Seirion did not know how much time had passed since he had last heard the voice of the young human. In that place where time was an endless stretch of shadows and dead stone, days were not measured by sunrises.
It was only in that moment that he understood that voice belonged to the sacrifice sent to him every decade.
Dozens of meters above, standing at the edge of the abyss, there was the human.
His figure was little more than a pale smudge against the ashen backdrop of the abyss. His white tunic rippled in the wind, and over his head fell a veil as pure as it was false, covering his eyes… Eyes that Seirion already knew could not see.
The human had been blind long before they imposed the blindfold.
Seirion could make out the figures of the Bearers and the priestesses, rigid as stone, encircling the youth as though guarding a sacred object… or as though afraid he might escape.
In his hands, bound by a red ribbon, the human's fingers tightened around the cord, a gesture Seirion knew all too well And though he could not hear clearly, he was certain the human was praying.
But not to the Goddess of Purity.
The human was praying to him.
To Seirion.
The impact of that certainty struck his chest like a blow. Never before had an offering prayed to Seirion. Yes, he had heard his name in trembling invocations, but they had always been rote, mechanical, hollow. This time was different. These were the human's own words, words born of a heart that, even knowing it was about to die, did not cling to life out of fear, but out of faith.
Faith in Seirion, the god who could not save him.
Seirion reached out a hand, not to touch the human, for he knew he could not, but to measure the distance. An invisible wall, woven from the very vow that bound him, kept him apart. The chains tying him to the abyss were not of iron, but of divine will and not his own.
The god could watch, could listen… but could not intervene.
He wanted to shout something to the human, anything, but what word would not sound hollow from the mouth of one who had already abandoned him to his fate?
Because yes, though the offering still breathed, Seirion already felt the weight of his death.
Seirion had done the little he could to help the human.
And the little was never enough.
The procession came to a halt.
Dry trees, animals waiting with the patience of those who know fresh flesh will soon arrive. The ground, cracked, exhaled a sour smell, seeping even into the gloom where Seirion dwelled.
It was a place of no return.
The priestesses began their chant. It was a monotone prayer, cold, without inflection, meant to be solemn, but to Seirion it had always sounded like a sentence. The youth stood upright, head slightly bowed, like one accepting a destiny already sealed.
The wind stirred his tunic and, for an instant, Seirion thought he saw something beyond the veil, not a full face, but the taut line of lips that did not tremble.
Make of me whatever is Your will, the human seemed to say.
And Seirion, powerless, listened.
The Bearers stepped forward, placing themselves on either side. One of them, the one holding the scales, kept his eyes averted.
Seirion recognized him: the same man who, a day earlier, had struck the human.
The chant reached its highest point. the red cord tightened at Erian's wrists, now Seirion knew his name, having heard it in the prayers, as the priestesses lifted their hands toward the sky.
In theory, this was the moment when the god was meant to accept or reject the offering. But Seirion could do neither.
His curse bound him, binding him from touching, from saying 'no,' even from closing his eyes against what was to come.
A silence fell so deep that even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then, without ceremony or warning, one of the Bearers placed a hand on Erian's back and shoved him.
Shoved him as if he were nothing more than a scrap of wood to be thrown into the fire.
Seirion stepped forward. The invisible barrier flared, sending a dull ache through his chest, a warning seared into him centuries ago: Not yours. You cannot touch him.
He saw the human fall, a white shadow sinking into the blackness. The veil fluttered like a torn flag, the red ribbon traced a fleeting arc through the air… and then nothing.
The abyss swallowed the human.
Seirion closed his empty hand, the gesture weighing as though he held a heart that was not his own. He knew he would never forget the feeling of that instant: the voice that had called to him, the faith that had reached for him… and his own inability to answer.
Because Seirion was, after all, a god who could not save anyone.