(TEASER) Mysteria: The Unholy One - Chapter I

The Temple of the Twelve had never looked so imposing.

The white structure was the largest in the city, standing at the very center as if to suggest it was the heart. In some ways, it was the lifeblood of their culture, the place all youth entered to take their first steps into adulthood. Its grandeur had her transfixed, for it was today that she’d take those first steps.

Today, Mercidia would begin her path.

“Take heart,” a gruff voice sounded to her side. “Banish any feelings of anxiety, Mercidia. Today, your destiny will be laid out before you.”

There were so many possibilities. Ideally, Mercidia hoped to follow in her mother’s footsteps – a renowned healer. There would be a plethora of knowledge to siphon if she had an Origin of Life. Her mother’s notes would help her along the pathway toward ascension. Then again, there was no guarantee that would be the case. Anything could happen, for Origins reflected that of the soul.

“Thank you for coming with me, Grandfather,” she said, trying to banish the nerves. Despite his comforting words, she found herself unable to. Who wouldn’t feel frigid anticipation when standing upon the precipice? “I do not think I could have done this alone.”

“I know it may appear daunting but all feelings of doubt and fear will fall away once the ritual is concluded. It will feel right – as if it were meant to be,” Mercidia’s Grandfather replied. His hand drifted to the sword that hung loosely at his side, Ascalon. There wasn’t a soul in this city or across the land that hadn’t heard of the blade nor the name of the man who wielded it. “I recall the days when I was a wee lad, climbing these very steps. I too, was filled with uncertainty.”

Mercidia giggled. 

“I find that hard to believe. A mythical hero like you? I cannot see it.”

“Hmph,” her grandfather scoffed. “Mythical… that makes me sound old.”

“You’ll be 206 this Spring, grandfather,” she leaned over and gave him a playful nudge. “To most, you might as well be a fossil.”

“A fossil!?” He gasped with false horror. “Why, the nerve! I am but a babe still toiling in their crib.” 

Despite his age, her grandfather didn’t look a day over fifty. He bore no gray hairs or wrinkles. Instead, he captured the perfect image of timeless youth. His shoulders were broad, with arms as big as Mercidia’s head. His upper torso looked sturdier than a steel wall, and his legs had enough mass to crush boulders twice his size. He carried himself like a warrior and fit the look like a glove. 

Just being around him filled Mercidia with hope and strength. If there was any time she needed to borrow that power, it was today, so she had begged him to come with her. Mercidia didn’t want to falter at the last step, and it was tradition for families to accompany their children for the Origin Ritual. It was a shame that her mother couldn’t make it. As a healer, she could not easily skirt her responsibilities to the people.

“I just hope that I can attain a fraction of the success you have claimed,” Mercidia smiled. “No matter my Origin, I will pursue it with passion and vigor – just like you.”

“Atta girl,” her grandfather said. She could feel his presence – his overflowing pride. “Now, no more dilly-dallying. Come.”

Together, they climbed the steps toward the temple. Mercidia loathed to admit it, but she had procrastinated this morning, her anxiety having won out. She had dreamed of this day for years, and now that it had finally come, she couldn’t help but wish she had one more day to prepare.

At the top, Mercidia found that several families had gathered at the entrance. It was easy to see which had prestige and who did not. The noble families wore similar theming colors with their house symbols engraved into their clothes. They also vastly dwarfed the independent lesser families like hers.

Mercidia’s gaze drifted from House Haldrim to House Asteri, then to House Memoria. Three of the four pillars that founded Venär. She guessed the last family would be missing, but to her surprise, they had one representative here today.

House Vëldin, the ruling royal family of Venär, saw fit to send their youngest, Princess Lisanna, to survey today’s proceedings. She stood off to the side, eyeing the noble houses with disdain. From Mercidia’s eye, she cut an imposing figure. Her left hand gripped a dark violet spear that seemed to bleed black ìlth from the tip. She stood with her back arched, her head stiff, observing the entrance to the Forge Master’s temple.

