Chapter Text
The morning of the dreaded Rite of Fire came all too quick, but that was to be expected.
Rin wept in front of Gumi while she helped her dress, and it wasn’t because she was overjoyed to be wearing something other than the monastery’s notorious colour blue.
Those with the misfortune of participating in the Rite of Fire—such as her, the Oracle, and a handpicked ensemble—were to don garments a shade of deep red. The style was much the same as the usual robes, but her garment, in particular, was adorned with delicate patterns embroidered with golden thread. She would have appreciated it more, if not for the predicament she was in.
Gumi finished tying her sash into an intricate knot around her waist—fashioned from a gold, silk-like material, which likely cost a pretty penny—and stood back to look her up and down. She frowned.
“Your makeup is running,” she said.
“Why must I wear it,” Rin blubbered, “when I am going to die.”
Her handmaid had gone to the effort that morning to apply something to her eyes, cheeks and lips, claiming the dreaded face paint was all the rage in the realm’s capital, and that she at least deserved to ‘feel pretty’. Not that she would know, because she had never been outside the monastery. Regardless, she didn’t feel very pretty, with black running down her pink cheeks and red smeared on her already-chapped lips.
Gumi rolled her eyes and used a sleeve to dab at Rin’s face. “You’re not going to die. You’ve made it this far, after all.”
This did little to comfort her. It was all feeling very real at this point; the threat of her mortality dangling by a thread, which already seemed awfully close to snapping. There was nothing particularly special about her as a person, and it wasn’t like she was overly devout, nor did the Oracle seem too fond of her. If the Goddess had the ability to consciously pick and choose her Vessels, surely she would turn her nose up at Rin, who was as bland and sceptical as all of her predecessors.
“But what makes me any different—any better—than the previous Vessel, and all those who died to the Rite of Fire?” she asked aloud, although it was intended to be a rhetorical question.
Her handmaid steered her back over to her dresser, pressing her down by the shoulders into a stool. Her reflection in the mirror looked ghoulish. Gumi tugged the makeup box closer with one finger, plucking out a delicate paintbrush and pot from inside.
“That’s irrelevant. You’re you, and the past is the past. There is no absolute guarantee that anything will happen. So, you’ll be fine.” Gumi tucked a hand under her chin, tilting her head and instructing her to look up. With a steady hand, she adjusted the black around her eyes and wiped away the wet excess from her tears. “You mustn’t cry. Not over something that hasn’t happened yet,” she ordered Rin, emerald gaze holding her own. “Promise me that?”
Rin couldn’t bring herself to promise anything, simply mustering a watery, weak smile. The conversation would just go back and forth if it were to continue, anyway.
Gumi stepped back to admire her work, and gave a satisfied nod after a moment of gnawing her bottom lip in thought. “You still have some time before the Oracle comes looking for you. Go eat some breakfast.”
There was a massive, heavy stone in the pit of her stomach that had long forced away any hunger. She didn’t want to eat, but the Oracle had made a point the previous day that she must perform the Rite well-fed and hydrated. The last thing she wanted before dying was to receive a lecture from that old hag.
So, after receiving a quick, reassuring hug from Gumi, Rin dragged her sorry body off to the mess hall.
Amongst the sea of dark blue, red robes stood out like blooming flowers in a desert—not that she would know what that would look like, but she’d heard the saying once in a library book she’d read. She recognised a few faces wearing the matching attire to hers, though they lacked the gold embellishment hers had. They were likely assisting with the Rite in some way or another, though she still knew very little about how.
The monastery went on as it usually did, in spite of everything she would face in the coming hours. It was creeping into mid-morning, so the mess hall was quiet; the seemingly endless, polished tables bare, gleaming under the grey light seeping in through tall, arched windows. Outside, the weather was bleak.
As Rin searched the hall for a place to sit—not that she was hard-pressed for options at this point—a flash of red in her peripheral drew her gaze over one lone figure prodding at his plate of porridge.
Before she could well comprehend what she was doing, her feet carried her over to where he sat, hunched and eyes drawn to the meal in front of him. He didn’t move, didn’t look when she placed her mealtray down across from him.
“Good morning,” she greeted, her tongue leaden and her mouth dry.
