Ahnorak Chronicles

One

His eyes snapped open and he stared silently at the brown painted ceiling above him. He did not know what it was that had woken him up. Perhaps it was the anxiety, resurfaced from the lake it had drowned in.

He glanced out the window left of his bed. Dawn was just about to break. His heart was beating so fast, he feared it may tear out of his chest. Today was the day. The day he had spent all those months in training for, the day he had lived for. Today, he would be a nexorth.

He took a deep breath, sat up, folded his legs and began to perform some basic calming exercises to slow the pace of his heart and clear his mind.

They were not working.

Finally, after a few minutes, he gave up on the technique, swung his feet to the cold, tiled floor, stood up, walked into his bathroom and twisted the knob which activated the shower.

Hot water droplets cascaded down the shower head, birthing steam as they did so. The water helped him relax more than the exercises he had performed earlier, but its effects were minute and vanished the second he switched off the shower, so today, he spent more time than usual in his bathroom, trying not to think about the ceremony.

When he was done, he got changed into his xenoite robes—believing it would be the last time he would ever wear them—and combed his hair. He was ready. He stared at the mirror that was fixed to the door of his wardrobe, examining himself. There stood a dark-skinned boy with blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in brown cotton robes that just kissed the floor.

His toes, small, yet long nailed, peeked out of the bottom of his robes. Footwear was not condoned in the temple, a rule so old no one knew why it was ever made.

He stared at his reflecting for a while, thinking about his future as a nexorth, before turning around and heading out of his room.

He lay naked on the stone floor, limbs spread in a spread-eagle position, his eyes staring up at the dark ceiling, where the candle light couldn’t reach.

“Call your demon,” a voice commanded.

He licked his lips, something he did whenever he was nervous. And why shouldn’t he be? He was about to call a demon, and attempt to bind it with nothing but will and a few safety spells cast by the five elders surrounding him, safety spells that did nothing to prevent one’s demise should one’s will fall to the demon. But of course, the spells were not meant for xenoites who participated in the ceremony, but for the elders themselves. Each chain has a weak link. The ceremony was designed to eliminate these weak links, and leave only the strongest behind.

All his life, he had dreamed to become a hjyu, and be part of the ruling ten that governed civilization. He was going to live that dream, and no force was going to stop him.

“I call Stachion! The demon of the east flames! The demon of the northern winds! The demon of the daylight shadows! I call Stachion!” he recited, his voice carrying the confidence he didn’t feel.

“Are you sure you wish to tame this wild beast, xenoite? Are you fully aware of the consequences, should you fail to tame it?”

“I am,” he said, his heart beating faster, his ears filled with its thuds, heat spreading through his body in a wave.

“Very well. You may invoke his name, his true name.”

He closed his eyes and dug deep into his mind. When he found what he was looking for, he did not hesitate. His eyes opened, his lips parted and moved as he released air from his lungs, producing a sound his ears could not follow. . .and all hell broke loose.

He felt something rush at him, but not physically, no. This thing, this presence met him in his mind. It felt like a hurricane occurring within the confines of his mindscape. He could not think, he could not move, all he could do, was ride it. . .

And then it stopped.

He was in the eye of the storm for a few seconds, then back in, but this time, it was more vicious, and the ‘wind’ had claws, digging into his mind, tearing it open, and he felt the presence ‘read’ through his mind like it was a book, learning everything about him; his hopes, his dreams, his fears, his thoughts, everything that made him, him, he felt that presence learn it like one would learn the formulae of a certain mathematical problem, and then, he felt nothing but the void. . .

You will fail, young one, and your body would be mine, the presence said. Jon didn’t reply, couldn’t reply.

Slowly, he felt the building blocks that made up his mind slowly get pulled apart, and what remained, topple over the edge. . .

Image credit to; https://unsplash.com/photos/nbqlWhOVu6k