We are all born of darkness.
Each and every one of us carries a cardinal sin buried deep within our souls.
[Nicholas lifted his blade. Or maybe it was Nicholas. Even he could no longer tell.]
Seven. A sacred number. Seven chances to glimpse the future. Seven strokes of luck. Seven blessings. Seven sins.
And perhaps the greatest sin of all is the belief that one can rise above sin itself.
His sword moved like a stream, fluid, instinctive, precise. Yet still, I deflected it, barely.
I leapt back as his blade brushed past my neck, landing hard against the surface of the water.
He came again, arcing his blade downward in a beautiful curve.
I ducked under the swing and spun, dragging my sword upward to sever his arm.
He bent back with unnatural ease, avoiding the strike, then kicked me in the chest.
I rolled, breath caught in my throat, evading blow after blow until, finally, a pause.
He ran toward me. I stood tall and rushed forward.
We mirrored each other, every movement synchronized to the beat of an invisible rhythm.
As if it really was just a reflection.
[Nicholas would come to understand his role, not as a hero, not as a king, but as a fool.]
We danced. Slipping across the ocean's surface like fish in air, like shadows without tether.
We fought not for victory, but for understanding.
Our swords clashed, parried, struck, missed. Again and again. We reached for something we could not name, just a single, perfect strike.
I began to laugh.
And he began to cry.
It was absurd. It was profound. It was truth.
[Nicholas was crying.]
I did not know why the tears fell. I did not know if they were his or mine. Maybe we shared them.
But as we fought, the world began to fracture around us. The ocean cracked like glass beneath our feet.
Swinging like a man who knew he would lose, I kept going. Desperate. Wild. Foolish.
But that was what made me smile.
Or was it grief?
[Nicholas began to laugh.]
I swung again and again until the blood dripping from my blade had dried. My sword lodged deep into his chest.
He did not scream. He only smiled.
"You are consumed," he said, voice quiet, almost kind. "And yet we are the same. What a disgusting tale."
Then, as if pulled from the marrow of my soul, the name burst from my lips. A cry. A truth. A command.
"Sotergramma."
The sea collapsed beneath me. Two hands grabbed hold and dragged me back.
Reddish-silver hair streaked past my vision as I was pulled into her lap. Mirabel.
She looked down at me and sighed in relief. "Nick, you were drowning."
I blinked, dazed. My body was soaked, cold to the bone.
In my hands, I held a sword wrapped in white cloth, still humming with that same strange pulse. I chuckled faintly.
"I see. Mirabel, it seems we really do have a problem on our hands."
She tilted her head, clearly confused. I just smiled. "Trust me, my love. The future really does seem dark."
She helped me to my feet, her gaze flickering over the now glowing altar behind us.
"Come now. Let's get out of here."
She slipped her fingers around my arm and led me away.
As we exited the room, leaving the awakened altar behind, I could not help but smile.
[Nicholas truly was an Endless Fool.]
An Endless Fool, was I? I still considered myself quite clever.
[Nicholas needed something to hold him. Mirabel was quite skilled in that aspect.]
She guided me through the castle's winding halls, finally reaching a spare bathroom.
There, she helped dry me off, scolding me the entire time about how weak I was and how reckless I had become.
Her words were loud, biting as usual, but I hardly registered them. I was distracted.
Distant. The room felt small. Too small. The walls seemed to close in, and my skin prickled as if the very air were pushing me down.
Then came the pressure. A sudden weight behind my eyes. A dizzying tilt of the floor.
Seconds passed, or maybe minutes, as her voice began to fade, swallowed by a darkness that curled like smoke around my vision.
Then nothing.
No color. No sound. No pain. Just the void. A perfect, suffocating stillness that pressed against my chest and bled through my limbs.
A silence only death could rival.
And yet, through that nothingness, came a light. Annoyingly bright. Annoyingly gold.
Of course. Them.
Mirabel did not yet understand my hatred for the Golden Authority.
A valid misunderstanding. I only told her what was necessary to convince her of my war.
Malachi, by that decree, should have arrived by now.
But thanks to my many shortcomings, I remained a sick man, riddled with curses I could not yet name.
"My king, can you hear my voice?" A man's voice echoed through the golden light.
My eyes opened.
And I was met with a deeply unpleasant sight.
Lush brown hair, bronze eyes, pale skin, and a pristine doctor's coat. The man was young, late twenties, perhaps. Gabriel.
The Golden Authority's prized physician. "Ah, there you are, my king. Back in the land of the living."
He smiled with that same joy, that same relief tainted by something vile just beneath the surface. It made me want to scream.
In theory, he was not a bad person. He even helped me escape the Golden Authority. But I have always hated his smile.
I sat up slowly, blinking as I took in my room.
The silver-haired maid stood nearby, watching me with a mixture of pity and irritation.
I had been changed into something else, my clothes replaced, and my head throbbed, heavier than ever.
A curse. A divine punishment for gaining this sword.
[Nicholas had blood so deeply etched into his soul that the world seemed to reject him.]
I ran a hand through my hair. "Damn this stupid…"
I groaned, glancing over at Gabriel. "Say… are you an angel sent from the sky?"
His eyes twitched. The smile stayed, but something in it cracked.
"Well, I suppose one could call me an angel, though truly, I am more of a demon."
The silver-haired maid gave me a sideways glance but said nothing.
[Nicholas was a reject. Given the chance to thrive, he would destroy. An anomaly against the eternal world.]
"No, I mean it literally, Gabriel. I take you as one of the golden angels. Is it true?"
He stepped back, clearly caught off guard. "W-well, of course... I am merely a doctor."
The maid smiled faintly.
"Nah. You see, my eyes… they see through illusions, lies, and irregularities. This world has many."
Gabriel sighed, then his body shimmered. The tone of his skin shifted, growing slightly darker. The glamour peeled back.
"Truly, I am amazed at such a guess. Tell me… how much do you really know?"
The silver-haired maid stepped forward and gently took hold of my arm. Her eyes, pale and sharp, mirrored my own.
"Little brother, I must beg the question. Letting him live… is it wise?"
[Nicholas was a bad person, forgetting the name of his cherished sister and revealing such a secret so easily. Almost as if he were someone else.]
Gabriel chuckled. "No, it is quite alright. Upon my death, I shall return to the pearly gates. But you…"
Wings unfurled from his back, brown as a hawk's. He gave a grand bow.
"I have been meaning to tell you. That illness of yours… it is quite dark."
A pillar of golden light enveloped him. His form vanished, carried off in radiance.
He left like that out of sheer spite. Not that I needed his help any longer.
[There are many beings sent down by the deities above, all fighting for control over this plane.]
Gabriel was one of their soldiers.
And this silver-haired girl… my sister… she was a soldier too.
I turned to her with a smile. "I am sorry, sister. Could you tell me your name once more?"
She let go of my arm and sighed, tired, somewhere between disappointment and acceptance.
"You know… remembering my name might prevent my eventual betrayal."
She turned and walked away.
And I, finally, felt a small flicker of guilt.
In truth, when escaping the Golden Authority, I had remembered her name. It was the only reason she helped me.
[Nicholas was… evil like that, using his siblings as pawns.]