Chapter 1: 1. Like a drawer,

There is only one truth undeniably tied to human life. “You can become anything you want.” 

 

Perhaps that wasn’t true- it had always been a lie to assuage a young one’s anxiety... No, it was something that will always be true. It will never feel like it, but of all things, you can most definitely be whatever you want. It’s whether you can pay the price, that’s the real question. Adults don’t tell you that- they don’t tell you that it’s filled with conditions aside from working hard. 

 

You can become an artist, if you lose your family. You could become a star should you lose yourself. It’s a law of exchange, but the equivalency was only equalled to one’s passions- never fair and could never be a true gain. 

 

Did anyone ever really suffer a genuine loss?

 

Indrith is starting to believe he had received several favours he hardly wished to gain. Really had he looked back rather at the glaring lavishness of the whole ordeal, it’s a statistical wonder how he’s managed to grab such a ‘win’.

 

He qualified. But from what strengths?

 

Indrith is a low-life to the religion and far less to the royals. He is a commoner, a conman, and a joke- and even considering that, his record was not clean enough to excuse this choice. A commoner’s priest? It’d be a great joke if it had been one to begin with. 

 

He laughs in what could be compared to a broken zip-tie ripped out in a forceful blinding manner. It’s a realistically beautiful day, with sun rays that make the heart dry and eyes blinded. 

 

“Indrith of no last name.”

 

He steps up to the pristine marble stairs sparkling in a sharp brutality that he’s sure only he notices. The greasily beautiful voice filled with a patronizing malintent cuts through the dizziness in his head. An agonizingly annoying face meets his eyes, as he’s forced to listen to his drawl. 

 

Of no last name, and yet also of no need for such to be announced with such a condescending art. It was a farce of a ceremony in the first place and he’s surprised that for all their charm and charity, the temple never applied for the theatre troupes. 

 

“Face this celestial structure, and accept this grace.” continues the high priest, “for you who had not been blessed-” 

 

A small wave of barely disguised snickers run through the nobility infested priests and priestesses before the high priest himself gently smiles. So kindly does the man lie. 

 

“Do you accept this loss of nothing?”

 

He had attended the last priest’s orientation, some noble he didn’t care to know. Indrith had not cared much then, but he sensed the mockery of his lack of bloodline still. ‘For those who had been blessed by a patron god, will you accept the loss of that blessing?’ 

 

Indrith had been found without any proof of one, and had chosen not to do a transference ceremony of any kind as well- meaning he belonged to none of the gods who had strengthened the blood of humanity. He was just a child found in the shoal’s quiet winds. 

 

For him, who had no family name, surely this ceremony must not mean much at all. Most certainly. Smiling simply, he stares at the High Priest’s forehead rather than his eyes, he kneels at the base of the stairs (or stares) before presenting himself. Perhaps this continuation of absence was the greater curse.

 

“I,” he proclaims in a voice no less present than the priest’s, “Indrith of the eastern shoals, shall refuse a blessing that was withheld from me. I shall dedicate my blood to the eldest family and maintain only my initial name.”

 

Ignoring piercing glares from eyes dusted with disgust, he instead focuses on not swinging fists at the ‘escorts’ who are meant to bring him into the temple.

 

Two steps, four steps, six. The village folks cry in ceremonial bliss. Eight steps, ten steps, twelve.

 

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Indrith could see the whites of the high priest’s eyes. It’s a passing pity he had nothing to shoot in such a range. Fourteen, sixteen, eighteen steps.

 

The high priest is left holding a thin blood red bowl while some demure looking priestess pours some liquid in.

 

On the twentieth step, the shade is just out of reach, and he is eye level to a man who must’ve had an easier life than anyone he had known in the past. Flicking his eyes away with unease, he sees the watery substance splash around. He’s sure his heartbeat would be racing if he could hear it over the roar of a crowd’s simple ambience. 

 

 “Hold out your hands,” gestured the priestess with the now emptied bottle, before her brown eyes swept past his own. Aversion was the politeness he was afforded for now, for later perhaps not. The bowl is shallow, and barely retains the precious liquid.

 

He could barely see into the temple’s dim interior with an unnaturally cool breeze sweeping his bangs away from his face. 

 

He and the high priest only share a nod before he is escorted kindly through the shining entrance. He could have sworn the masses who bore witness to this moment still were still calling to the moment- and yet it was a deafening silence only interrupted by the beat of his heart.

 

It’s almost painful. The altar with lonely inscriptions and empty halls left echoes of what it should’ve been in his heart- no worshipers only priests who attempted to capture it’s mystique to wear. 

 

If someone had cared enough to ask him his opinion on being a priest, much less the representative of the village he raised himself in, he could only say he was simply choosing what was convenient for the present. A habit he should’ve broken by now.

 

“You know, this temple could look a lot nicer with maybe a flower pot or two,” Indrith mumbles to the priestess behind him. 

 

A scoff returns to him alongside a not so subtle shove.

 

“Just do your duties,” she replies, “You would look nicer with a flower pot on you too.”

 

Unfortunate.

 

His hands shake slowly as he is pushed to a kneel. If there was any aggression in the priestess’ hands guiding him downwards, he at least had the grace to not to mention it further. Grinding his knees against the rug that barely softened the polished floors, Indrith bows his head.

 

For this one Indrith does not need any further guidance- he just needs to remain silent.

 

Flickers of humming are heard before the priestess cups his hands in hers and pulls it closer to his mouth. 

 

“In stepping into this celestial building you have accepted the embrace of the deities, and the blessings afforded to no other of your kind. Drink to seep this sacred bond into your blood, our new Commoner’s Priest”

 

And to whichever god had chosen him, he hopes that he could return such a gift with only arrogance. He is human, and he did not choose to be anything. 

 

Lips brushing against the edges of the bowl, he merely murmurs. “For the sake of those whose bloodlines are feeble, I shall pledge my oath to serve as the connection amidst mortals and the blessings upon which they need to comprehend. Do you accept my pledge, the all encompassing world?” 

 

He tries to quiet his dread of gain, and tilts his head backwards.

 

He will no longer be Indrith, a lowly man. 

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