"You see only the light that falls from the sky.
You do not hear the screams it carries with it.
Every night it rains down, and still, the people look up in wonder.
But me? I've learned to keep my head down."
— The self-proclaimed Wanderer of Skies
"That's it, sweetie — now sleep."
"But… I don't feel sleepy."
"Nia, please. Not again. Please don't—"
CLANG.
The cell door rattled with a deafening bang. The prison guard's voice followed, sharp and annoyed:
"Wake up! It's 6 a.m., you foolish girl!"
He glared at her like she'd just committed another crime, his eyes full of quiet disgust.
Nia shot up, disoriented.
"W-what? It… it was just a dream…" she screamed silently in her head.
She slammed her hand on the filthy blackstone floor to steady herself — pain shot through her palm as warm blood welled up from the cut. Tears stung her eyes.
There she sat: Nia.
A pale, frail-looking woman, fragile like a flower trampled underfoot — yet somehow, even here, in these filthy, inhuman conditions, she still looked beautiful. Even after all the sins she never committed.
"Get up. Do your… things," the guard sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. "I'll come back to transport you to mine. Tsk… what a disgrace."
His boots scraped against the stone as he walked away.
Nia stared at the floor, the blackstone cold beneath her fingers, and thought:
What has my life become?
The girl who was once a free spirit is now caged in this disgusting place, they call a 'cell,' with nothing but my skull buddy for company — surrounded by blackstone bricks, a hay-stuffed excuse for a mattress, a few loose stones… and the stench of rot that burns my nose hairs every day. Sometimes the whole place floods. But still, I survive.
Her eyes drifted to the shadows, her own voice whispering back at her from somewhere deep inside.
I don't even know how long it had been.
The voice of my own hunts me…
She sat in the corner.
✦✦✦
"The hallowed altar standees prepared anon. We but require to fulfill the sacred rite,"
said the old man with a crooked back and a single, clouded eye, addressing the king.
Translation:"The altar is ready now. We just need to complete the ritual."
O… verily, the hour hath come. After five and fortieth year," the king replied, his voice swelling with pride.
Translation:"Oh… so it's time. After forty-five years."
✦✦✦
"Hey, you! I told you — no sleeping!"
The guard's voice was full of disgust as he slammed his rod against the blackstone wall, the sharp crack making her flinch.
Nia stood, bothered but silent, her chin lowered.
Without warning, the guard grabbed the chain shackled to her wrists and yanked hard, forcing her forward. She stumbled as he dragged her down the corridor toward the mines.
Nia dug her heels in, resisting him where she could, though her strength was nothing compared to his. Every few steps she'd stoop just enough to pick up small stones from the ground and slip them into her pocket, one after another — a quiet, stubborn act no one seemed to notice.
The guard, frustrated, jerked her forward by the chain until her chin hit his shoulder with a painful smack.
"Stop playing your little games," the guard spat, giving her one last shove as they approached the yawning black mouth of the mine.
Nia didn't look up. She just kept her hand over the stones in her pocket and followed the darkness inside.
The guard screamed at her: "Go in, now!"
She moved forward, fear knotting in her stomach at the thought of being beaten again.
✦✦✦
"How long hath it been… 'twas thou who didst dream, mine illustrious great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandsire," the king declared proudly, his eyes fixed on the altar — grand and towering, the size of a standard Celestium.
Translation:"How long has it been…" the king murmured proudly. "The dream of my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather…"
Beside him, the old advisor bowed low and spoke:
"O, forget not, mine own majesty, for thou art also the dream of mine aide, through and through."
His gaze, too, lingered on the altar — crafted from stone, gemstones, rare metals, and other priceless materials.
Translation:"Don't forget, Your Majesty — it was also the dream of my ancestor, from beginning to end."
"Pray, what dost we require for the guidance of our ritual sage?"
Translation:"Now… what do we need for the ritual, Advisor?"
The old man bowed his crooked frame even lower.
"We dost require but a singular pure spirit," he replied.
Translation:"We just need one pure soul."
✦✦✦
Nia sat curled up in the corner, her swollen hand resting limply in her lap. Her stomach growled painfully, crying out for even the smallest scrap of food.
The guard stomped in and tossed a dented metal plate on the floor next to her. The hard clatter echoed in the cold cell.
"Eat up, you dead weight on the earth," he sneered before turning on his heel and leaving without another word.
Nia lowered her gaze to the plate and whispered silently in her mind:
"Thank you… for the food."
She picked up the stale, cold bread and dipped it into the strange, watery sauce, forcing herself to eat.
The taste hit her tongue like ash and saltwater.
For a moment, she closed her eyes — and remembered.
A table bathed in golden light.
Warm bread, fresh from the oven.