Mercidia had never seen the Princess in person before, but the girl wasn’t much older than her. Only sixteen and Princess Lisanna had reached Iron. She had carved her way through the Copper, Tin, and Bronze advancements in a single year. Even for a noble family, that was unheard of.

She was a generational genius in every sense of the word.

“Keep your wits about you,” her Grandfather warned in an easy tone. “Today is your day. Focus ahead and do not let anyone blight you.”

“I won’t,” Mercidia said, his words bolstering her with hope. She had come prepared today. “They will not scare me.”

A deep rumble came from within the temple, and the enormous doors opened. There was a blast of hot air from within, and many parents shielded their children.

“We made it just in time,” her Grandfather mused with a smile, patting her shoulder. “I will walk with you until I am forbade.”

Walking through the arches had to have been one of the most terrifying things Mercidia had ever done. Seeing the colossal statues around the room’s perimeter made her feel like an insect. There was a sudden sense of unworthiness when she looked at each statue. Even though they did not meet her gaze, she still felt like they were judging her.

Mercidia pulled the blankets in her arms closer to her chest and tried to ignore whatever feelings of doubt plagued her. Looking around, she could see every other child with similar expressions. 

Ahead of the crowd loomed a gigantic forge with golden fire. It roared as a single silhouette worked methodically, pounding away at an anvil with a hammer. There was another blast of heat as the flames from the forge roared again – golden fire streaming out of it like a river and onto the anvil where the smith was working. Stepping away, the man turned, holding what appeared to be a beautifully crafted bow. 

Mercidia would have marveled at the craftsmanship if the man had not walked a few steps and placed it within a pile of almost a hundred nearly identical bows. There were many piles like that stacked around the forge. There were swords, shields, spears, axes, and staves, but those were not the only things the Smith had made. In other piles were pots, pans, knives, and other tools not designed for battle. The Forge Master’s Armory was the birthplace of Relics, and today, Mercidia would be receiving hers.

Once the man had deposited the bow in the pile, he strolled up to another table, one made of simple, worn oak. He stood and watched with his hands clasped behind his back as everyone thundered in and spread around the room. Parents and elders had to stop handsy children from trying to touch the weapons, lest they want their spirits to collapse in on themselves.

Mercidia knew better. Touching a magical item without unlocking the Origin’s alignment first was just asking for irreparable spiritual damage.

“Welcome, initiates,” the Forge Master’s voice was like a crackling fire. Mercidia thought she saw the man’s mouth move, but his words projected across the room without his lips moving. Everyone fell into silence as he continued. “Today, you take your first steps toward destiny. Step forward, when you are ready.”

The Forge Master’s body was not human – not entirely. His flesh was blackened metal, and his eyes glowed a fierce yellow like the forge that burned behind him. Mercidia knew the Forge Master’s body wasn’t flesh because of the cracks in his torso. Fire and smoke simmered beneath the surface, threatening to break through at any second. He looked like a forge that had come to life.

Much like the Princess, the Forge Master stood like a statue, and Mercidia guessed he could stand there for all eternity without blinking. It seemed to be a quality that the powerful had, from Mercidia’s perspective. They stood like statues and glared like everyone around them were insects.

Mercidia’s amazement vanished when her attention caught a commotion. She heard curses thrown around by House Memoria as a tallish figure pushed through their group. All she could see was an olive-green hat protruding from the crowd, but that was enough for her to recognize the figure.

“Reckless old fool!”

“Go wander somewhere else!”

“Senile Wizard, how dare you show your face here!”

Naramor’s lips curved into a smile before evolving into a laugh.

“Of all the places to show up, this is the last place I would’ve expected him to show up.”

