Arm heavy.

Light headed.

Memory fuzzy.

Kiyo tossed and turned out on the matted floor, his mind trapped within a perpetual cycle of the fight he endured. Unable to phase it out, Kiyo’s eyebrows furrowed inward, arms clutched tight to his chest. Sweat accumulated along his hairline, an excess release of emotions his body refused to contain anymore. He couldn’t stand the sight of it.

The teratoma’s gruesome face burned into Kiyo’s eyes. Inches from his face, the teratoma seethed in anger, and its grotesque flesh oozed tainted blood onto the worn gravel. Kiyo’s skin was tattered and aching all over. Barely able to muster the strength to stare the monster down.

Repeatedly, he relived the visceral punch against the beast within his morbid consciousness. His scale of time was absent in the dreaded moment, one he couldn’t comprehend what happened. It was all a blur. Kiyo was sprawled on the ground for one moment and then lost control over his body. Mind warped by a violent inner force, it took the reins as it steamed out of his every pore, a heated state of deliriousness.

The second his fist makes contact with the beast the memory blurs and slips away into a rippled puddle. Visual static and a blaring ring were all Kiyo experienced. Nothing more than torn fragments of a distant dream. But through the muddled vision, something stands out and pierces through the veil. One glance down was all Kiyo needed to see the truth, to see the ever-blessed green radiance emanating through his arm. 

Is this real?

Kiyo shuddered in a restless sleep, legs tucked into his chest as the nightmare steamrolled through his mind. He watched himself punch the beast, knuckles pressing in deep enough to shove the monster back away from himself. But it wasn’t enough.

Swatted away like a pesky fly, all went dark as the monster lunged back at Daisuke.

Kiyo, helpless to do anything.

He was weak.

“Daisuke!”

Kiyo’s eyelids flung open to unveil a soft touch of light. A whitish-blue glow painted across the walls greeted his awakening. It was a dull but attractive essence, one bright enough for Kiyo to make out where he was.

Propped on his elbows, Kiyo sat upright. He gazed down at the new clothes that clung over his burnt skin. A white silky robe was wrapped around his waist that trailed down to his knees, a short skirt-like cover. But what about his hand?

Kiyo lifted his right arm from beneath the thin sheet over him and recoiled at the sight. All the black scabbed crust was shaved down to a bare flimsy slit of flesh, an open healing wound. Wrapped in a white silky coar fur bandage, the swollen mass was numb to the touch. His cells were reorganizing from the intense pressure that passed through them. The radioactive heat was intense enough to disorientate his body, but the anguish wasn’t even the first concern on Kiyo’s mind.

Am I home?

Confusion flooded in as Kiyo looked around, but he only got lost in the dimly lit space. Gaze sucked away into the intricate tan hides hung over the walls. The blood-soaked boards lining the sanctum were hidden behind massive flaps of flattened and dried-out teratoma skin.

Decorated with detailed markings, each wall displayed different references to Paladinian history across the teratoma tapestries. Kiyo looked over to the right side wall and gawked at the ten celestial levels inscribed in all their beauty. From the lowest ground zero hypergiants to the magnificent fiery white dwarfs, the ten ranks of Sun Kissed Warriors were scribbled out before him. All of it encaptured in an orbital system of stars.

Woah. Kiyo muttered to himself, his mind encapsulated in wonder by the paintings, their intricate depictions of his people fascinating to him.

Kiyo rose to his feet and crept over to the solar star system. Stretching out his hand, Kiyo ran his finger across the inscribed galaxy. At its center ring sat the highest rank of all, the white dwarf, given only to the High Priest or those deemed as rulers over their sanction of the clan. Kiyo’s scaled out to the outermost ring which held the hypergiants, the meat shields of the Sunretsu clan. Marked children dwelled in this level, beginners to the system that trained to establish their place in society. Forced to earn their distinction and thereby ascension.

“Magnificent. Isn’t it?” A voice croaked from behind Kiyo.

“Yeah,” Kiyo muttered, face stretched out wide from sheer wonder.

Kiyo stared at the tapestry for a moment longer before he acknowledged the presence behind him. The fact someone spoke to him came in delayed as he snapped out of his awestricken trance. A little flustered, Kiyo spun around to face the unknown voice. Through the gloomy light, he squinted at the figure. It was an old man hunkered down near the back wall.

But he wasn’t alone.

