Vahkul’s days are often long and grueling, but today was a little easier for some reason. His morning starts when Vissur knocks on his door. “Vahkul…” The older man whispers into the dawn’s air. When he gets no response, the man sighs and walks further into the boy’s room. He then grabs a fistful of duvet and pulls. “Boy! Get up. It’s time to prepare for morning worship.”

Vahkul groans and turns over as the icy air travels up the length of his legs. He wishes he had worn a thicker sleeping gown. Pulling himself into a scrunched ball, he settles deeper into his bed.

Vissur is having none of that though. The man grabs onto the bottom of the boy’s gown and lifts it up suddenly. “Gah!” Vahkul screams as the cold air hits all of his sensitive parts. He scrambles out of the bed, yanking his clothes with him. “What is wrong with you!?” He shouts, feeling a little violated.

“Quiet boy. It’s time to prepare for morning worship.” Is all the old man says. Vahkul’s lip curls as he watches the older druid leave his room. He absolutely hates morning worship. He doesn’t understand it, for one.

He was taught that druids in Velshlind worship privately in their homes due to the taboo surrounding their beliefs. Many ruled out the existence of the old gods, believing them to be devils working in favor of the dark and nasty barbarians living in the unexplored northern continent. And because druids worship Moakn and Illuitus, the Goddess of Health and the God of Life, practice outside of the home can be dangerous.

Vahkul often wondered why they bothered worshiping at all. He had never even heard of the gods’ intervention, so how is it possible that they even exist? He found himself habitually following the religion of the people of Velshlind. He even occasionally caught himself thinking that there very well might be just one god that left his creations to their own devices.

Still, he got himself dressed so that he might prepare for the day’s morning service. After tying the inside loop of his white robes, he slips on his sturdiest pair of slippers. He almost slides out of his room before straightening his bed, but he catches himself.

The last time he left his room untidy, Ovate Drion made him sleep in the kitchens for a week. The heat of the oven had threatened to suffocate him every night and the stone flooring had left his back aching until he was able to properly heal himself. Never again.

So the boy tidies his bed and ties open his curtains before slipping out of his room.

Acidic dew droplets soak the hem of his robes as he follows the path lit with torches to the service house. The doors are already opened, and Vissur has already started with the normal routine.

Vahkul walks to one of the shrines and begins lighting the black candles. He hates this part of his morning. There are hundreds of candles that need to be lit, and tens of shrines that must be cleansed before the morning service can take place. The young druid sighs as he gets started, his eyes already aching from the dim lighting.

Morning prayer came and went, and Vahkul was pushed into his next chores just as ceremoniously. He helped prepare everyone’s breakfast boxes, then he helped clean the kitchens after that. Once he was finished helping Emmie, the only female at the compound, he began helping Lon with the medical rooms.

Five surgeries are scheduled for today, two of which will be observed by the Brutoni Medical School. So it is the job of Lon and Vahkul to sterilize the operation rooms and set up the observation rooms.

That didn’t take nearly as long as Vahkul had feared, and soon enough, he was dismissed to the final meeting of the day. Everyone has gathered in the lounge area of the compound and they all stand, awaiting Archdruid Tith’s reading of the agenda. Vahkul waits patiently as everyone’s jobs for the day are read off, knowing that he has nothing of substance to accomplish on this day.

He’s almost ecstatic that he gets the day off. It rarely happens. When his name is finally called, he nods at what Archdruid Tith says, “All that you have scheduled for today, boy, is the cleaning of areas one through three. You may use the rest of your time as you please, though I would recommend that you practice making Grulith without any help from the scrolls.”

Vahkul dips into a solid bow as the gong is rung, dismissing everyone to their duties. The compound clears quickly, leaving only the sound of robes rustling against the pebble walkways. With a little hum rising from the back of his throat, Vahkul begins collecting his cleaning supplies, opting to take care of the lounge room first.

As he’s wiping off the side tables that house a few potted herbs, a loud banging startles him out of his daydream. He almost knocks a vase right off of the table. “Who could that be?” Most people go to the front entrance when they need to schedule an appointment, but the lounge is located on the far right side of the compound.