“Pardon me, good people! Ah, yes– oop! Mind your feet, wizard coming through. I’m not as coordinated as I once was,” the tall old man emerged from the crowd of angry Memoria house members. His gaze locked onto Mercidia’s Grandfather. His face brightened, and his eyes glittered like fireworks. “Naramor, my old friend! It is good to see you.”

The pointy hat with the faded green robes looked long overdue for a wash or five. There was no mistaking this man, even if she never had the pleasure or honor of meeting one.

He’s one of the Isa Wanderers!

“Cathamir!” Naramor exclaimed. “Last I heard, you had driven off a horde of Ar’shaspawn at Zarath’s Crossing.”

“Zarath’s Crossing?” The Old Wizard murmured curiously. Mercidia could only stare, transfixed by the man before her. The Isa Wanderers were said to be so old that their age had fallen out of common knowledge. She couldn’t believe the man standing before her had existed longer than her oldest ancestors. “Ah, yes. I recall venturing there quite some time ago.”

“Thirty years ago,” Naramor confirmed with a nod. “I had been planning to visit to help deal with the threat myself. Imagine my surprise to hear you of all people had turned up.”

“Yes, well, you know me. I wander to and fro, for up and over mountains I must go!” Cathamir chuckled. As quickly as his humor came, it was gone. “I’m afraid my presence here is not one for joy, Naramor. We must speak as soon as possible, privately. Too many ears here and I do not trust who might be listening.”

Her Grandfather hummed, studying the wizard’s face with a curious eye.

“I do not like that look you have.”

“Dark things are afoot, I’m afraid.”

“Well, such things can wait for a moment. My Granddaughter here, Mercidia, is to undergo her Origin Ritual. Important day, as I am sure you can understand.”

The wizard turned to look at the girl. His bushy brows curled intensely, and Mercidia found herself leaning away out of reflex. Even if he’s an all-powerful wizard with an Origin of Arcane, that wouldn’t stop her from slapping him if he got any closer. She didn’t like the look in his eye like he was staring at a plate of rotten food.

“I see, curious.”

“Curious?” Mercidia blinked, annoyed. “What’s so curious?”

“Oh!” The Wizard lightened up immediately. “Nothing my dear. Nothing at all. Big day indeed,” his gaze shifted to the Forge Master. “Well, I suppose I will sit back and observe. It is not often I get to see one of these. Very busy, you see.”

It took some time for the Origin Ritual to commence because there was the usual showboating between the Houses. Mercidia had heard of debates going on for hours about which house would go first. Thankfully, today's resolution came quickly, with House Haldrim going first. House Memoria would follow after, with House Asteri going last. After the noble houses had concluded, the commoners would take their turn.

A Haldrim boy clad in a sun-yellow garb eagerly stepped forward, carrying himself with a proud, regal air. He produced a small box engraved with his family’s sigil from his pouch before carefully handing it to the Forge Master. After it left his hands, he stepped back and lowered himself to his knees.

House Haldrim bore a sigil that depicted a shield, a tome, and two crossed swords. They called it ‘The Cycle’ to represent the nature of Humanity. People are born hungry for knowledge, pursuing conflict, and defending love. Compared to the Asteri and Memoria houses, House Haldrim was small, only coming up as a fraction of the size of House Memoria. 

“The Haldrim… curious bunch. They’ve a penchant for Earthern Origins,” Cathamir mused as he retrieved a pipe from his robes. He lit it with a wisp of flame ìlth and blew out a huff of smoke. “I suspect this boy will follow suit.”

Mercidia turned to the Wizard with a surprised look.

“I thought Affinities were chosen at birth?”

“They’re are fickle things, my dear,” Cathamir replied. “With careful nurturing, they can be altered. Noble Houses tend to view children like you as… well, clay. You can be molded, in a sense.” There was an ear-splitting crack from the Forge Master’s hammer as it descended upon the boy’s catalyst. It rose into the air before shaking and thrumming with unrestrained power. “A Force Origin. Interesting to see a blend between Earth and Air.”