Len slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers, his pupils looking more human under the dull light, and offered a slight nod of acknowledgement in her direction. He chewed once, then reached out for his glass of water.
Rin seized her spoon, trying to ignore the feeling that she was unwelcome, and dug into the colourless lump in the bowl before her. The nun who had served her claimed it was rice porridge, but most monastery meals looked the same, regardless of what they were supposed to contain.
The man in front of her redirected his attention to his food, silent.
His golden hair was tied back as usual, held together by a strip of red fabric that matched his robe. His left ear donned one iconic dangling earring, threaded with five small beads of different colours—red, yellow, green, blue, purple. He was the only person in the monastery to sport such an accessory, as piercing one’s ears went against the dress code. For some reason, this rule did not apply to him, though. Finally, unlike the other nuns and monks she’d seen sporting that day’s plain red garments, his shared the same golden thread embroidered throughout her own—which she didn’t expect at all.
She understood, in some way, that he was participating in the rites and the Ceremony of Blessing based on his meeting attendance alone, though they never discussed in great detail what the point of his being there was. She’d just assumed he was there to help for whatever reason, whatever reason required a Wyrm to attend, but now she had questions, given what his robe suggested.
Before she could get to interrogating him, a strong hand planted itself on her shoulder and she jolted, spoon clattering to the table. Rice porridge went flying in all directions—thankfully not their clothes.
Rin turned to face a stoic-looking Meiko.
She had had very little to do with the Monastery Guard growing up, so only came to know Meiko more personally in the months since the ceremonial preparations had started, given she was quite involved in the many, many discussions. The older woman was as serious and intimidating as her role suggested, though Rin was convinced that only went surface-level with her. After all, it was untypical, even in this day and age, for a woman her age to be in charge of the Guard—the first of her kind, too. It was a surprise the Oracle had even considered her, let alone promoted her.
But Rin wasn’t against the decision—Meiko was level-headed and impartial to her peers, excellent at negotiating and strategy planning—all crucial for such a role. In spite of the small upheaval following her promotion, it seemed the new Captain of the Guard had won over the respect of her subordinates, and the level of gossip that passed through the halls had died down significantly over the years since.
That being said, she didn’t trust Meiko in the way she trusted Gumi. Not that Meiko was untrustworthy, necessarily—rather it was a well-known fact she was a devout follower of the Oracle. Rin had a feeling that if she uttered even a word of discontent or criticism about anything to do with Luka, or the monastery, or her (lack of) belief toward the Goddess herself, she would end up facing the wrath of a certain pink-haired hag, even if Meiko shared the same sentiment. After all, a threat to the integrity of the Faith was a threat full stop. It didn’t matter about the mark on her wrist.
Perhaps, once she ascended, she could confide in the Captain a little more about her true feelings. But for now, it was playing a subservient little minion like the rest of them.
Rin forced a smile in greeting, to which Meiko quirked a brow. “How are you feeling, Rin?” she asked, ignoring their audience across the table. Len seemed to be disinterested in their company, staring at a glob of porridge on the table between them. Or feigning that, anyway.
“Fine,” Rin lied, despite her bloodshot and swollen eyes.
“Surely you must be nervous,” Meiko prodded, leaning against the back of the chair beside her. She folded her well-toned arms over her chest, freckled, golden-brown skin poking through the windows of her robe’s sleeves. Years of training in the sun, Rin speculated, something only reserved for those with freedom from monastery imprisonment.
(Although, she was granted special access to the small, enclosed garden by the library, and only that. But one could only spend so much time there, before the mouldy, ivy-ridden brick walls and miserable square offering of sky overhead grew monotonous.)
Rin picked at the remaining porridge in her bowl, mulling over her words. “Well, yes, I’ll probably die, but there’s not much else I can do besides that, anyway.” She hoped the wobble in her voice would be mistaken as her trying to hold in a laugh.
Len dropped his spoon into his empty bowl with a clatter, while Meiko’s mask cracked, lips curling back into a short chuckle. “I have faith you’ll be quite alright. Is that not right, little prince?” She directed her attention to Len for the first time since the conversation had started. He stilled, bent forward over the table in motion to stand.
His eyes flickered from Rin to Meiko, lips setting in a straight line. “Yes,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he meant it or not.