Setting his supplies onto the table, Vahkul rushes to the door. It could be an emergency for all he knows. He slides the wooden base to the side and comes face to face with a familiar girl. His brows furrow as he attempts to place just where he had seen her before.

“Please! Please, I need your help!” Her chest is rising and falling so heavily that it almost seems like the seams of her dress are about to burst. Vahkul motions for her to calm down.

“Just tell me what happened.” He really should be leading her down to the front room. They have a procedure for these kinds of things. But there’s something in her eyes, something that seems akin to hopelessness. Vahkul can’t bare to take her there, just so that they can tell her that all of the qualified healers are booked up for the week.

She nods, her straight brown hair sticking up in every-which direction. “My father has been very ill for a while. Mother has been tending to him everyday, isolating themselves from everyone. Even then, mother still left their room to prepare foods and medicines. Yesterday something must have happened. She locked them in their room and there hasn’t been a sound.

“I… I can’t get through the door, but I’ve heard noises. Something is wrong, I know it.” That’s when Vahkul finally places her face in a picture. He had gone to see the girl’s father a while ago. His pulse quickens.

Vahkul does not want to step into the house where the dead now live. She should have gone to the constables. He’s about to tell her this, but a sob breaks lose from the girl, and before he knows it he’s grabbing her by the hand and pulling her along the pebbled path.

The house is in shambles. Holes have been punched into the walls, furniture has been overturned, and paintings have been torn from their stretchers. It’s as if someone took at look at the decorations and went on a rampage. From the look on the girl’s face, the damage must have occurred after she had left.

They step over the remains of a wooden shelve on their way up the stairs. The house is eerily quiet, and just barely lit by the skylight streaming from window on the opposing wall. Just the sound of the steps creaking beneath his weight is enough to have Vahkul rethinking his decision to help.

But then the feeling of the girl’s hand trembling on his shoulder brings him back to his senses. So they push on, stepping over rotting wood and puddles of miscellaneous liquids, until they make it to the master bedroom’s door. It seems that whoever had made the mess remembered to lock the door behind them.

After jiggling the doorknob, he resolves to break it down. “Can you stand back, please?” The girl nods and backs away with her fingers curled aggressively around the folds of her skirt. The young druid then takes a deep breath before rushing forward, his foot aimed near the handle.

He doesn’t get it on his first try, so he rears back and gives it another go. The door bursts open on his fourth attempt and he sees exactly what he expected.

His first instinct is to run.

His second is the close the door again.

He goes with his second instinct and slams the door just as the girl attempts to run through it. “Hey!” She pounds on the other side. “Let me in!”

Vahkul shakes his head, though he knows she cannot see him. “I need the area as sterile as possible if I’m to attempt to heal them.” It’s a lie. But at least he doesn’t have to look into her eyes as he tells it. The banging stops and he reluctantly removes himself from the door.

Whipping around, he comes face to face with his past. The older woman that he had met a few weeks ago lays on the bed next to her dead husband. Blood leaks from her nose and her eyes as she weeps against his chest. Her skin is torn at the knuckles and along various parts of her arms.

Vahkul must give credit to them, for the couple is a lot stronger than he thought they were. Or the disease has gotten weaker. He figured they both would have been dead within a week of his visit. Yet here the woman lays, her body only just now losing its previous fat.

The older woman’s head turns towards him, though Vahkul knows that she cannot see. “ Kill me. ” It’s enough to make the druid recoil. Vahkul has known the pain of this disease. He’s felt it course through his veins. He’s felt it burning his eyes and melting his skin.

His teeth vibrated in his skull, the nerves sending shocking waves of agony into his gums. His nails peeled back as he attempted to compel the pain out of his body with force. But even through all of that, he had always wanted to survive. He hadn’t wished for death.

Maybe that is the reason he alone was the only survivor of his village. Maybe that is the reason that his powers manifested the way that they did.

The only thing he truly knows is that his power isn’t strong enough to combat what’s currently eating this woman alive. It would be a mercy to kill her, as elders seldom survive this process. Her grief will only weigh down and weaken her already strained heart. “ Kill me .”

Blood runs rivers down her cheeks, and Vahkul knows what he must do. “ Please. ” He pulls a small blade from the belt at his waist and approaches the mourning widow. “I wish I could do more for you, Mrs. Lutticous.” Her face morphs, as if she recognizes his voice.