Naramor grumbled.

“Another recruit for the frontlines. I suspect I’ll see him soon at the barracks.”

The Haldrim boy inclined his head toward the Forge Master before returning to his House with his head held high. They welcomed him back in nods of approval and open arms. Mercidia watched as their children followed one another, undergoing their ritual. Most had two catalysts, while a few only had one.

There were many basic Earth Origins, while Mercidia counted two more Force Origins and three Molten Origins. Once House Haldrim finished, they moved back as a group to make space for House Memoria.

House Memoria wore the sigil of The Blazing Star, for the myths claimed one of their great ancestors was responsible for creating the brightest constellation that hovered above the city at night. The women wore pale blue gowns, while the men wore identical colored tunics. They were among the largest and most prideful. Most of their elders had already advanced to Iron, with only a few at the Steel advancement. It was easy for Mercidia to see which ones were the strongest as they handled the children.

The first of House Memoria tentatively walked forward, a girl who appeared to be no older than twelve. Her Origin must have matured exceptionally fast if she was ready for the ritual.

“That’s Selene’s girl,” one of Naramor’s hands tightened around Ascalon. There was a cold anger to his expression as he stopped himself from stepping forward. “It’s too early for her to be here. What is she thinking?”

Cathamir hummed easily.

“Perhaps the girl is ready?”

Mercidia watched in anticipation as the girl retrieved three catalysts from her clothes. For a moment, the girl looked as if she couldn’t decide which to hand over until she pushed all three into the Forge Master’s hand. Then, like everyone else before her, she stepped back and knelt.

The Forge Master placed the three catalysts on the table before raising his hammer and letting the Relic fall upon the first. It crashed, sending out a crack that sounded like thunder. Mercidia didn’t flinch as she watched the catalyst glow before rising into the air. The light suddenly died, and the catalyst dissolved into dust.

“A failure…” Mercidia breathed. The Memoria girl didn’t look surprised, but perhaps that is why she had brought three. It wasn’t like she could judge the girl anyway.

Mercidia had brought four.

“She’s too young,” Naramor insisted, shaking his head. His dismay was as clear as a cloudless day. He didn’t believe she would make it. “Her Origin has not had enough time to mature.”

Cathamir blew out another puff of smoke.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Have you not scanned the girl’s spirit? She has been ready for months.”

Naramor’s features hardened, but no words came out of his mouth.

The hammer fell on the second catalyst, and the result was clear. White and purple light streamed out of the catalyst, joining to form a sphere the size of Mercidia’s head. They swirled before blowing away and fading into nothing. Mercidia had been to Origin Rituals before to watch her seniors advance from Raw to Copper. She had memorized plenty of Affinity signs. Never before had she seen this one.

“An Origin of Dreams!” Cathamir coughed in surprise. “It has been decades since I’ve seen one of those. That girl has quite the future ahead of her.”

Naramor’s expression softened, and his shoulders relaxed.

“It seems I was wrong to worry.”

She watched as more children from House Memoria lined up and readied themselves. They would hand their catalyst over to the Forge Master before kneeling in front of the table. He’d lift his mighty hammer above his head and strike down with enough force to shatter the table – but it would never break.

Another crack from the Forge Master’s hammer had a catalyst engulfed in an eerie soft green light that reminded Mercidia of a fresh cool breeze on a hot day. She knew this feeling too well, for she had grown up around someone with the same Origin.

An Origin of Life! 

One of the last girls from House Memoria knelt before the Forge Master, stunned by the revelation. She had just awakened the very same Origin as Mercidia’s mother. Those with an Origin of Life typically followed a healing specialization because they’re always in short supply, given how aggressive Ar’shaspawn had been getting over the last few decades.

“Quite the turn out today,” her Grandfather mused at her side. “There seems to be a lot of potential in your generation.”