Her mother's laughter as she reached over and tore a piece for her, saying: "Eat, Nia. You're too thin already…"
The memory faded as quickly as it came, replaced by the chill of the stone floor beneath her knees and the sound of her own quiet chewing.
She swallowed hard. And kept eating.
Then came the cold.
But Nia never knew when it was night or day — not down here, where no sunbeam ever reached. She slept when her body demanded it. Woke when the guards demanded it.
Curling into the brittle hay, she thought quietly to herself:
"It's cold again… must be night."
She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and closed her eyes.
✦✦✦
Morning.
But no one came to wake her. No shouting. No rod against the wall. No chains clinking.
She remained curled in the corner, half-asleep, when a strange warmth touched her hair — a hand, soft and smoothing, running gently through the tangled strands.
Her eyes snapped open, panic blooming in her chest. But no words came. Her breath caught in her throat.
A woman stood before her.
Dressed in flowing white, she knelt slowly and tilted Nia's chin upward with gentle fingers.
Why is she here? Am I… am I dead? Did I die in my sleep?
"They didn't treat you well… did they?" she whispered. Her voice was soft — almost sad.
"Let's go now."
A few maids appeared behind her, silent, graceful, their faces blank as they tied a silk handkerchief over Nia's eyes.
Where are they taking me? Why does this feel… so quiet? Too quiet.
They lifted her gently — as if she weighed nothing — and carried her, cradled like a princess, out of the cell.
I don't understand… why does this feel warm? Am I dreaming? Or… is this what dying feels like?
When the cloth was finally lifted from her eyes, Nia found herself standing in a vast, dimly lit chamber. At its center lay a massive spring, its waters still and glassy, glowing faintly as though alive.
But her eyes remained hollow.
A familiar voice rang out from behind her:
"I expected more."
Nia turned her head slightly.
There she was — the same woman who had knelt before her in the cell, tilting her chin so gently.
The woman smiled faintly and stepped closer.
"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Lyssa. And yours?"
Nia said nothing.
Lyssa's smile didn't falter.
"It's fine. If I were you, I'd do the same thing."
Slowly, Nia raised her hand and pointed at the spring.
Lyssa followed her gaze, then chuckled softly.
"Oh… that? That's a spring. And it's for you."
Nia's finger shifted back to herself.
Lyssa nodded.
"Yes, for you. But before that…"
She clapped her hands once, sharply.
Several maids emerged from the shadows, moving silently as they surrounded Nia.
She recoiled instinctively, trying to resist as they reached for her.
"We have to clean you before you can enter the spring," one of them said, her voice calm.
"Yes, she's right," another added.
"It's an order from the Head Maid," said a third.
"What is this ruckus?"
Lyssa's voice cut through the air as she approached.
One maid bowed slightly. "Ma'am—"
Lyssa waved her off. "I see."
She came closer to Nia, crouching slightly so their eyes met.
"We're going to clean you up… and then, we'll eat something you'll love."
Something in Lyssa's tone — gentle, almost motherly — eased the tension in Nia's shoulders.
She stopped struggling.
Lyssa smiled faintly and brushed a stray strand of hair from Nia's face.
"Good girl."
The maids guided her forward, their hands firm yet disarmingly gentle. The glow of the spring grew stronger with every step.
It wasn't just water.
The surface shimmered like molten glass, catching the faint light of the chamber and scattering it in rippling silver patterns that danced across the black stone walls. Beneath the surface, faint streams of gold and deep reds swirled as though alive — blood and light mingling in impossible harmony.
A faint hum rose from it, soft and low, like a chorus of voices too quiet to understand.
At the water's edge, Nia froze, breath caught in her chest.
The air here was warmer. Heavy. Sweet — but cloying, almost suffocating.
What is this place…? she wondered.
The maids began their work without a word. One tugged at the rags she wore, peeling them away piece by piece until she stood exposed, pale skin marred by bruises and cuts.
Another knelt at her feet, rolling a basin of clear water and soft cloths toward her.
They began to wash her — careful, methodical. Cool water trickled over her as their hands moved, scrubbing away layers of filth and dried blood. They worked as one, dipping cloths, wringing, wiping, over and over in silence.
It wasn't kindness.
It felt like preparing an offering.
Her stomach knotted, but she stayed still.
When they finished, they dressed her in a flowing white robe, soft and fragrant — lavender… and faintly metallic. The hem pooled at her bare feet as they led her forward, to the very edge of the spring. stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the stone.
"There now… see? Much better," she said, circling Nia slowly, eyes raking over her.
"And soon, you'll feel even better. Something you'll love, I promise."
She leaned in close, her lips grazing Nia's ear.
"The spring… remembers. It takes everything from you — and gives you back something else. Something you'll never forget."
Straightening, her smile widened just slightly. She extended her hand toward the glowing water.
"Go on. Step in."
[Celestium: - a place of worship]