended from heaven for entertainment!"
Suddenly, laughter erupted from Al, tears streaming down his face as the absurdity of the situation hit him like a wave. "Ahahahahahahahahah!" He laughed uncontrollably, the sound echoing through the alley.
"What's so funny? Are you making fun of me?!" the goddess asked, puzzled and annoyed by his uncontrollable laughter.
Wiping his tears, Al continued to chuckle as he caught his breath. "You're very bad at negotiations, Lady Goddess! What kind of deal is that? I've got everything to win, and you've got everything to lose!"
In response, the goddess frowned, crossing her arms in defiance. "Humph! Well, if you don't want it, you can leave," she said, her playful pout adding a layer of charm to her frustration.
Gradually, Al calmed down, wiping the last remnants of tears from his face. With newfound determination, he declared, "Nah, you win! I'll take the deal and curse my fate with an attempt at killing the one-eyed black dragon!" His voice rang with conviction, a spark igniting in the depths of his despair.
Seeing his resolve, she beamed, her smile radiant and full of encouragement as she stood up. "That's the spirit! Now rise, child, and tell this lovely goddess your name!" She extended her hand to help him up, her presence radiating warmth.
He took her hand as he stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him, Al introduced himself, "I'm Alistair Altirias, but you can call me Al. What about you, Lady Goddess? What should I call you?"
She replied with a warm smile that felt like a comforting embrace. "I'm Hestia, goddess of the hearth, Family and the state. It's a pleasure to have you on board, Al!"