Page 6 of Daughter of the Serpent

She hadn’t spoken to her father since that day, nor her older brothers.

Occasionally, Harris would offer a concerned glance when they passed on the street, his soft heart more suited to weilding his paintbrush than sword. He stood in stark contrast to Agon, the eldest, a warrior who seemed to be born with a perpetual scowl. Despite it, she had heard he had married, and had two children of his own - though she would never know their faces. Sometimes she wondered what it would've been like if she did. If her life had been different, normal, if she had stayed. Would she have known her nieces or nephews, and cherished the curves of their smiles and relished in their unbroken laughter? Would she be among them now, standing at her family's side, cooing over her new sibling? Would she still be in the free flowing fields of her parents home, her hands buried deep in the soil, communing with the earth and the spirits that dwelled within? Or would she have forged her own path, a life of her own, with someone at her side?

Such a life had been her most ardent desire.

At times she let herself play in the realms of the imaginary, when such a reality was hers, however, those moments were fleeting, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

The days of being bound by blood and family felt like distantechoes from another life entirely. For her new life began that fateful day when she too faced the flame of judgment, and she had changed forever.

A young boy next approached the flame. His face set with determination, and his daring blue eyes calculated. His eyes seem to search the fire as if he could somehow master its mysteries, or pull out its secrets before his descent - though Sylvie knew it was fruitless.

“Ascend the flame.” High priest Rederick ordered, pushing the boy forward. “May it judge you fairly!”

Though the boy’s face spoke of his determination, his limbs trembled. His right foot made contact with the first flicker, followed hesitantly by his left - until he was fully submerged in the blaze of red and white. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, suspended in time as the boy embraced his fate.

Then, in an instant, it was done.

His flesh melted from bone, vanishing into a heap of nothingness.

So the sacred flame continued to pass it’s judgments, taking their souls to the gods, or allowing their mortal flesh to continue. As the proceedings concluded, only three of the eight children stood upon the otherside.

Clasping the children’s shoulders in pride, the priests enveloped them with reverence. They had been found worthy by the gods, and would now be employed into the service of the gods until their chance at ascension.

It was then time for the final ritual.

The sacred rite where the high priest would open up the energetic channel within each of them to receive the full flow of magic. From that moment on, they would become a vessel for the magic to flow through, and able to channel at will if it accepted as its bearer.

The air thickened with anticipation as the high priest approached each child in turn.

His voice, low and melodic, wove incantations that seemed to crackle through the air, ancient words spilling from his lips that were not his own. With deliberate care, he drew runes in the air above eachchild, his fingers glowing faintly as he moved. The runes shimmered, hanging momentarily before descending into the children's bodies, sinking into their energetic fields like droplets of molten gold.

One by one, the children were enveloped in a soft, golden light - a pulsing glow that started faint but grew stronger with each passing moment. Their energy seemed to hum in response, vibrating in sync with the magic now stirring alive within them.

When the final child was blessed, the high priest stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the three glowing figures before him. Their energies radiated like sunbursts, heralding the beginning of new lives - lives now bound to the gods and the magic that would soon answer their call. The channel had been opened, and their once - insignificant lives would never be the same.

Their voices rang out in practiced unison, each word steady and deliberate as they recited their vows - pledging their lives, and their unwavering dedication to the temple and its service. As the last words fell from their mouths, sealing their fates - silver flashed in Rederick’s hands. Each would be awarded aStagna, a silver arm ring that would enclose around their left wrist. Such a precious gift was forever to serve as their reminder of their commitment to the light.

Sylvie glanced at her own, the silver freshly polished yet bearing the marks of years of service. Sixteen years of unwavering obedience had woven into Sylvie's very being, and as she looked at those children now, she knew such an honor came at a steep price.

They may have survived the flame, been awarded the chance to wield magic, and entreat the very gods themselves - but their souls would no longer be theirs to keep.

Chapter Two

The House of the Light was a sight to behold. With its winding staircases, marble floors, and bountiful gardens, anyone with eyes would gasp at its beauty. Its construction had commissioned only the most skilled of masons, carpenters, and artists, and now boasted many ornate and intricate details that Sylvie and many others would have never dreamed to behold in their lifetimes. No expense had been spared, and any and all coin was committed to the beauty and elegance of the temple of the gods. This was the wealth of the village, their home - and was to display where their loyalties lay.

Sylvie’s hand graced the polished railing as she skirted the familiar steps down to the main hall of the temple living quarters. As soon as the ceremony was over, she and Tara had been ushered away with the other children of the light back to the temple to prepare for night’s end. For the townsfolk the rest of the evening would be filled with festivity, dancing, and celebration - but it would not be so for the children of the light. To maintain purity and innocence, all chosen children were forbidden to participate. They could not mix with the possible immorality of the common folk, or rub shoulders with thosewho may dabble in things they should not. Instead, the chosen were to remain chaste and pure.

Yet, that didn’t stop Tara from trying.

“Do you think if we are really quiet we may be able to slip out from under Hjalmarr’s nose?” Tara asked, her skirts swishing between her short legs as she tried to keep pace. Despite her butter brown eyes and thick auburn tresses, Tara hadn’t been blessed with the known Mardovian stature. “I think if he’s supplied generously with ale, we may be able to get past him and the other guards!”

Hjalmarr was one of the many guards at the temple, and his job was to ensure that the children of the light were kept protected and unblemished. They were to keep a close eye on their daily interactions, associates, and manner, to ensure each was upholding their vows. Though they did not have the guards haunt their every step, they were monitored nonetheless, and today was no exception.

Sylvie gave Tara a look that told her to keep silent. There were too many people around to be even thinking about sneaking away that evening, never mind speak about it aloud. Her years of temple service had her well versed in what would happen upon rebellion, and the marks on her back and hands were only a testament to her misgivings. Despite her naivety, Tara’s pink skin gleamed, her hands noticeably unworn and untouched by Rederick’s staff - and Sylvie planned to keep it that way.

Hjalmarr stood a couple feet behind, his tall and broad stature towering over most, his eyes slits as he surveyed the environment. A breathy sigh came from Tara as they tried to keep a few paces ahead of him with their voices down. Hjalmarr had the eyes of a hawk and swiftness of an eel, so they had to be mindful. Often, Sylvie had wished they could have had Borris or Hylingr for guards, for at least they cracked a smile or jest ever so often. However, ever since Hjalmarr has been assigned their sector but two years ago, he was unreadable and only spoke when absolutely necessary. With his clean shaven head, dark braided beard, and thickly muscled physique, he had the look of a true warrior and was intimidating formost. His battle scars and fine lines from the sun only attested to this truth, yet even Hjalmarr hadn’t been enough of a deterrent to keep the threats and occasional outbursts of the people towards her at bay.

She could only hope today would be different, and that her presence would be kept unnoticed.

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