Spotted in his peripherals, Kiyo noticed four other people standing in the room with them. Each of them was draped in red robes that concealed their faces, their hands the only thing visible as they firmly grasped onto the spears held in front of them. Feet planted in their separate corners, all their attention was directed toward the decrepit man sitting at the back wall. Their overwatching eyes of protection remained vigilant, each a bishop like those at the entrance to the sanctum.

Kiyo took a second look at the slumped center of attention. Swathed in two gold-lined robes of black and white, a red waistband held them together. Thin-laced silver chains admonished his attire that gleamed out against the darkness. Above all his clothing, the elder’s head was obscured by a transparent cross-section mask, but the red threads left a slight blur over his face. Just visible through it all, Kiyo saw the marks inscribed on his forehead.

Flickers of the lantern rock’s shine cast the shadows back, revealing the aged scars and brands carved onto the man's face. It was traditional markings of a higher authority, one blessed by Ameretsu herself. Their total inscription stood for the clan’s Sun-crossed symbol, a clear indicator of the man’s position of power. The solar rings shrunk as they narrowed in on his face, each lined with a Roman numeral and star corresponding to the rank. Just like the tapestry.

Old man. Black white robe.

Little by little the boy grasped onto the severity of where he was. The guards, the ancient tarps, the double-bladed scythe in the elder's lap, and the man’s markings all came together. The pieces found their way together as Kiyo made sense of the situation.

“Wait. Are you-”

The man raised his supple right-hand palm and Kiyo fell silent. The gesture was slow and lacked any aggression but it sent a slight tremble through Kiyo’s fractured body. Somehow, the man's aura emanated a much stronger flare that outshone his appearance. It was like a wolf in sheep's clothing, one wrong move and he could unmask himself to claim Kiyo’s life with a snap of his fingers. Petrified, the sheer essence of his presence left Kiyo stammering as the truth seeped in. The truth of this man, memory revitalized from the stories Daisuke repeated to him.

“Apologies, I didn’t want to wake you. But, welcome my child.”

It was the High Priest, the holy one, the most high, and the glorified overseer of the paladinian people.

“Welcome to my sanctuary.” The High Priest said proudly with a wide grin as he openly gestured at the room.

The—high priest?

Without hesitation, Kiyo dropped his knees onto the ground and slammed his head down onto the floorboards. His hands stuck out to his sides as he bowed in embarrassment. A late sign of respect to the high priest, a customary tradition that all paladinian people held under high regard. 

A thousand little alarms rang off all at once, mind lost in the jumble of mistakes he had made right then and there in the presence of the most high. The disrespectful manners he had shown drew back to his lack of situational awareness. He didn’t even realize it was him. 

But the priest only chuckled at Kiyo’s guilt. A hearty smile zipped tight as it held back further laughter. He was beyond amused by the boy's odd behavior, but his circumstances were even all the more intriguing.

“No, no. You don’t have to do that, my dear boy. Stand up.” The High Priest said as he motioned Kiyo to his feet with his right hand, fingers rolling back in the air.

Kiyo glanced up and obeyed him. Sliding back onto his knees, he eased himself upright back onto his feet. Dusting off his legs, Kiyo rested his arms at his sides and tried to calm himself down. Attention zoned in on the priest.

“Come closer into the light. Let me get a better look at you.”

Gulp.

Kiyo swallowed the nerves building in the back of his throat, little shakes riveted throughout his whole body. He edged over into the circumference of the glowstones radiance, catching a glimmer of the blue luminosity in his dimmed yellow pupils.

“There, perfect.”

Creak.

Five feet away from the priest Kiyo stopped dead in place. Quaint hurried breaths huffed in and out of his nose, unsure where this was going. There was no way Kiyo could know what the high priest had planned for him. Was he about to be punished? Would he ever see Daisuke?

Daisuke! Where is he?

“What is the name your parents bestowed upon you?”

The high priest pointed his right arm into the center of Kiyo’s chest. A sly grin maintained on his face as the words spilled out one by one. His endless array of wrinkles splashed into each other like waves, flesh a vast ocean of age. Yet his mind was still nimble, the man far more brilliant than Kiyo could tell.

“K-Kiyo.”

“Kiyo.” The High Priest pulled back his hand and gripped at a clump of cloth on his left shoulder. “Kiyo. How did you get those scars on your right hand, if I may ask?”

Kiyo froze up as a glimpse of the tragic moment swept through his mind. His attention lost in the faint memory of the unnatural green glow that enveloped his right arm. A single punch enough to crumple his own body, his flesh left burnt and decayed in the aftermath. But what even happened?