Meiko was satisfied with this answer and gave him a curt nod of approval. Then, before Rin could even piece together what had just transpired, he fled the scene mealtray in hands, without another word or look in their direction.
Once he was out of earshot, Rin stared up at the brunette beside her. “I didn’t know you were close with Len.” Close enough to give him a nickname, of all things.
“Close?” she echoed, barking out a laugh. “Oh, no. Let’s just say we’re well-acquainted. It’s my responsibility to keep an eye on him, after all.”
Keep an eye on him? Rin frowned, watching Len disappear through the hall doors. What was he, a misbehaving toddler?
Before she could ask her to elaborate further on that point, Meiko stretched out her arms and sighed. “Well, I’ve to do some rounds before the Rite begins. Do keep your chin up. And clean up that mess you made.” She reached over to pinch Rin’s chin between her finger and thumb, before nodding down at the porridge-splattered table.
“Er… yes, ma’am.”
With that, the Captain was off.
Rin fished out a handkerchief from her sleeve that Gumi had slipped her before, mopping up the sticky substance. Then she forced down several more bites of her breakfast, until it became clear that the food would appear back in the bowl a little more deconstructed if she kept persisting, instead returning to her quarters to await her doom.
It was not long after that when the Oracle appeared at her door with a small entourage.
Meiko stood to the rear of the group, likely to break Rin's legs if she tried to run for it. Kaito walked ahead of her and alongside Len. Rin was expected to stay on the heels of the Oracle, leader of the pack, for she was not that important yet to precede her. Of the group, only her, Len and the hag wore their special attire with golden accents; the rest were draped in the same wine-coloured cloth.
It was unfortunately too late for questions now, so she followed on in silence—as instructed—their footsteps echoing down the halls.
As they passed by the monastery inhabitants going about their day as any other, they would stop to bow at the procession, heads inclined and hands laced at their stomachs. Whenever important ceremonies were held that didn’t require her own attendance, she too would have to do the same. However, as she grew older, the number of her responsibilities increased, so such occasions grew fewer. Yet the attention still made her skin crawl, and the best she could ever do was train her eyes to the floor.
They eventually stopped at the entrance to a room in the far west wing of the monastery.
The west wing, as far as Rin knew, was reserved exclusively for ceremonial use, given it was the oldest part of the monastery, and was allegedly used by the first Divine Vessel to hold various events. By some unspoken rule, that fact alone made it the holiest place—though the only difference between the west wing and the rest of the monastery, in her mind, was the likeliness of one leaving with an incurable cough.
She had only been there for a handful of times, including for the Ceremony of Dawn, which was the Oracle's unnecessary way of acknowledging her role as a Divine Vessel. But it had been years—she had been only five or so at the time—and she remembered very little of the affair, just that it was very boring, and the west wing was very dusty.
It came as no surprise that it was still as dusty as it was. Due to the fact that it was well over a millennia old, perhaps even older, it was constantly needing upkeep and restoration; areas partitioned off, some rooms entirely inaccessible due to the roof caving in. What would have been extravagant frescos and murals stretching the walls to the ceilings, now remained faded and chipped retellings of religious anecdotes that only the Oracle could probably recall. The year prior, one section had collapsed entirely, killing the poor monk in charge of cleaning it, and that was a whole fiasco of itself. Rin was forbidden from helping with the clean up, naturally.
At least, for the room they were to use, it had been well-maintained. Large, carved wooden doors creaked open before the group, revealing a dimly lit chamber inside.
There was a sinking feeling deep in Rin’s chest as she stared into the darkness before her.
Small torches hung on the walls, revealing faded scripture etched into the stone surface in a language long lost to time. In the centre of the room were two raised slabs, carved out of marble and decorated with gold leaf edging. They were separated by a sweeping, heavy woven curtain, covered in cobwebs but likely centuries younger than its surroundings. By each slab stood some assistants dressed in red, their heads bowed in greeting. In their hands they held golden, metallic objects, glinting under the dancing torch flames overhead.
As Rin was guided to the slab on her left, she caught a glimpse of Len being led to the other side of the curtain. The doors to the chamber were pulled shut behind them with a groan, and with that, the outside world was cut off, an eerie quiet falling over all. Meiko stood guard at the entrance, her fingers resting on the hilt of the sword at her waist, while Kaito followed after Len, and the Oracle after Rin.