For a moment, Vahkul thinks that she might attack him, but she simply rises from her husband’s chest. “Manny… Manny isn’t sick, right?” The druid licks his lips. From what he can sense, the girl is as healthy as can be.

“No Mrs. Lutticous. Your Manny is as perfect as can be,” He responds, his voice almost getting lost in his throat. A small smile makes its way to the woman’s bruised lips.

She stands from her bent over position, using her hands as guides to walk around the bed. She lays herself comfortably next to her husband, her shaking fingers taking a moment to roam over his twisted features. “Then could I ask you for one more thing?” She coughs, blood splatters along the settling corpse’s night gown.

“Of course.”

“Manny is so bright, but she isn’t smart in the ways of life. Could y-” She coughs some more, this time attempting to cover her mouth. “Could you help her get on her feet after I’m gone. I know it’s a lot to as-”

“Of course.” Vahkul doesn’t know this woman and doesn’t know her daughter, but he can’t help but feel responsible for what is about to happen here tonight. If accepting Mrs. Lutticous’ dying wish with grant him some reprieve, then he very well will.

She thanks him and turns to face her husband. And before he can back out, Vahkul pulls down the neck of her gown and pushes the blade into her chest, twisting it. He turns away from the carnage.

Vahkul has seen darkness. He has seen death. He has seen the power of the so called Gods and their utter lack of mercy. But never in his life has he seen anguish personified.

Manny’s knees hit the floor, just barely protected by the fabric of her skirts. Her hands go to pull her hair back from her face as her mouth falls open. The sound of absolute desolation rumbles from the depths of this girl, and Vahkul swears that he can feel the ground shake in response.

Though her tears don’t fall, Vahkul can see her pain trapped behind her lashes.

And because there is truly nothing that he can say to her, he simply sits next to her on the ground. When she has finished screaming her throat raw, she collapses onto him, and he lets her rest against his robes as the dams finally break.

Her tears stain the fabric gray, but Vahkul does not mind. “Did they ever talk to you about how they wanted their deaths to be celebrated?”

He knows it might be an insensitive question, but corpses that die of this disease rot quickly. He wishes to have their death certificates sealed and their bodies entombed as quickly as possible, even if that isn’t what’s on the girl’s mind.

Her head shakes in his lap, though the impropriety is lost on the pair. “I know right now it seems like things are moving too quickly, but would you perhaps like for me to perform their ceremony? Tonight?” Manny wails in response.

She doesn’t want to let them go, but she must. Their bodies will bring down this entire village if they aren’t dealt with quickly. “Manny…” Vahkul calls, but she doesn’t answer. And so he decides to leave it be for now.

“Were their Gods old or new?” The druid asks as he finishes digging the couple’s grave. He’s been trying to preoccupy the girl’s mind whilst he prepares for their short ceremony.

After returning from his trip back to the compound, he had found Manny struggling in the small yard with an abused shovel locked between her hands. After promptly prying it from her grip, he took over her job. His trip had awarded him all of the tools he needs for the night along with Archdruid Tith’s permission. This is to be his first death ceremony.

Hopefully, he would never have to witness the foulness that preceded them again.

That isn’t a probable wish, seeing as it is the nature of his calling. You can’t save everyone. “Their God was new,” The girl whispers. Vahkul had suspected as much. They’re in the outskirts of Malseadia after all. It was known to be one of the more radical provinces in the empire.

Vahkul drops the shovel once he’s finally finished. “Would you like to begin?” It takes a while, but eventually the girl responds with a slight nod that’s almost undetectable in the night’s light.

He nods back, then proceeds to walk towards where the dead lay wrapped in an old tapestry. He hates to do this, but he asks, “Would you mind giving me a hand?” He would do it on his own, but he doesn’t want to risk dropping the bodies. He can imagine that seeing the limbs of her deceased parents flop as they unceremoniously fall into their graves would leave a nasty impression upon her.

The girl’s face has gone blank, but she walks up to where her parents lay, and helps the druid pull their bodies into their grave. “Thank you. I only need a few more things from you today.” Vahkul digs into the new pouches strapped at his waist and begins to lay a trail of what looks to be beautiful cerulean flower petals around the grave.

