Waylinn and Heka arrived at Heka's house just as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the quiet street.
Without a word, Waylinn stepped inside and made his way directly to the kitchen. The room was neat and inviting. The pots hung above the stove and a small herb garden thrived on the windowsill.
Waylinn's eyes scanned the counter until he found what he was looking for a something sharp. Then, he saw a well-used knife resting on a wooden block. He picked it up carefully.
Apparently, he had a sword. However, he thought it was better to use a knife. Because his sword was not an ordinary sword. It was carried with great immortal power. Once it struck something, it would definitely turn into dust.
Everything in the human realm, was different. Unlike everything in the immortal realm where everything could carry a power, even the little things like dust.
Turning back to Heka, who had followed him into the room, Waylinn extended the knife with a steady hand.
Heka took the knife, his fingers brushing briefly. There was a silent understanding between them. A shared purpose that needed no further explanation.
The knife wasn't just a tool. It was a symbol of trust and readiness for what lay ahead.
"My lord needs your blood." The words hung heavy in the air. It was spoken with a quiet urgency that sent a shiver down his spine.
Waylinn reached into his cloak and produced a small crystal. It was delicate and shimmering with an ethereal light. It was shaped like a snow lotus flower. Its translucent petals glowed faintly as if imbued with some ancient witchery.
Heka took the crystal carefully, turning it over in his hands. The snow lotus was a symbol of purity and resilience. But now it felt like a silent demand, a token of sacrifice.
The crystal seemed to pulse softly. As if alive, waiting for the life essence it was meant to contain.
Bleeding for Marchio was not a difficult thing for him. Because he served him with unwavering loyalty.
The ritual was familiar, almost mechanical, a necessary act in the service of a greater cause. Yet, despite the ease of the task, there was a barrier he could not cross.
It was not the pain that held him back. Nor the fear of the unknown consequences. It was the lack of courage. The courage to bleed himself, to pierce his own flesh and let the crimson life flow down freely into the crystal.
The act demanded a bravery that felt elusive. A confrontation with himself that he was not yet ready to face.
His fingers trembled slightly as he held the crystal closer, the cold surface pressing against his skin. The room around him seemed to fade. The weight of expectation settled heavily on his chest.
Heka glanced up, meeting the steady gaze of the man who had entrusted him with this task. There was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt.
He put the knife firmly into his skin. The cold metal pressing against his palm, its weight both familiar and daunting.
The blade gleamed faintly under the dim light, sharp and unforgiving. He closed his eyes for a moment. He tried to summon the courage that seemed to slip further away with every heartbeat.
But as the blade hovered just above his flesh. His hand trembled uncontrollably.
The moment stretched endlessly, filled with the silent battle raging within him. Despite his efforts, he couldn't bring himself to make even the smallest cut.
Frustration and fear welled up inside him, and finally, Heka lowered the knife with a heavy sigh. His voice was barely a whisper, laden with defeat. "Sorry, I can't do it."
The room fell into a tense silence. Then Waylinn said, a cold and sharp voice broke through the stillness. "Do you stand against my Lord?"
The question was not just a query but an accusation. It was heavy with expectation and judgment. It hung in the air like a challenge, daring him to reveal his true allegiance.
The weight of the moment pressed down on him. It forced him to confront not only his fear but the very essence of his loyalty.
Heka looked up, meeting the piercing gaze of the one who spoke. His heart pounded, the knife still cold in his hand, as he searched for the answer that would define his path.
Heka took a steadying breath. His eyes reflected a mixture of frustration and vulnerability as he spoke.
Heka explained carefully. His voice was low but earnest. "I don't mean to go against him. It's just that I can't do it. I don't dare. When I cut chicken, pork, or beef, I dare to do it. But when I cut open my own flesh, I can't afford it. I just lack courage."
His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears and inner conflict. It wasn't a matter of defiance or disloyalty. It was the paralyzing grip of fear that held him back.
The thought of drawing his own blood, of breaking his skin with that cold, sharp blade, stirred a deep unease within him. An invisible barrier he couldn't overcome.
Heka glanced down at the knife still resting in his palm. The metal gleamed faintly as if mocking his hesitation. "I want to be brave. I want to do what's needed. But the fear... It's stronger than I am."
The weight of the moment pressed heavily on him. The cold knife in his hand felt more like a burden than a tool.
Waylinn stepped closer, his presence calm and reassuring. He said gently, his tone understanding yet firm. "That's right. You're just human. Moreover, you never kill anything. Well, let me help you."
Without hesitation, Waylinn took the knife from Heka's trembling hand. The blade was cold and sharp. But in Waylinn's grasp, it seemed less threatening. It was more like an instrument of necessity than fear.
As soon as the knife touched Heka's skin, a sharp prick that was both real and symbolic. Heka's voice broke through the silence. His eyes were wide with apprehension. He said quietly. "Wait a minute, I want to close my eyes first."