“I-I don’t remember. It was all so fast.” Kiyo muttered skittishly with a twist of his left foot against the floor.

“Right. Of course. Just panicked and swung at the creature for your friend.” The High Priest paused and let out a short congested puff of breath through his nose. “But your hand is still there. And may I say, healing fairly quickly.”

Eyes wide, Kiyo lightly squeezed at the static shock that numbed his right hand. No crunch was heard or sharp sting felt coarse through the gash in his arm. Only a mild response of his recovering nerves cried out, Kiyo’s skin rebuilding itself. Arms crossed over the scythe, the High Priest smirked with an uncanny stillness. Certainty maintained his focus, his collected stare full of unanticipated joy released in the slight expansion of a smile.

“Kiyo. I believe you to be one of the promises for our people. An empowered child.” The High Priest said as he leaned toward the boy.

A promise? Kiyo thought to himself, questioning the sanity of the High Priest.

“Let me show you the unspoken truth. Our prophecy.”

The high priest snapped his fingers and the bishops shed more light into the room. Their left hand wielded a refined stone torch that bathed the room in a lustrous blue glow. Kiyo winced at the sudden shift in light, but his brief shock descended into amazement.

“This entire room captures the past. Every single tapestry is a delicate piece of our culture.” The High Priest said with a wild gesture of his right hand, unable to contain his inner pleasure for the stories inscribed that peeked out through his crusty smile.

Kiyo’s eyes expanded, nearly bulging out of his head as he got lost in the history that surrounded him. Gaze drifting from one tapestry to another, pictures and words written upon them. The language of the world before, one lost in time.

“These are all mere—replications of the true markings left behind by our ancestors.” The High Priest uttered convincingly, his focus glued to Kiyo.

Of all the tapestries in the room, Kiyo’s attention became absorbed by one to the right of the entryway. It was a moderately sized hide decorated with strange rectangular buildings and objects of the world before. Little stick-figured people ran amuck throughout the corroded landscape. Above it all, the sky remained encased in a ravenous fire. The once fully cotton balls that decorated the peaceful heavens were replaced with acidic ash-gray storm clouds. Fierce rain shot down from the sky like bullets, little red streaks that struck the city below.

“That one tells of a great day that shifted the balance of the world. One in which life reset.” The High Priest heaved himself out of his chair and strolled over to Kiyo’s side. “That day, a new chapter was written.”

A what? Kiyo thought as his curious stare began to recoil into scrunched befuddlement.

“It was the day the sky rained fire.” 

“What do I have to do with this?” Kiyo cut in with a clueless expression.

The High Priest chuckled for a moment. Gradually drawing back his gaze from the tapestry to Kiyo, his clouded yellow-green eyes glossed over. As his vision decayed in recent years of age, moments like these conjured all his strength to see clearly. Even then, through the immense toxic air, Kiyo’s face was nothing more than a frosted blur.

Regardless, he stared into the boy's eyes.

“My boy.” The High Priest rested his hand on Kiyo’s shoulder and sucked in a light breath. “You are one of the special ones. One of the few with the potential to empower and lead our nation into a new age.”

Kiyo shook his head in disbelief, the boy too young to begin to understand what exactly the high priest meant. The truth and interpretation in his words. The true weight they carried. Hand brushed aside, Kiyo retreated from the notion, there was no way he could see himself in such a position.

“You’re lying.”

“I only speak the truth. The truth of one’s power that extends beyond these feeble lands.”

The High Priest extended his right toward Kiyo’s bandaged hand. Kiyo finched at the sudden movement, but the High Priest’s arm only lingered there steadily in the air. With his scythe, he pointed at another tapestry on the left side of the room. The bishops instinctively aimed their torches toward the wall to bask it in light.

“Look.” The high priest mumbled, voice hoarse and gritty.

Reluctantly, Kiyo circled back around and trailed his gaze along the High Priest’s outstretched arm. At the end of the scythe rested a foreboding portrait of a man standing atop the world. His hair and clothing were similar to the Paladinian traditional style, body draped in scarlet robes. Hands raised to the sky as they glowed a spectacular green. Glimpses of the fight flourished within Kiyo’s mind, that same visceral glow seen in his flesh.

“You will save this clan, Kiyo. You and your friend.” The High Priest’s smile faded, scythe lowered to his side. “I hope.” He murmured in a weak tone.

“Hope?” Kiyo questioned.