Once he finishes, he starts to set up all of the tools that he needs. Digging into his bag, he sets up a bronze bowl, a single black candle, a pin, and two flowers with petals the color of midnight on the stone bench. “Come,” He whispers.

Manny kneels next to him in the grass. He can see her delicate hands trembling as she fiddles with the folds of her brown skirt. “I need you to take each bloom into your hand.” She does as he instructs, her eyes glued to the supple petals now resting against her fingertips.

“I want you to think about your happiest moment with your parents. Close your eyes, and remember that moment.” Again, she does as he instructs. As soon as her eyes fall shut, Vahkul continues. “Tell me, Manny, what was your most joyous moment with your parents?”

Her lips fall open as her eyes roam beneath their lids. “The first thing that comes to mind is when my parents finally gave Jonathan their blessing. It had taken months and months of ruthless pursual on his part. But I don’t think that was truly my happiest moment.”

She seems to think for a moment, then a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “No… No it was not. I remember when we moved to this house over a decade ago. I was in such a haste to see my new room that I had tripped running up the stairs.

“Oh the sound that fell from Mother’s mouth when she saw me slip down those steps is one to be remembered. My skirts had nearly gone over my head during the whole ordeal. I was close to crying, but then Father swooped me up and said, ‘Princesses do not run up the stairs, they are carried.’ He ran me up the stairs and tossed me onto my new bed and I remember thinking that it was the biggest thing I had ever seen in the world.

“Then he pointed to the small globe that still rests at my bedside and told me that he would give me the world, because I was his princess. Mother scolded me later that evening, claiming that she was to enroll me in etiquette courses so that I could grow to be a proper lady. She said that she was to make me into the woman she wished she was.” Manny laughs, and as soon as her breath flows across the flowers, Vahkul pulls a petal from each and tosses them into the bowl.

“They sound like wonderful parents. I’m sorry you had to lose them so early.” She nods, her eyes still closed. “You can put the flowers down now. She does, only after a moment of hesitation. “Give me your hands.” Manny gently places the palm of her hands against Vahkul’s own.

He brings them towards the candle. “Can you tell me about your most heartbreaking moment with them?” This makes her truly pause. Her blue eyes darken as she stares at the swaying flame. Her bottom lip begins to shake.

“About a month ago, it was brought to my attention that Jonathan had become a frequent patron of Miss Lily’s establishment ten corners over. I didn’t want to believe it. I declared that I wouldn’t. Then my best girl invited me out, and I had no idea that it was to spy on him. We watched him walk into that establishment and come out hours later, drunk as a skunk with his arms around one of Lily’s girls.

“I sought to hide it, but somehow, my parents came to hear of it. They did not bring it up to me though. They waited until the night Jonathan came for dinner and they ambushed him.” Her hands shake. “The night ended in tears, and screams, and Jonathan pushing my father into the railing of the stairs. The rug had shifted beneath him, and he cracked his head on the banister. I thought he was to die then.”

Vahkul raises the candle and pours a few drops of melted wax onto the backs of her hands. He waves something invisible down her fingertips and into the bowl. She flinches, but is otherwise, unmoved. “Stand for me.” They stand. The druid leaves her at the bench as he brings the candle to the head of the grave. He then walks back to her. “Give me your hands again.”

Vahkul picks up the pin from the bench, and their eyes lock on his way back up. Before she can complain, he’s already pricked all ten of her fingertips. “Over the bowl.” He instructs. Her blood flows from her fingers and covers the two petals resting delicately against the bronze.

In the bowl now rests the memories of happiness and pain. Once her fingers have stopping dripping. He picks up the two petals and brushes them against the skin right under her eyes. “Go sit with them.” And she does.

The druid brings the forgotten blooms and gives one to each parent before turning back to her. “This is your time now. Tell them whatever it is that you want them to hear before they take their travels. You have until the flame of his candle expires to say your final goodbyes.

After that, I will come back to release them from this plane.” Vahkul hesitates only for a moment, but once he sees Manny’s tears begin to cut rivers through the blood under her eyes, he knows that it’s time for him to go.