castelot i: a fleur de lys—night 1

night 1

— sundown of the first night —

The sun that beforehand had remarked the sky, sat inconsolable in the midst of this terror. All those whomst had once roamed these very settlement streets now stricken from the earth in a single blow. And yet my hands lie clean. At the rise of dawn I was sent, amongst a few other locals, to investigate the strange echoes that homed themselves in the forestry behind the settlement. After much search, the results of our excursion were unsuccessful in yielding any positive meaning. Those amongst my group began to head back to the settlement around midday—we found ourselves deep into the wilderness that surrounds the aforementioned settlement—to which we were separated. Any attempts I made to exposit the location of my fellows were fruitless, though seeming that way from the start. 

So, lonesome, I bore the responsibility to find my way back to the settlement. To which I navigate using the eternally burning compass in the sky. The weather, quite warm for a February afternoon, made its attempts to behead my journey. As I was walking down a path I had never before seen, a sound only describable as a shriek began to echo throughout the wood. Pulling my hand axe from the satchel at my waist, I arm myself. Shuffling in the towering trees above sends me scouring to find my way to the settlement. My feet, though now calloused and beaten, moving so fast that I felt like a mirage in the eyes of whatever has made this wood its home. The tall trees continue for what must have been miles and miles before finally, at sundown, I found the back gate of the settlement. 

But it was not being guarded. 

There was no one here. 

I had just said goodbye to my mother and father hours beforehand. 

But now I didn’t think there was any way of seeing them again. 

Drawing my hand axe again, I swiftly move through the wide open wooded gates that gave me a sense of protection once before. There lies no blood on any walls, streets, homes, vendor booths, nothing. It is as though those taken were simply whisked away. As the now scarred sun begins to set below the horizon, faint horse hooves make an echoing appearance on the dirt paths through the front of town. The now hollow streets of the settlement begin to have a shadow, the leafless trees mirroring their movement. Based on my position in the settlement—finding myself at the back gate—, my home is not far. My hand axe still drawn, I make my move. The dirt lifts off the ground as I run, smearing and streaking onto the back of my pants. The dirt paths mark the center of the so-called street, cobblestone walkways line the side. The aforementioned leafless trees hanging over me as I continue to run, my breathing now fatigued. 

As the moon graces the sky, I find myself dawning upon the front of my home. I shake the handle of the door over and over, but to no avail. A shadow looms upon the ground next to the door, the shadow of an angel. This shadow comes from only one place, the cathedral. The haunting stature of this cathedral becomes deeper illuminated by the moon, its grandeur most accurate during this time of night. As I look back at the door of my house, a single black feather floats down, gracing the floor underneath my feet. I step back, raising my knee to an angle, and kick down the door to my own home. 

A murderous sound shrieks across the sky. 

And the face of the moon becomes a twilight hue. 

— moonrise of the first night —

As I stand there in shock of what graces the now haunted sky, the sound of hooves clanking in the dirt begins to draw closer. These hooves are heavy, the weight of many men lies atop them. A language similar to mine—at least as it is heard from a distance—echoes loudly as the hooves draw even closer. The house that I grew up in, door broken down, bounces this unfamiliar language into my ears as the hooves make a frontward appearance in my ears. They are getting even closer. The long corridors of my home twisting and turning in the light purple hue that shines against the floors. My footsteps feel oh so heavy as they plant onto the hardwood flooring that my father laid in the home, each one clanking like the steel of a hammer against hot malleable metal. Something of this moon is warping my senses, and I wish to bequeath myself of this feeling, though I cannot fight this urge at the current moment. My now weighted feeling footsteps finally drag me in front of the door to my corridor, swinging the door open with my hands. 

One thing sticks out in my mind which I must grab. 

The journal that belongs to the former priest of the town. 

The journal contains secrets that lie below the cathedral, ones that I was instructed to never look at until the day came where I needed to hide.

Until the day where I needed to learn the truth of things. 

I grab my hand axe from my waist, and begin to hack at a specific place in my wall. Slowly but eventually, the wood panelling falls off the wall, revealing the journal, as well as something I myself did not hide. 

A book of…spells? 

I instantly throw away my confusion, and I pick up the journal and the other book, swiftly making my exit from my corridors. The feeling of my feet being strapped to cobblestone chunks returns, gracing my usually light steps with loud thuds. 

As I find myself facing the exit to my home, something strange happens behind me. A creak in the floorboards, and a sudden loud cracking sound. 

Red eyes peer from out of the unlit hallway. 

Something has found its way into the shadows of my home, but has only just made its physical manifestation known. But before I can comprehend it, my legs begin to move on their own—naturally. 

I make haste to the door, the creature prevailing quickly behind me, its already foreboding body enlarging as it passes the windows of the place I call home. 

I plant my feet outside of the door.

Standing in front of me, however, are clad men bearing arms. The look on their faces as I exited the front of my house was a look of astonishment. Immediately, a man—who I assume to be their leader—points his finger at me. The men next to him rush me with arms drawn, though peculiarly not the musket I have become accustomed to seeing, but a curved blade similar to my own hand axe. 

Swiftly, before I can reckon myself as neither friend nor foe, the men begin swinging their blades at me. 

As the man on my right swings down, I evade to the left, his blade catching the brick facade of my house. Planting my right leg, I rotate myself counterclockwise, the back of my foot finding a suitable place on this—what I am again assuming—soldier’s face. Twisting my foot, I plant my left leg down, the soldier’s head hitting the cobblestone sidewalk with a crunch and crack. 

However, to my dismay, I feel a slight tinge in my back. A prick like sensation, if I must. 

