Chapter 2: Abyss
As the burning heat of the fire struck my face, seconds began to feel like hours.
Before long, two women slowly stepped out from the crowd and began walking toward me.
Their faces were completely covered with thin white veils, but from their posture and the way they walked, I immediately recognized them.
Big Sister Janny and Big Sister Layla… the same kind women who used to run after me, play hide and seek with me, and braid my hair when I was younger.
As I grew older, they had become busier with their own lives and drifted a little away from me.
Now, dressed in those strange white clothes with their faces hidden, they looked so unusual that despite the fear inside me, I almost burst out laughing.
Janny stepped in front of me, holding a carved wooden cup.
As she extended it toward me, the heavy, sour scent that reached my nose made me realize immediately what it was.
Wine.
I was only twelve years old, and on a normal day, I would never even be allowed to taste something like this.
Unsure of what to do, I glanced toward Old Marc standing at the front of the crowd.
With his cold, emotionless expression, he gave a slow nod of approval.
I thought to myself, this must be what it means to be the Chosen One. These rules do not apply to someone chosen.
Gathering my courage, I took the cup from Janny and drank the dark liquid in one go.
The taste was unlike anything I had ever eaten or drunk before.
It had a sharp bitterness that twisted my tongue, yet as it slid down my throat, it left behind a strange sweetness.
At first, my stomach tightened and I wanted to throw it all up, but by the second swallow, the strange warmth spreading through my body felt… oddly pleasant.
After finishing it, I handed the cup back to Janny with a smile.
Even through her veil, I could see her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were smiling back.
And then, the world began to spin.
At first, I felt a faint tingling in my fingertips.
Then it spread to my arms, my chest, and my legs.
My head spun violently, and nausea rose in my stomach.
I lost my balance and stumbled forward from the chair.
In the brief moment I realized I was about to fall, a large man rushed out from the crowd, grabbed me by the arms, and threw me back onto the chair, forcing my body into place.
What was happening?
I wanted to move, to shout "Let me go!" but my lips would not part.
I was losing control of my body.
My arms fell to my sides like lifeless pieces of flesh.
But the most terrifying part was this:
My mind was still clear.
I could see, hear, and understand everything, but my body no longer belonged to me.
I was becoming paralyzed.
It did not take long for me to realize that.
Old Marc's deep voice cut through the deadly silence like a blade.
"There is no need to be afraid, Chosen One!" he shouted.
There was no compassion in his voice, no concern, only a cold, ritualistic tone.
"Everything is for our god!"
Right after those words, several more people stepped forward from the crowd.
In their hands were thick green cords.
No… they were not cords.
They were black forest vines, covered in razor sharp thorns.
A wave of pure terror exploded inside me.
I was afraid.
More afraid than I had ever been before.
My eyes widened, but I could not move a single muscle.
I could not even shake my head.
I could not scream.
The men began wrapping the vines around me roughly.
As my beautiful white clothes tore apart, I felt the thick thorns pierce into my skin.
Pain.
The pain was so real, so sharp, it struck my mind like lightning.
The thorns tearing through my soft flesh, the warm wetness of my blood soaking into the fabric…
It hurt far more than I could have ever imagined.
I wanted to scream, to cry out with everything I had.
But I could not.
They did not stop.
They bound my shoulders, arms, legs, and chest tightly to the chair with those cursed thorned vines.
With every movement, the thorns dug deeper into my flesh.
My pupils widened as tears streamed down my cheeks.
Desperately, I turned my head toward my family.
My mother.
My father.
I begged them with my eyes.
Please… please do something.
It hurts so much.
I waited for help, for protection, for them to hold me.
But all I saw were those frozen, empty stares and the fake smiles plastered on their faces.
No one moved.
When I looked at Old Marc, he simply stood there with his hands behind his back, watching calmly as if everything were perfectly normal.
Before I could gather my thoughts, Layla stepped forward.
In her hands was a crown made entirely of long black thorns.
As I cried silently inside, she placed the crown onto my head without any emotion.
The moment she pressed it down, I felt the thorns tear into my scalp.
Tears poured endlessly from my eyes.
The screams trapped inside me tore at my throat, yet not even a whisper escaped.
Why?
Why were they doing this to me?
What had I done?
