So bitter and tainted are all the memories that he had with him. They were ingrained with betrayal and questions: did he do even this just so that he could betray him later? What things were done out of the goodness of his heart, and which were done with the venomous intent that he had had from the beginning?
What was the intent of all his words, all his actions, and all that he ever did to him? Was it all there just to lead him astray?
He stared at the bench and at memories of that bench. It was covered with snow, and none had sat on it, perhaps since the first snowfall. He had been on his way to a lecture, one of the last ones that he'd ever have here, but the sight of a simple bench had stopped him.
Feelings are so difficult. For months, he had believed that he would not feel anything other than despair. Now he wondered if one could love another even when it wasn't so apparent. Did it really hurt so much to lose someone you only rationally thought of as a friend?
He dared not look further, not at the bench, not into his own memories of it, nor into the difficult feelings that plagued him. He ripped his gaze away from it all, away from within, and marched onward, leaving behind the bench and the memories that had become sour.
They stared at him as he sat down in the front row. Yviev was there, but she would only slightly look at him. The lecture was on, so it made sense that she would focus on that instead of him.
Kanrel knew that somewhere, at the back of the class, Uanna and Wen would be sitting down like he was. Perhaps looking at him, pondering all that might've happened if he truly had nothing to do with Yirn at the things that he had committed.
Oidus kept lecturing like she usually did, in her own erratic manner, and Kanrel wrote in his notebook the things she said, as he had done thus far. It was like it had been before; it was just that on his right side, there was no one there. An empty place where Yirn would usually be.
Sometimes Kanrel would casually, perhaps out of habit, look at where Yirn would've been and what he would write in his notes.
What was wrong with him? The enemy was no more; the murders were solved; his studies would soon be over; and he knew where to go after them… So what was the issue?
He wasn't his friend, not anymore. He wasn't even alive. He wasn't here; he wasn't there. He doesn't exist. Not anymore.
Kanrel had stopped taking notes or even listening to the ongoing lecture. He just sat there and looked slightly to his side, where someone was supposed to be and where someone had been.
He was confused; his mind would go blank, and the only thing—the only one he could think of—was him. Yirn. The coldness was there more so than usual; it slowly reached into his mind and took a stranglehold of it; it slowly pressured his chest and his throat.
He swallowed, trying to rid himself of a piece that would not go away. He tried to breathe normally, but he felt like his head was underwater, as if he were drowning, as if he were under a blanket of darkness.
Kanrel closed his eyes and slowly tapped his notebook with his pen, creating a slow rhythm in a classroom filled with the sounds of writing and the singing of a person holding a lecture. It was just another normal sound in a classroom.
It dawned upon him, a slow realization that made him open his eyes again and look more openly at the position where Yirn had been and where his memory still remained.
He was his friend. He was alive. He was here, and he was everywhere. He exists, or so he once did. He was with him at all times. His memory remained in the things that they had done together, in the places that they had frequented, and in the people that they had known.
It was why it hurt so much. Not his betrayal, but what it had caused. He had lost a friend. But what hurt the most was that he had found that he couldn't forgive him; he was unable to.
At lunch, Kanrel sat with Yviev, Uanna, and Wen. In the loud atmosphere of the cafeteria, there was silence among them. Not a word left the lips of those who sat around the table. If a mouth were to open, no words would come out; only food would enter.
Perhaps it felt as unbearable to others as it did to Kanrel, which is why he said, "Only a few days left, then we are no longer priestlings, no longer novices." The words felt awkward as he forced them out of his mouth.
Uanna suddenly smiled brightly, as if she had been waiting for him to begin the conversation. "So you do talk! I was starting to wonder if I would ever again hear your voice." Her smile was that of habit and not because of true joy, but perhaps she would've truly felt joy in that moment if it had been before the Ritual.
Kanrel answered her smile with a smile of his own: "The last few days have been a bit... confusing." He said, and uncertainty could easily be heard as he stumbled upon the last word.
"But, I suppose, one can only move forward," he continued, his smile slowly fading. "It can be difficult to look back and not feel bitter."
Yviev listened intently as he spoke. She slowly put her fork down and cleaned the sides of her mouth with a cloth. "Have you decided what you'd like to do after graduation?"
"Professor Forsvarn seemed disappointed when he mentioned you not too recently," she quickly added. At last, she looked at Kanrel, as if no longer afraid of looking at him.
"I will become a village priest, so I am more or less doing the thing that Wen wanted to do," Kanrel explained. He could've told them the full truth, but chose against it.
The others nodded. "I think it will do you good," Yviev said, patting Kanrel on the back. "Having something to do will keep your mind at bay; the Angels know we all need that."
It all felt awkward, but it was better than nothing—better than spending the last days that they would perhaps ever meet in silence. They promised to write to each other as often as they could, at least once, to tell the others what the mission was that they were appointed to by the Priesthood after graduation.