With House Memoria finished, House Asteri now moved forward. Their sigil depicted the Ancient ìlth Oak, a colossal tree that grew on the western side of the land. It rested at the center of The Forest of Yrmir, a wild place that many dared not venture for beasts of unimaginable power dwelled there. Only those of the Asteri bloodline were permitted entry, for their ancestors had once negotiated a pact with all things wild there.

Mercidia watched a boy in light green clothing stroll up to the Forge Master with a carefree grin. Much to the dismay of his family, he fumbled around for his catalysts, looking like an unprepared fool. He was about Mercidia’s age, maybe a year older if she had to guess, but he certainly didn’t act like it.

“Your catalysts, boy,” the Forge Master rumbled.

A laugh bubbled out of the boy’s mouth.

“I think I left it in my other pants,” he chuckled, turning around and looking toward his family. To no one’s surprise, the members of House Asteri pretended they didn’t know him. He straightened up suddenly. “Oh! Nope, got it right here!”

He pulled out a folded, crumpled leaf, and handed it over.

“He can’t be serious,” Mercidia frowned. “That’s not a catalyst.”

Cathamir laughed.

“I’m afraid anything can be a catalyst, my dear. All that matters is the bond you develop with it,” he explained. “A catalyst can be anything. From a precious diamond all the way to a horse’s excrement. There are no exceptions, unfortunately,” the Wizard muttered. Mercidia stared with undisguised disgust and Cathamir cleared his throat. “Not that I have seen anyone use excrement as a catalyst. I imagine it would be… hmm, quite difficult to build a connection with.”

The hammer fell on the crumpled leaf. Shining, it rose into the air and shook with a violent, red aura before tearing itself to pieces.

“An Origin of Mayhem?” Naramor mused, stroking his chin. Everyone watched the carefree boy return to his family with a blinding grin. “I never would have guessed.”

The three continued to watch the proceedings as the noble houses finished up. A few left, having no desire to watch commoners. Many, however, stayed because this was a day when anything could happen.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the time had come. With a deep breath, she shuffled forward, the Forge Master and the rest of the temple following her every step.

“H-Hello,” Mercidia stuttered.

She could barely keep her nerves in line. Excitement and trepidation had almost completely overwhelmed her. It was a miracle she could even string words together. This was going to be the day when everything changed!

Mercidia laid the blanket out on the table and unrolled it. Immediately, hushed murmurings broke out.

“Four?” Mercidia heard the words spoken by many different people – elders especially. “Naramor’s granddaughter… this will be interesting.” 

Before her were her four catalysts – a hair clip from her Grandmother, a tome of children’s stories written by her father purely for her, a small worn wooden sword crafted by her grandfather, and finally, a scarf knitted for her by her mother.

One of these will show me my path, I’m sure!

“Your hand,” the Forge Master said, holding his own out.

Mercidia lifted her hand and gently rested it within the oversized palm of the Forge Master. It was incomprehensible to believe, but one of his fingers was bigger than her entire arm. Sometimes, she forgot just how small and weak she was. That would change, though. Soon, her path would be clear.

With an easy touch, the Forge Master drew specks of blood from her hand. Each drop floated above each catalyst before descending and disappearing into each one. Mercidia stepped back and knelt on both knees, just like her Grandfather had instructed. 

Her fate was now in motion.

The Forge Master uttered a few words that sounded foreign to her before raising his hammer – Ùldamin, the Platinum Star – above his head. Mercidia could feel the thickness of the power in the room gravitating around the hammer right before The Forge Master brought it down. With a mighty crack, the temple shook. She could even feel the strike rattle her bones from the force from this close.

Her Grandmother’s hair clip rose, surrounded by a bright light.

Mercidia held her breath. She could only imagine what affinity was awaiting her. What if she had a Holy Origin like her Grandfather? He was the only one in Venär to have one. There was every possibility she could be the second.

Any moment now. Come on, give me something good!