The second soldier had gotten himself up—after I had tripped him with my left leg as I was turning—, and waited for a perfect moment to strike. 

Forced to withdraw, I raise my hands. 

The soldiers approach me and remove my hand axe from its holder. 

The leader of this militia of men smiles as one of his men hands him my hand axe. 

And he says something in that oh so familiar—but distant language. 

Good first impressions, right?

But a sudden thought strikes my mind. 

Whatever happened to the monster that I had so suddenly left behind?

— early hours of the first night —

The now twilight moon sits smirking in the starless sky above me. Its unknown abilities have already caused me much trouble. Not only making my feet and body feel so sluggish, but making my mind feel the same way. 

But it only seems to be an issue of my own. 

The men who I have found myself captured by are moving with ease. 

Their feet are gliding across the dirt paths of the road as though feathers in the wind. 

But I do not know what to do. 

These men have just captured me, but are unaware of the thing that lurked behind me just moments ago. But I have no way of conveying my concern to them, as they do not speak the same language as I. I try to get the attention of the soldiers who have placed me on the ground—hands albeit restrainted—, but to no avail. 

One soldier suddenly runs from the inside of the home, his coat bearing a large claw mark, blood oozing continuously from the newly acquired wound in his chest. He begins to scream—almost from the top of his lungs, his eyes flowing tears freely. He then coughs up a large spew of blood before he suddenly falls to his knees, his skin begins to turn a dark black before he spontaneously bursts into a cloud of ash. His last moments were regarding the ends of his fingers as they began to turn to dust. 

What is happening? 

A large shake in the ground grabs the attention of all the soldiers—as if their attention wasn’t already present—including the attention of their leader. 

The wood outside of my home begins to crack and break. 

And the monster that had once followed me appears from its seams. 

Its stature gleams in the twilight moon before which it stands tall and foreboding. A soldier that had rushed to aid his fellow—before getting to glance at this creature—is devoured off the ground in one fell swoop, his blood splurting so far as to hit me in the face. 

A new set of screams dawn the streets of this town. 

And I am helpless to do anything about it. I close my eyes. Though remorseful that I did not say a good enough goodbye to my parents before I left this morning. This creature is going to devour the new settlers that have arrived. And it's going to eat the only remaining person from the town. As I reopen my eyes, a soldier stands in front of me, in his hands is my own hand axe and its holder. 

He speaks in that familiar language, and pushes the items onto my chest, my hands instinctively reaching to catch them. I thought that I would not be able to catch them, but my restraints had already been undone, so my hands were free to catch them. 

The leader waves his hands in the air, seemingly guiding his soldiers into safety, to which they follow like sheep in a herd. 

But this…monster cares little of that. 

Grabbing many more men as they run, screaming. 

Blood now covers the very stalls, walls, and business that had lied bloodless when I arrived earlier. 

And the creature’s peering red eyes find their way to me. An almost crooked smile appearing on its face. 

— the first midnight —

Before I can even begin to fight this monster. 

I find myself suddenly in a world surrounded by pure white. 

“Where am I?” I ask myself aloud. 

“Oh! Sweet child of mine, I see you have finally made yourself before my presence.” A female voice echoes in front of me. 

I jump backwards, my feet feeling as light as they used to. 

“I can sense that you feel different in this place as compared to your situation before, my sweet child.” the female voice echoes out again. 

“Who are you?” I ask. 

“You know me very well, my child Simon Castelot.” the female voice speaks to me.

“I am unsure that I do, madam.” I say back. 

“I have been with you here” a pressure makes itself apparent on my chest, at my heart, “your whole life.” the voice gestures in a tone familiar to that of a mother’s. 

“I am still unsure…I cannot think of someone who has been in my heart my whole life…unless.” My eyes widen as I begin to put the pieces together. 

“God?” I ask out. 

“Yes, my dear child?” She answers back. 

“But…the trinity claims you as the Father, not the Mother.” I exclaim. 

“Oh my dear child, how you have been a victim of deceit. But as for that, I do not have time to explain.” She says. 

Her visage makes itself apparent to me, though my tongue cannot speak nor describe its shape or regard. 

“My child, an unfortunate man has found his way onto the place you call home. People have conjured him to appear and wish to use his abilities for nefarious gain. He is the proprietor behind what you have been describing as the twilight moon.” She explains. 

“But why must they use my family…my friends…innocents…to achieve these goals, God?!” I exclaim, my hands balling into a fist in the process. 

“My child, you mustn’t harbor feelings of ill will. Go out and, with my blessing, create atonement for those people.” She says calmly. 

“But with what, God?” I ask. 

“That power you will find…lies in the palm of your hand. Though I must warn you now, there are drawbacks to abusing this blessing that I am granting your use of. You see, you are not only one of my precious children—as is the rest of the world—, but a bearer of something much greater. Though that must be explained later. You mustn’t avail oneself of too much of this power, for if you do, the pain will be much more than your human body can withhold, my dear Simon. Now go out and rid this world of those who wish to deceive pure souls.” Her tone matches that of a wishful mother. 

As I regain my place in my…body? expelling all confusion, I notice a golden hue beginning to emanate from my left hand. A circle appears upon it, a cross that I am familiar with striking the dead center of it. 

A divine feeling begins to creep throughout my body as I place my hand out in front of my face. 

The book I found amongst the walls next to the journal begins to glow the same golden hue from beneath my long coat. 

And the same cross suddenly carves itself into the leather, floating towards my hand almost as though there is a tether between them. 

The book opens to a page, and I begin to chant what can only be described as a spell.