Gods

All the fingers in the monument held a painting of some old gods, laced with some ancient intent I was too powerless to withstand. I could only view them from afar, with my protective relics prepared.

The index finger depicted the image of a savage wolf hunting a colossal ashhound, symbolising the earthy wanderer, the Hunter, Zaguar. Despite all the protection, an inner savagery clawed my heart, as I swiftly moved to the middle finger, where I bore the figure of a dark matron woman, holding a hammer. A scalpel pen was held over her right ear, her long hair braided in a complicated pattern where the artistry of the painting excelled the most, whereas her expression was smoothened, barely matching the bearing of the Maker, Torsellu'm.

Besides, I believed the Maker to be male.

Either way, the Maker should be the one most prevalent amongst the vocation of crafters and artisans. Not that I was in any way more religious to her than to any other deity. Mum had not brought me up to be religious, and neither was she, despite having some connection to the Star Phoenix.

My gaze shifted to search for the illustration that symbolised the phoenix, but my attention was drawn to what stood in the middle of the palms. Most of the open palm was vastly empty, still pristinely clean with lush foliage, hiding the esoteric runes that would have made me pull my hair trying to understand them. Most of the runes remained in their inactive state, save for the chains of runes revolving in the middle, entrapping what seemed to be a withered tree.

Not just any tree, however. It stood over thirty metres tall, its trunk mostly black as if charred to death, yet even with its broken stem, the tree was holding onto life, with a bone-white branch extending from the fractured shaft. Crimson leaves bloomed on the single branch of the Avisidora, depicting that the light of wisdom had not yet been extinguished.

"From this, you can guess what my secret task is." Mum's voice reached my ear.

Yet, I had so many questions.

"Is it the tree from Victoria?" Father asked in awe. "I thought we had failed."

"No, we did not," Mum smiled, gesturing towards the proof itself. "The Wisdom Tree still lives, though it will need a few more decades and a lot of nourishment to recover."

"So your task was to protect it?" I asked with a gasp.

"Protect is a big word. I mostly kept an eye on it from time to time," Mum explained. "Only a few places in the world could have kept it alive and helped it flourish after what was done to it, and even fewer places are as secure as here. So the Spell contacted the only person who had access to this place and could transplant it discreetly. "

"Still, you're like a Knight of Emberleaf? Guardian of the Sacred Tree."

Which was arguably the most prestigious position in the Order of Emberleaf.

Mum only let out a muffled groan at my words. "For better and worse, my guardianship ends next year, and I'm glad that in that time, it is in better shape than when I transplanted it."

"What happens to it now?" I asked.

Mum shrugged as if it did not concern her. "It's for the Order of Emberleaf to decide." She turned towards the Knight Captain. "Perhaps they'll want to replant it back in Victoria."

"No," stated Sir Gaius matter-of-factly, "the tree stays here for now. Even if we are to replant it, it won't be in Victoria. From what we gathered about the situation with the rifts, this place will need its support more than Victoria."

He then brought out a large container from his storage. Even before the elderly knight opened it, I could sense a pure air of dawn essence wafting from it. However, as the silver beads were revealed to the open air, a rich aura of life washed over all of us. A collection of colourful flowers bloomed in the foliage out of nowhere.

"If you would," he said to Mum, gesturing towards the concentrated dawn essence beads.

"This..." Mum said, "will make it a whole lot easier for it to grow."

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It would take some time for her to embed the essence into the array formations. It would not do any good to let the Sacred Tree devour it all in one go, not that it could do so in its withered state. Mum applied the beads into the formation, ensuring the doses were only a step higher than what the tree could consume. It would make sure the Sacred Tree had all the nourishing essence it required for the coming seasons.

Watching it all unfold got boring quickly, so I slithered around the sanctuary in search of satisfying my curiosity.

Unfortunately, it was mostly empty. The great pillars that made the sanctuary were only etched with runes and paintings, each one more elusive than the last.

The ring finger depicted a tree of life—or The Tree of Life, at least the remains of it. Its state was far worse than the one planted here, light withering from its luminescent leaves, veins of black taint corrupting its gnarled branches, whereas humans and various other malignant creatures plagued the last strand of its light, making the image no less ominous than the first.

