Erian and his mother were sitting face to face. Neither spoke. Their eyes were swollen, red from crying so much, though no more tears fell.
Malric moved about in the kitchen, warming some bread in a pan. He set cups of tea and pieces of hard cheese on the table. He did it in silence, without looking at them.
"You have to eat something," he said softly. "You're both very weak."
The woman didn't answer. Her fingers trembled over her skirt. Her eyes were fixed on the wall, as if she could see through it. Then, very slowly, she turned her face toward Erian.
"This is all your fault," she spat, her voice breaking. "Ever since you lost your sight… you've brought ruin."
Erian said nothing. His fingers closed around the wooden cane resting by his side.
"It's your fault!" she shouted, standing up with a loud bang. "We were cursed because of you!"
And then she threw herself at him.
She struck him with her palms on his face and shoulders, sobbing. Erian only cried in silence, without defending himself.
Malric reacted at once. He grabbed the woman firmly by the arms, pulled her away from Erian, and led her to her room. She resisted, crying and pounding Malric's chest, until they disappeared down the hallway. A door closing was heard.
Erian was left alone. Trembling, he took his cane and stood. The smell of the tea turned his stomach.
He went out into the street.
The morning air had the sour scent of incense. The street was quieter than usual. The stalls were still open, but people bought quickly and in silence.
Erian walked led by the tapping of his cane, through the echo of whispers, through guilt and emptiness.
He reached the square.
The stage was still there. The remains of trampled petals and a dry streak of blood marked the center. Erian clenched his teeth. Took a deep breath.
With the few coins he had, he approached a candy stall.
"A candy apple…" he said in a low voice.
The vendor, a burly man with a beard, looked him up and down with an unpleasant smile.
"That's not enough. Won't even cover the stick," he said mockingly, eyeing the coins Erian offered.
Erian lowered his head.
Since he began to grow, since the men in the market started looking at him with lustful eyes, he understood his body could become a currency. That if he ever crossed that line, they could eat for days. He could buy Nalia new shoes. He could get medicine for his mother. But he had never sold his body.
Fear had always stopped him.
Fear of disgust, of pain, of losing himself.
But now…
Now that Nalia was gone, he didn't care about anything.
He lifted his head and, in a low voice, trembling but firm, he said:
"If… if you give it to me… you can touch me."
The silence that followed was dense. Suffocating. The man studied him with a lecherous look. He licked his teeth and nodded.
"This way," he murmured.
He took him behind the stall. Erian trembled. The man approached, brushed his face with a hand, and his lips with his mouth. He slid a hand between the fabrics of Erian's tunic. The man's breath made him nauseous.
Erian didn't move, clenched his teeth.
Every part of his body screamed at him to run, but he couldn't.
His body was there… but his mind floated far away. He sank into the thick silence of his blindness, as if he could disappear into the darkness behind his eyelids. He clung to that void desperately, like a drowning man clinging to driftwood.
Then, the man stepped back with a satisfied sigh and placed an apple in his hand.
"Sweet for sweet," he said mockingly, and returned to his place as if nothing had happened.
Erian left trembling. He walked toward the edge of the square with the apple shaking in his fingers. His legs gave way, but he didn't stop. He sat on an empty bench, as if the whole world had stopped.
Beside him, the sweet glistened red under the sun. With trembling hands, he wrapped it in a cloth and hid it inside his tunic.
He stood. His breathing was still unsteady, but his steps carried him forward on their own toward the church. He knew Nalia would be there. The chosen women were kept until the moment of the ceremony, where the Bearers performed rites of purification and prayer before the sacrifice.
The church rose solemnly at the back of the square, with its roof shaped like a rising flame and its walls covered in golden ivy. The incense drifting out the windows was dense, laden with herbs that made him slightly nauseous.
He crossed the threshold, pushing the door open with one hand. The interior smelled of hot wax and incense.
At the altar, under the stained glass depicting the Goddess of Purity, the three Bearers were kneeling, praying softly. The silence of the church was broken only by the murmur of their voices.
Erian took a step.
"You can't be here," said a voice to his right. It was one of the Dawn Enforcers. "This ceremony is private."
Erian didn't stop.
"I said you can't go in," the man insisted.
The Enforcer grabbed his arm firmly, trying to pull him back.
Erian felt the rough grip on his skin and, without thinking, shoved him hard with the cane he still held. The blow was clumsy, but enough to free himself. He advanced, led by the tapping of his cane against the stone tiles and the desperation driving him forward.
The small commotion broke the solemn calm of the place. The prayers ceased. The Bearers turned in unison toward the entrance.
The Bearer of the Scales stood immediately upon recognizing the androgynous figure with opaque eyes. His voice was almost festive.
"Stop. Don't touch her."
The Enforcer stopped at his words, though visibly confused.
"Let her approach," the Bearer continued. "She's family to our Flower."
"Even if she were a queen, she can't barge into a private ceremony," murmured the Bearer of the Book.
"This is desecration," added the Bearer of the Incense, frowning behind his mask.
"Silence," ordered the Bearer of the Scales, never taking his gaze off the figure approaching with fascination. "Let's be kind. Allow her to speak."
Erian reached the altar steps, breathing hard and with his heart pounding in his chest. The incense burned his throat, but he forced himself to remain steady. He felt the cold marble under his knees as he fell to his knees before the three masked men.
"I beg you," he said in a broken voice. "Take my life instead of Nalia's. I am the one who should pay that price."
"What are you saying?" asked the Bearer of the Incense. "You're a man! That's unacceptable!"
A slight jolt went through the Bearer of the Scales. Only then, upon hearing that statement, did he understand the truth. That ethereal, luminous creature, with a serene face and delicate hands, was not a woman, as he had believed. He was a man. A blind, fragile, pleading young man.
The teachings dictated that lust between men was an abomination. A grave sin. But seeing the blind boy like that, vulnerable, trembling before him, that fire in his chest intensified.
The Bearer couldn't help it. He desired him. And he desired him more strongly than any woman he had ever seen.
"I've been blind since I was four," Erian explained. "A fever took my sight, but you called it punishment. You said the gods had marked me. That I was born defective. That my presence brought misfortune."
The Bearers tensed.
"That's why no one wanted to marry me to their daughters," Erian continued, his voice trembling. "That's why I grew up as a burden. But at the same time, people said my beauty was a gift from the gods. And I thought… maybe they made me this way for a reason. Maybe I was created to be given as an offering."
"Don't blaspheme," spat the Bearer of the Incense. "The God of Ruin does not accept males."
"Why not?" Erian shot back. "Don't you call him a monster? Don't you say his hunger makes no distinction? If he is as cruel as you preach, then why wouldn't he accept me?"
The Bearer of the Scales kept his hidden eyes on Erian. And then, an idea formed in his mind.
He could pretend to everyone that Erian was the chosen offering, allow him to be taken for the rites… and later, when no one was watching, flee with him. He would hide him in the catacombs, in the tunnels beneath the temple, far from the eyes of the people.
No one would dare search for him. They would think the God of Ruin had killed him. And if anyone asked, they would say that the scales, for the first time, chose a male, but the God rejected him. That the earth grew angry, and that was why the blessing never came.
"I accept your offering. There is nothing purer than a voluntary sacrifice," he declared suddenly, his voice sounding solemn.
"What are you saying?" asked the Bearer of the Book, scandalized.
"This is an offense! A sacrilege!" added the Bearer of the Incense.
"Then let's put it to the test," replied the Bearer of the Scales, still calm. "The scales do not lie. If this young man's soul is worthy, then we will have nothing to refute."