So the days went by, doing the usual things a novice might do at the Academy of the Heavenly. Though with a lot fewer erotic novels and skinny dipping in the moonlight, and not because they wouldn't want to do such things, but because it was far too cold and there were better things to read.
They wouldn't meet at the laboratory but instead at the cafeteria and the library across it; there were too many sour memories in their usual gathering places.
The last day came quickly, and all the novices had to gather at the cathedral. A year ago, they had the Ritual there; they all descended the stairs; they had lost the gift of joy to gain the gift of power that was the curse of magic.
The grotesque angels looked down upon them, as they always did, but one gets used to such things after a while. That feeling was something they were used to, but not the feeling that laying your gaze on the Herald of the Gods did.
She stood under the great angel of the painting behind her; her gaze was on them, as was the gaze of the angel. She was grand; she was much more powerful than anyone present. Her knowledge was infinite before this sea of novices and even priests that had come there to listen to her words and to her preach.
There was anticipation in the air and a disgusting flow of magic that ran through everything—a feeling much more potent than that of the laboratory. Her anguish was there for all to see, and they all found themselves within its grasp—the slow waves that would make them think that their own suffering was nothing—even that was nothing here, before her, or under her gaze.
"The first Herald wrote as follows in the book that would become the Book of the Heralds: Feeble was the moment before nothing; for a moment, I felt everything—all the joys and feelings that anyone can feel—it was ecstasy, life was beautiful, and I was happy—but after a mere moment, there was nothing. Just the darkness in my mind and the mist that now clouds it."
"This was her experience of the thing that most priests know as the descent; her's was much more cruel than the one that you went through; it is also the same that every Herald has to go through. At the moment in which I was chosen by the Angels to be the next Herald, I went through that very same experience; all of the Heralds went through it."
"So not once but twice I have lost joy just to gain power."
As she spoke, her gaze traveled through the faces of all of those who were there—everyone who had found their way into the cathedral at that moment. Then she turned around and looked at the angel behind her. "It is unlikely for anyone to truly see an Angel, to bask in their glory, to truly feel filthy and useless before a creature greater than anything; yet I feel regret, as certainly do all of you."
She again faced the crowd and said, "That regret is something that will never go away; it will haunt you for the rest of your lives, as will the ever-present despair that gnaws at your existence."
"The life of a priest is not easy, but it will not be difficult either; your life is to be dedicated to service, not just for the Angels, but for the people that are around you."
"Out there is a world with far greater anguish, despair, and pain than any of us has truly ever felt. It is for us to carry a fraction of this torment."
"Thus I stand before you on this day to accept you as part of the Priesthood, as part of this sacred mission given to us by the Angels; recite thy vows!" She commanded, and the novices and priests alike declared their faith and vows in unison:
"In the name of the Angels, the Heralds, and the Priesthood, I pledge my life to the vows of duty that are given to us by the wishes of the Angels.
I vow to carry this torment without taking a life away from innocence; without succumbing to corruption or to a hunger for power; without killing myself; or without leaving those who are in need.
I vow that this duty I shall withhold, this duty I shall keep, and I vow that if I go against it, I shall receive the judgment of the Angels. May they witness and hear my words, and when I stand from my knees, I shall carry the mantel of a priest."
At last, when the last phrase was proclaimed, the novices stood up, and now that they were standing, they were priests of the Priesthood.
The Herald looked down upon them, and it was like her existence was illuminated by something—another existence—and thus she spoke: "We have seen and heard your vows, and they are accepted; now go and fill the duties that are given." Her voice echoed that of another; a more powerful presence lingered in the cathedral, one that wasn't disgusting like that of the priests but one that was warm and joyful.
For a moment, even Kanrel felt happy, but that was soon washed away with a wave of despair.
Those who had just been novices were now priests, and one by one they were called to the altar at the front of the cathedral. There, the Herald gave them a letter in which their assignment would be until otherwise told.
There were so many potential places for all of them to go; some would become inquisitors, some would wander the kingdom, preaching and helping those in need, and some would find themselves in hospitals. Just a few things out of so many.
Kanrel already knew his assignment, but either way, he received his letter, as did everyone else. Before giving the letter, his mother stared at him for a moment longer and even patted him on the head. Then he, too, was dismissed from the cathedral and from the academy as a whole.
They all now had to pack their things and adequate equipment for their journeys that had begun. It was a cold winter day as Kanrel marched out of the academy and into the city outside. He knew where he would be going.
After he reached the hills on the eastern road that would lead further into the north and the village that would be somewhere there, he looked back at the city and saw the massive complex that was the Academy of the Heavenly in the middle of it.
Dreams are what he thought they were. But the mundane dreams of your time at school can easily be soured, and even those dreams could soon become nightmares. Then what else would there be left, other than the sweet memories of your mother's embrace and the nightmares of everything else?
So bitter had become the memories that he once had of his time at the academy, and he had barely just left them behind.
Where do you find within yourself to dream again if all that is left are nightmares?
---The End of Volume One---