Serci placed a feathered pen onto a piece of parchment as he began neatly recording the details of the rifts appearing over Revaliir. Carefully going over witness testimonies and between a map of occurrences and possible explanations, he began writing a report to send to Lady Angela when she returns from the conclave. Strait golden blonde hair hung lazily over his shoulder as his hand moved gracefully over the piece of parchment. Noise from outside his rented room filtered in, slightly disturbing the studious Serci. But the alternative was returning to Eylisa and doing his duties next to the rift that had opened in his chambers.
Of course, the rifts was a big gossip topic around Revallir. Since the Onnen war, not much has happened. In truth, Serci had grown complacent, along with most of Revallir. The constant overlooming feeling of dread was gone from everyone, leaving a joyful period of reprieve and rebuild. But, now with the threats of the rifts, everyone was on edge, leaving ample room for gossip and rumors. His thoughts strayed to Lady Angela and the other gods discussing the situation in conclave. Hopefully, a solution would come to light, or at least a plan to deal with the rifts.
Suddenly, without Serci’s realization, the hair on the back of his neck rose as his muscles grew tense. Buried in his work, Serci didn’t feel the cold chill that ran through his body and the sudden increase of his heartbeat. His body ran hot, and he froze with fear as icy blue eyes stared into his, black as night hair covering his vision as he felt a freezing cold hug embrace him. He abruptly doubled over, his hands cradling his chest as he felt a sickly warm liquid run down his chest. A sharp pain shot all through his body as he cried out in pain, falling from the chair and hitting the wooden floor with an audible thud. Serci writhed in agony as flashes of Angela covered in blood filled his mind.
A sick feeling ran through him as he curled into a fetal position and began dryly retching. His opened hand scratched the hardwood floor in an effort to escape the pain, desperately trying to grab onto to anything that would help reduce his suffering. His mind screamed in worry about Angela’s well being but he was powerless to the pain as he began to vomit blood. A hot spasm caused him to roll over, his pristine white robes rolling onto the puddle of blood. He shouted out for help, a useless effort as his plea’s were drowned out by the noise outside. Focusing all his might on rolling over onto his stomach, he rolled over, shouting out in writhing suffering as he tried to prop him self up onto his knees.
His shout for help must’ve been heard as his door slowly creaked open. Serci quickly shot his head up, trying to look the bystander in the eyes. His hair lay in front of his eyes in messy bloody heaps, as he tilted his head up and found a red headed woman looking upon him in a stoic demeanor. No, it wasn’t just any body, the pain must be causing Serci to hallucinate as he made out what appeared to be Lady Angela in her youth. Before her Accession if Serci had to guess. Long red hair that lay in bouncy curls that was beholden by the green of forest eyes. Endowed with a purple dress that dragged across the floor, she was the spitting image of his Lady Angela in her younger years.
But, the aura that Angela gave off was overpowering. It pushed on him like a weight as he struggled to keep his self balanced on his palms and knees. The benevolent smile that Angela would give him was replaced with strait ruby lips and glaring eyes. The air around his Angela was warm and loving, but now it was cold and stiff. Resisting the urge to hack more blood from his throat, his body convulsed as he fought to stay upright. After the fit, Serci was left breathless. He used every muscle in his body to breathe as he shot his head up and screamed at the imposter. “What!?” It was the only word he could get out before vomiting more blood onto the floor. He tried to convey his worry and confusion into that one word, as the stranger simply nodded and the pain stopped.
Serci fell to the floor as felt… something… stop. All pain was gone. It was deathly quiet as the music and yelling outside had ceased. The urge to constantly regurgitate was replaced with a calming feeling as he helped himself off the floor and looked at the stranger. His breathing still ragged, he called out to the stranger. “You’re not her, are you.” He commented, more than asked. The stranger simply nodded, the red curls moving like flickering fire as she did. A possibility sat in the back of Serci’s mind as to who the stranger was. Angela had talked about the voice before. But when she did, it was cryptic and senseless. She would always chuckle softly and remind him a mortal wouldn’t understand, but, Serci did in this moment.
“She lies in Sularia.” The voice said, non moving. “She is safe, for now. But in critical condition. All other deities are playing support in this action.” The voice moved infront of Serci, “They each have their parts, as do you.” The voice said low, moving past Serci, grabbing a blanket from Serci’s bed. “They await you with the arrival of another.” The Voice began holding the blanket out, stretching it out to its full capacity. “You will have to travel to Sularia with this person. It will be long and treacherous as the this person is of high importance. You must protect her with your life and take all precautions.” The voice bluntly put, grabbing a spare knife from a cabinet dresser. Oddly, as the Voice pierced the fabric and began cutting a piece of the blanket off, no sound of tearing thread was heard.
When she was finished, she faced Serci, walking towards him until they came face to face. In her emerald eyes he saw a bloody infant beholden by darkness all around it. The realization hit Serci like a frying pan as he reeled back in shock. He opened his mouth to argue, to ask if there was any better option. But if The Voice had came to him, he was the last option. With Angela gravely wounded, the gods were not safe. If Angela’s baby was given to Serci, he could get it to Angela undetected. “I accept.” Serci bravely said, as he stared down the voice, stepping forward towards The Voice with confidence. In Angela’s eyes, he saw the baby mature at an alarming rate until the child was three to six months old. In her arms lie the baby Wisteria. A red headed girl with her mother eyes that stared at Serci openly.
Worryingly, the child was quite and still as it was wrapped in blanket The Voice had cut. She held Wisteria out to Serci, with a stone expression on her face. “Be warned. The moment you take the child, you will be thrown back into a world of pain and suffering. The child is the number one priority. Take her to her mother in Sularia. That is your task.” She warned. Serci stared back with determination before looking at the child. He stared into her eyes, getting lost in the forest that it held for a moment before reaching his arms out, carefully supporting the child’s head against his chest. The music began playing, voices were heard outside, and a shot of pain ran through Serci as he nearly doubled over. He grunted in as he breathed in through clenched teeth, fighting back the pain. He undid the satchel that hung around his slender waist, tying it around his shoulder in a way that made a pouch where he put the baby Wisteria in. He cooed at the child affectionately in an effort to draw a reaction out of the silent child, but it remained still as he fit it in the makeshift body cradle. A careful hand crawled up the child's neck as he supported its head.
Slowly, as to not upset his body, he brought himself to the table hurryingly studying the map that lay infront of him. The mountains on the way to Sularia would provide privacy, and also the route that held the least amount of known rifts. Throwing his hood over his head, he tucked his bloody hair into his robes, covering the baby from sight, he ducked out of the inn, not noticing the wilting flowers on his way out.