According to myths, Avisidora was born from the withered Tree of Life, illustrating the cycle of life, death, and rebirth, whereas this image merely depicted death and corruption.

Untangling the revulsion that crawled up my heart, I moved towards the next carving.

The two little fingers were strung together by gargantuan chains, which could perhaps be fine on a leviathan. Hundreds of such chains wrung through the colossal pillars, concealing the painting on the fingers. Only a figure confined in chains was visible, likely sitting on a throne. A male figure, his expression unreadable and unrecognisable, but those eyes—it was as if they were staring back at me through the fog of reality.

I had no other choice but to look away, only to find a line at the bottom. It was in runic language, which I surprisingly could interpret.

It read: My throne. My coffin.

Goosebumps crawled over my arms, despite not comprehending it. Swiftly, I distanced myself from the image, fearing something unholy might crawl up in my mind.

The images on the left hand grew even stranger. The ring finger held a coiling white snake devouring its tail. Like the visage in chains, I had no clue whether there was a snake god in our pantheon.

A sense of hunger grew in my stomach, my heart, and perhaps even in my lungs and kidneys, as I frowned at the carving. I stepped away before I began licking the cold pillar.

Perhaps if I ever chose to join a faith, the only sensible choice left would be the Maker.

Next to the great serpent, a great spider was illustrated on the middle finger. It had nine eyes, contrary to the eight I was familiar with. Ignoring the larger ninth eye at the top of its head that seemed to be staring straight into my soul, the only disturbing part of this mural was the eldritch thing confined in its cocoon.

Another deity I was not familiar with.

The illustration on the index finger drew me into an illusory dream, and I had to admit it was arguably the most gorgeous of them all. Then again, there was not much competition. Most of the paintings depicted the horrors of the divinity, whereas this one pulled me into a dream of mountains and snow, where a majestic winterheart deer was dancing in the wind, its equally regal antlers dangling through the shifting snowflakes.

As far as I was aware, there was no deity of the Dream, only a concept of it.

Finally, onto the ninth deity—onto the left thumb—where I assumed the goddess Solas would be. My heart shook as I approached it, remembering the description of the [Vigil of Protection].

Upon the left thumb, I saw the most intricate image of a woman with luminescent golden hair and wings. She held a newborn child in her embrace, the radiant wings wrapped around it protectively, as the darkness consumed her light. A long string of tears dripped down the goddess angelic's visage.

I did not have to draw closer to be entranced by the image, pulled into its illusion. Thankfully, it was not as violent as the first image, showing the goddess's sacrifice against the mad god and her last stand to protect the next generation. My heart shook violently as the darkness swallowed her. It seeped into my veins, chilled my blood, wanting to swallow me as well.

At once, I was pulled out of the illusion and found a hot stream of tears running from the corners of my eyes. My heart quivered, palms shaking in the lingering image of the darkness consuming the light of her soul.

It was unfortunate that what I learned from the spell's inspection was only evidenced by this image.

Wiping the tears, my gaze moved to the line adorned on the column:

From the ashes, they rise, waking the blight in our heart alight.

I frowned, reiterating the lines in my mind. At first, I assumed it to be another verse that could mean anything. But could this, somehow, be prophesying the rebirth of the goddess?

If only the World Shapers were a little clearer for future generations.

After giving another look at the carving, I decided on a more research-oriented approach to make sense of the ancient runes. There was another name for these runes.

Awakened Runes.

Mum knew more than a fair bit of it, considering her own Soulward was made out of these Awakened Runes. In her own words, they were complex variants of the most advanced scripts infused with auric energy. She had used it to craft the silver bracelet, which was how she was able to implant a feature like autonomy.

While that feature was erased once the artifact evolved into a relic, the Awakened Runes were still there, transformed into something more. Something that could evolve further.

I returned to see if I could bog Mum with some questions, only to find them discussing other matters. About the rift and what other task the Order of Emberleaf would have for my parents.

All the depictions of the deities and my curiosity about the runes disappeared when I heard that the Knight Captain of the Order of Emberleaf wanted my parents to take over the region.

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