Loop

"We have brought the boy, my Lord."

The Elvaan knight lightly touched his hand to the Hume boy's shoulders, nudging him forward. Although the boy had had to be blindfolded for most of his journey to the chapel, he had not seemed afraid; Lucarimond had been impressed that the boy had not even faltered when they had led him down the long spiral staircase that delved deep into the earth, nor did he seem at all surprised or alarmed that the chapel was in such a cold, dark grotto. The earth pressed in on all sides, but the cluster of knights who worshiped here did not seem to mind.

The abbot turned from his contemplation of the statue at the black stone altar. "I am Branigan," he said in his low, raspy voice, his bandaged face turned toward the boy. "Abbot of the Chapel of Twilight, and Preceptor of our most holy Order of knights. Do not be afraid, Anakha."

"I'm not afraid," the boy said steadily.

Branigan took the boy's hand and led him forward toward the altar. Anakha placed one small hand on the smooth, polished black stone, and gazed up into the face of the statue. The shape of the body was also smooth, a perfect oval, the hands clasped, and the darksteel chains wrapped around the body were held taut by those clasped hands, the shoulders of the vaguely humanoid figure drawn in to keep the chains wrapped even tighter about itself. The statue had no face, but the smooth surface where the face would be was sheathed in a featureless mask of orichalcum, and a stone of the deepest midnight color, intricately faceted, was sunk into the heart of the statue, seeming to absorb rather than reflect the light.

"Behold, O godless one, the face of our Lord," Branigan said softly; the knights that were clustered in the grotto all genuflected, bowing their heads deeply before the statue. "This is the image of our Lord Promathia, the Twilight God, one-half of all that exists, the power that balances the light. Our persecutors at the San d'Orian Cathedral would have us believe that our worship of Promathia is heretical; but what is light without shadow, dawn without dusk? There is no good without evil, nor evil without good; the duality of what Is and Is Not is at the heart of all existence. Our hearts are as patriotic as those of our countrymen that worship the Dawn Goddess, and our blades are turned toward San d'Oria's enemies, but it is Promathia that empowers us. We do not fear Him. He is a kindly God, a just God, who has taught us the many mysteries of attack magics that we can use to protect our people."

He turned his hideously burned, maimed face down toward the boy. "It is not given to us to know the future, but Vana'diel itself is aware of the birth and rebirth of the one known as Anakha. You would be a valuable ally to us, and in turn, we can make you strong. Do not fear us, Anakha. There is nothing to be feared in the darkness; only ignorance and prejudice can possibly defeat us."

"I am not afraid," the boy said.

The knights lifted the boy up onto the altar, and they placed the palm of his hand onto the black stone in the center of the statue of Promathia's chest. The boy gazed up into the polished, featureless mask. The abbot stretched forth his hands. "Divine Promathia, we bring forth the child without a destiny, the pathless one, the one known in all lives as Anakha. Although he may belong to no God nor man, we consecrate his soul to you, by his own choice and by our design, that our most Holy Order may be enriched by his power. Grant to him in turn your secrets, that he may grow to be strong, no longer alone in this world but our brother-knight."

A knight brought forth oil and incense as the abbot prayed, and the boy's head was anointed. The black stone beneath his fingers pulsed, and the boy closed his eyes, listening to the soft whispers of the Dark God. The abbot took the boy's small hand then and placed it onto the hilt of a sword. The boy's fingers slowly curled around the weapon, far too large for him.

"You are now a Pandion, Anakha," Branigan proclaimed loudly, his voice echoing off of the stone walls of the grotto. "The man without a destiny has been given one--the sword. The art of dark magic and the power of the blade are your path now; Divine Promathia has accepted you into his service. Humanity is soon to face its greatest threat; we have read the signs and portents, and the Pandion Order will rise to meet it with steel raised. Arise, Anakha--no, Sparhawk of the Pandion Knights!"

The boy stood, the tip of the sword resting on the altar, the hilt firmly in his grasp, and turned to face the other knights, who rose as one and drew their own swords in salute. "I am not afraid," he said clearly.

*** *** ***

"Draw your sword. Do it."

"I can't. I'm too weak. I'm useless."

"You will be removed."

"I can't. We can't. What point is there?"

"I don't want to be alone...."

"Isn't there anyone out there who loves me?"

"That's not it. You have to make your own destiny. There's no such thing as--"

"I will remove you."

"Hey, you! Yeah, you. Who are you?"

"Stop it. Stop it NOW!"

"Isn't there any meaning to any of this? What am I, anyway?"

"That's not how it is.... but I know I'm not going to run away."

"Draw your sword."

"Maybe I'm not even human anymore. Maybe none of us are human."

"Mother.... Father...."

"They're trying to hurt her. They always are. She won't protect herself, so she just takes it. It rips me apart."

"Hey, you--yeah, you. Who are you looking for?"

"Who do you think you are, anyway? Did you really think someone like you could be happy?"

"That's not true. I care about you. Even though I exist. I am not real."

"I am going to remove you."

"In the end, you have to decide. Run away, or fight?"

"There's no point to living without you. I can't be alone anymore. Knowing what it is like with you, and knowing what it is like without you, I'd rather die than have to live without you. So, that's why I have to--"

"Draw it. Draw your sword."