Suddenly, there was movement in the crowd.
The people dressed in white began forming a line.
At the very front was Aunt Karen, the one who always gave me the sweetest red apples from her garden.
She slowly walked toward the massive fire behind me and bent down.
In the red glow of the flames, I saw what she was holding.
A small knife with a metal handle.
She placed the tip of the blade into the burning coals and waited as the metal turned red hot.
Then she began walking toward me.
I did not need to be a genius to understand what would happen next.
My mind screamed, Run, please run.
But my body was nailed to the chair with thorns.
As the knife approached, all I could do was stare at her with tear blurred, pleading eyes.
Aunt Karen stopped in front of me.
The frozen smile on her face did not change.
Without even looking into my eyes, she drove the burning blade into my left shoulder.
A broken sound escaped my throat.
The searing heat burning my flesh and the cold steel cutting through it at the same time…
I had never imagined such pain could exist.
The sickening smell of burning flesh filled my nose.
My stomach twisted.
She pulled the knife out in one motion and calmly walked away.
Next was Baker Franc.
The big, kind man who used to save me fresh warm bread every morning.
His face was pale as flour.
He took the bloodied knife, reheated it in the fire, and watched as my blood sizzled and evaporated.
When the blade turned red again, he walked toward me.
My heart pounded violently.
He raised the knife and stabbed it into my right knee.
I heard the horrifying crack of my own bone.
As the burning steel shattered my kneecap, my mind wanted to sink into darkness.
But I could not even faint.
He pulled the knife out and walked away as if nothing had happened.
It did not end.
One by one, they came.
Martha the tailor.
Oleson the blacksmith.
Liam the shepherd.
Everyone.
Every single person who once smiled at me, who claimed to find peace in my presence, stepped forward and drove the heated blade into my body.
I could not understand how I was still alive.
How my heart was still pumping.
I felt like there was no blood left in my body.
There was not a single part of me untouched.
My white clothes had turned red and black.
My entire body was covered in wounds.
The pain became so overwhelming that my mind began to detach from my body.
Until two people stepped forward.
My mother.
My father.
A faint light flickered in the fog of my mind.
No… I begged silently.
Please… not them.
They would not do this.
My father took the knife.
He heated it.
He walked toward me as calmly as if he were going to tend the fields.
Tears streamed down my face, mixing with blood.
He stood in front of me.
The man who used to carry me on his shoulders…
Without hesitation, he drove the blade into my chest.
Something inside me shattered.
He handed the knife to my mother.
The woman who carried me, who sang me to sleep.
She still had that same gentle smile from the morning.
She looked into my eyes.
But there was no mother in them.
She raised the knife and stabbed it into my collarbone.
None of the wounds in my body hurt as deeply as those two.
When she stepped aside, I saw the next person.
My little sister Anna.
My sweet, stubborn little sister.
She walked toward me with small steps, holding a knife bigger than her hands.
Memories flashed before my eyes.
The games we played.
The stories I told her.
Please… I begged silently.
Not you.
At least you stay clean.
Until the very last moment, a fragile hope remained inside me.
That she would drop the knife and hug me.
She stopped in front of me.
Raised the knife.
And drove it straight into my heart.
I felt the blade pierce through it.
That was my answer.
The cruelest and most real answer.
As a final tear fell, I looked at her.
There was nothing in her face.
Only that same empty smile.
I waited for death.
I closed my eyes.
And let my soul drift into darkness.
But… I did not die.
I could feel my heart stop.
No pulse.
And yet…
I was still conscious.
Still alive.
Old Marc stepped into my view.
"You…" he whispered. "You truly are the Chosen One, Avaris…"
His eyes burned with fanatic madness.
"The others all died before reaching this point. But you… you are still here."
He turned to the crowd.
"It is time to unite the Chosen One with our god!"
The people lifted me together with the chair.
They carried me into the forest.
Deep.
Dark.
Silent.
They stopped before an old stone well.
The lid was thrown aside.
A rotten stench rose from within.
Marc himself lifted me.
The vines tore through my flesh as I was pulled free.
He dragged me to the edge.
Held me over the darkness.
Our eyes met.
He said nothing.
No prayer.
No farewell.
Then he let go.
I fell.
Into endless darkness.
Toward the mouth of the god.