The catalyst’s light dimmed before unceremoniously fading to dust. Emotion struck her – loss, unlike she had felt for quite some time. She had treasured that hairclip, worn it day in and day out. Her Grandmother taught her how to manage her hair – it had been a gift. Now, it was gone.

The first failure. 

There hadn’t been many today, but it seemed she would join the ranks of those who did not pass their first. The second was all but guaranteed, so Mercidia did not lose face in front of the crowd watching. She would not weep, for she knew her family would not.

The next one!

The Forge Master moved to the tome. Another gift she had treasured. Should this not work, she would not lament the loss, for she knew every story written within by heart. It was this book that had taught her language – to read. She made sure to memorize every story, every word, and every letter. It was her father who had written them with quill and ink.

The hammer rose and fell.

The tome lifted with the same light as the hair clip.

I could follow in my father’s footsteps. Arcane isn’t very common, but I know how powerful this connection is—

The tome lost its light and crumbled to dust.

A second failure?

That made her the first today. Mercidia dared not look around lest she lose her nerve, but the voices of people talking already reached her ears. The House Elders were now very interested.

The Forge Master turned to the third catalyst. 

The wooden sword.

Her Grandfather had fashioned it out of a special birch that was difficult to find. Should one find the right tree to harvest the wood from, it would take incredible power to even scar the tree, let alone cut one down – yet her Grandfather had with Ascalon, the Unbroken.

The Forge Master’s hammer rose, and Mercidia held her breath. As it came down with a thunderous crack, her heart thundered in anticipation as the same cool light enveloped the wooden sword, lifting it into the air. It lingered for a few moments, which gave her hope, but as quickly as it came, it vanished. 

The light dimmed once more, and it crumbled to dust.

Her hands shook at the impossibility. 

Mercidia found herself trapped in a nightmare. She might have brought four catalysts, but nowhere in her mind did she think she’d need all four. It had just been something she was proud of, having bonded with four catalysts. The only person in recent memory to accomplish that had been Princess Lisanna, and she found success in the first catalyst.

There were no more muttering or hushed whispers now. Instead, there was total silence. 

Emotionlessly, the Forge Master came to the last of her catalysts, a scarf knitted by her mother. 

Every year on her name day, Mercidia’s mother would retrieve it and add an extra inch, ensuring each thread was a different color. Once, she had asked her mother what would happen when she had run out of colors to sew. Her response, Mercidia would remember until her dying day.

“I will make more colors for you, my flower.”

Part of her hated that she had brought this scarf to the ritual, but catalysts were items that you had developed a bond with. There was no other way to open a path to your Origin.

The Forge Master raised his hammer, and Mercidia felt panic seize her heart.

“Wait!” She cried. 

The Forge Master looked up to meet her gaze. Her hands were still shaking. Failure past three catalysts was all but impossible, but not unheard of. There was an old tale about those who failed this ritual – the cursed ones, some called them – who couldn’t find a path to their Origin. The very name sent chills down her spine.

“I…” Mercidia trembled as she turned to look over her shoulder. Her Grandfather’s expression was stern and filled with concern, but he did not speak. He didn't even offer her a nod of reassurance. He stood and waited. Cathamir had also straightened, having removed the smoking pipe from his mouth to wait with anticipation for the outcome. They expected the worst. 

She turned back. “I don’t know if—”

—I have the strength to see this through to the end.

The Forge Master waited, his eyes boring into her. He did not blink, waiting for her to go ahead. When she released her held breath and lowered her head, the Forge Master took that as his cue to continue.

I cannot have— It’s impossible!

The possibility had her furiously fighting back tears.

The Hammer struck.

I won’t have—!

Mercidia shut her eyes, clenching them tightly. She dared not look. The light shone behind her eyelids, and when no sound reached her ears, her entire body sagged to the floor.

Ethereal dust blew past her, and the hollowness of her thoughts became real.

She was one of the Cursed Ones.

The Empty Children.