Perhaps he sought solace. A fleeting comfort in the illusion that he was making a difference. But he wasn't. These people wouldn't endure. They, too, would perish. In the end, all he had given them was a hollow hope.
But perhaps that was enough. It has to. That's all I can give them.
He pulled the boy forward, crouching and staring at him. At his glassy crystal eyes. Just looking at them faded the pain. The pounding fear that desired his surrender and the resistance that told him he deserved better also vanished into nothing.
Yes, he deserved nothing. This was what he needed.
This was to be his glorious purpose. To die a meaningless, worthless death.
Liem's death now seems meaningless...He thought idly. You died saving me, and now I die, not even saving them.
Mist...I deserve damnation.
He reined himself in, then smiled at the boy. This was a brighter smile. A more truthful one. "I'm listening now," he said.
Yes, he was. He had been a coward for so long. Every time he lived, others died. No more.
He skimmed the slaves who now locked eyes with him. What was he to them? A savior? A liar? An attention seeker? Maybe he was indeed all that, and though they were still going to die, Merrin hoped for them to have some serenity before then.
And if he could hold on amidst the doom of lightning, then by the almighty's name, he will!
His pain mattered not.
He stood up, looking at the sister. Why did she even accept the deal? It made no sense, unless. She plans to use me as an example. He thought,An example against defiance.
And here he was, practically making it easier for her.
Well, at least she gets helped. Merrin heaved a breath. A relaxing one. Was it the fact that his death was sealed now, or was it the effect of the boy? Whatever it was, it starved the fear, and that was something he needed now more than ever.
He needed to be brave.
"Alright," he said to the sister.
"May you find peace in the almighty."
If he accepts me. Merrin said. Finally, … I die?
His heart pounded faster.
Be brave.
He drew in a breath, but then—something shifted. A foreign sensation rippled through him, threading into his very self. A force, overwhelming and absolute, as though he stood before an unyielding will. Power—raw, inescapable.
He winced. What is this?
He floated. Merrin's legs were off the ground, levitating slightly above it. It was strange, familiar, yes, but still bizarre. Though he had gone through it before, at that time, he didn't pay much attention, plus he was mostly asleep. But now he did.
It could be the epiphany of his upcoming death, but he....he enjoyed this. His smile curled wider, watching the sister turn, walk on. Merrin followed her. Though it seemed more like she led him.
Him floating, her walking. A strange turnout.
But just then, Merrin heard a whisper from behind as he floated deeper into the vast cave. He knew that voice. That soft voice...The kid.
He turned, or at least managed to strain his head.
The small kid was staring at him with a pitiful gaze. Why pity though?
He parted his lips and said. "This was not what I meant. It would seem that he who would never die is about to do so." He turned slowly and walked deeper into the crowd of slaves. Disappearing within it.
What was that? Merrin felt his hands quiver, breathing growing hectic. Was he making a bad choice? He turned back, staring at the looming X-shaped cruciform...The rippling, dark, brittle surface of eltium, wet by the constant drizzle of rain.
His executioner!
Merrin yelped, but it was too late. It was now upon him. He was floating, moving closer to the rough surface of the structure. The impossibly high thing. Oh, Almighty, save me!
He floated up.
"May damnation see you not," the sister said. She was down. Far down. They looked like dots due to the height, but he was sure the cruciform wasn't that big. So what was this? Is his mind playing tricks on him?
He winced, panting.
He was floating high above the ground, the patter of rain washing down his body. Cleansing him of his stink. I die clean, huh?
Many would have preferred a different end, but men hardly had a chance to choose these things. There was a will to it, one men couldn't hope to resist. The will of the almighty was, by definition, absolute. And now it seems, it was his turn to bend to it.
Was this the will of the Almighty?
He turned, not of his own will, of course, his back pressing against the cold surface of the cruciform. Maybe he should feel proud that they hanged him with cast, while others died with ropes. An odd thing to be proud about.
Merrin regarded below, at the vast, dim cave, where he had now been mounted above. He was wet now, rain slitting through his body like a flood through a chasm. Beneath him was a spread of complete caliginous vastness. The cave. It was unimaginably large, despite nothing but the cruciform being of relevance. Its walls were coarse, stony, and black with blotches of rippling eltium. They seemed like dark puddles within the wall's externality.
Yet, this darkness was dimly illuminated by the lamps: Human souls burning white at the wall's base, sharing their light hazily at the room's edge.
But even then, the grayness did not hide them.
He was watched now.
They gathered slowly like a drift of dry sand. All of them. Slaves. They peered at him, hollow-eyed, a gaze of only the faintest of life. Their bodies were worn, depreciated, their clothing little more than tattered rags. They seemed like nothing, but mere remnants of some desire. Yet they watched him, as if he were their savior, their beacon. Some wept, some whispered prayers, others seethed with resentment. But still, the embers of yearning smoldered within them.
Maybe the sister wanted to escalate the fear or instill the feeling of worthlessness in them, but that had failed…Now, below the round cruciform platform were the slaves. Hundreds of them all gathered, watching him.
And that was his branch of solace.
He could have wailed on the cruciform till he could no longer, but he suspected the sister would drag his death, likely feeling content with the show. The show that was meant to bend these people. To break them.
You came here to give them solace.
Hence, he didn't cry. He could scream and seek some safety, but there was no point; getting free was out of the question. This is where he was to die. And such without witness.
Yes, these people were here, but at last, they too would meet an end. An end which would strip him of remembrance, and them too of theirs. So he stayed silent and occasionally found the strength to offer a smile. A fake one. Did it work? He hoped it did, ultimately, this was the best he could do for them.
From time to time, he skimmed through the gathering of men, watching for the boy. He was gone now—vanished. Which was odd. Wasn't he a slave? How had he managed to escape? Even outside all that, Merrin found it baffling that such a young kid was proclaimed a slave.
He seemed barely twelve. Had the clans even forced children into such lives?
Odd.
But did it matter? Death was near now…not many things did. The rain was good, though, as it washed him, cleansing him of the filth he had acquired over the days in the mines. He felt freshened, anew at the edge of his death. And with his hair clung over his face, wet and cold, he felt the natural chillness that came not from the stones, but from the dark skies above. The dark welkin that crackled with flashes of white light.
As he was placed here, Merrin found his froststones had grown unnervingly dim; perhaps the rain or lightning did affect them. Was the storm in opposition to the cast? He wondered passively, straining his head to look at the sky; A sky he could now only see through the round hole above.
It was good nonetheless. Not many saw the sky before their death…he was lucky to see it. Or maybe they did…. He wasn't sure, though he heard casters battled mostly the fallen, a battle outside the walls of the clans. A battle that could end in their death. A death staring at the skies.
Should I be happy that I'm not a caster?
Praise the almighty. He thought grimly but piously, then froze. He saw something…His eyes had caught something. Something that sent a shiver washing down his frame. Quickly, Merrin's gaze flowed down, locking on the two figures approaching the stem of the cruciform.