She tried her best to ignore the warm, musty air of the room; almost suffocating, like vines wrapping around her lungs. Sweat began to pool at the small of her back, under the layers upon layers she’d been forced to wear that morning.
Much to her relief—then immediate horror—an unfamiliar assistant stepped forward to untie her sash. She proceeded with peeling off the upper layer of her robe, then the under layer, leaving Rin standing half-naked and vulnerable. Another assistant stepped forward to swipe a wet cloth over her bare skin. She couldn’t recall anyone mentioning that she would need to undress for the ceremony, let alone she would need to be bathed—but then again, much of the Rite itself was hush-hush.
The Oracle stepped forward from the shadows, icy glare fixated on Rin, holding out a simple, white cotton robe. She pulled it over Rin's shoulders, tying it loosely around her waist, then took her by the elbow and led her over to the marble slab.
“Lie down,” she instructed, her voice low, as if not to disturb the peace of the room. “On your back.”
There were other murmurs from the other side of the curtain, distant, muffled, as Rin climbed up onto the slab. A wrapped towel awaited her head, but the rest of the marble surface was hard and surprisingly cold against her body, in spite of the humid air hanging heavy around them.
The Oracle stepped up to the slab, hands clasped at her chest. She bent her head forward, eyelids fluttering shut, and began to murmur the words to a prayer.
“O Goddess, high above, may your great guidance be upon us as we, today, present to you the Vessel of your choosing, to perform in the Rite of Fire. Please cast your radiant light, your ever-benevolent blessing, over the Vessel and our Sacrifice, during this ceremony that intertwines their fates through the golden ochre that runs within their mortal veins—”
Rin’s attention was drawn away from the prayer and to someone at her side, golden cup in hand, offering it to her lips. She swallowed back the warm, bitter liquid that slid past her lips, burning its way down her throat and through her chest like hot smoke. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she coughed, the sound smothered by a cloth pressed over her mouth, belonging to the assistant who gave her the strange drink.
Something was set down by her head—golden, round and delicate—and a lid removed. The scent of a sweet incense filled her lungs as the cloth was drawn away from her face. Wisps of grey smoke unfurled from the golden incense burner, cascading over her in waves and rising up to the ceiling above their heads.
As her eyes followed the rising smoke, she came to notice the large stone carving overhead.
Weaved amongst jewel-adorned and colourful, painted scenery of clouds and a sky, was a large, scaled beast. Its body was long and twisted, details chipped down to every fine whisker and feather, with four arms and two legs, all clawed like that of a bird. Its expression was drawn back into that of a snarl, a great roar; long, jagged teeth bared, tongue thin and serpent-like.
Under the minimal, orange light of the room, its eyes glowed gold around dark, slitted pupils. They watched her, boring right into her soul, reading her every thought and fear and desire. A moment passed, before the beast began ripping itself away from the stone prison of the ceiling and descending towards her, like a predator closing in on its prey.
A cry tore through her chest and fought its way up her throat, but her lips couldn’t move, wouldn’t part to alert the people around her. They carried on, unaware of the strange, magnificent creature approaching, with its shimmering, ivory scales, its haunting gaze.
It dawned on Rin, there on what seemed like her deathbed, that the beast was a dragon—surely, it was a dragon, coming from the heavens to deliver its final judgement on the Monastery, on her , one last ditch effort for revenge, retribution—
The dragon widened its jaw, as if it were smiling down at her, before teeth sunk into the flesh of her right arm. A sharp pain shot through her side. She whimpered helplessly, her body paralysed in its jaws and unable to do anything more.
"—O Goddess, let us bare witness to your judgement today. May your absolute divinity, your almighty power, deliver the human Vessel and serpent Sacrifice safely through the marriage of their bodies and souls, so that you may one day return to us. May their offering, their lives and mortality, bring peace to our lands forevermore. Glory to the Goddess, Glory to the Eternal Sleeping Serpent."
Darkness fell over the room, taking with it the dragon and everyone else. There she sunk into nothingness, being slowly engulfed by the sensation of blood boiling underneath her skin.