Chapter 5: One. Vile. Soul.

Aria was cooking alive.

The sun shone too warmly. The sand was too rough. The wind too warm. 

She had eight and a half more days. To ration her flask of water. To sweat it all out. To starve. 

To get eaten by demons.

Goddess, is there no end to this? She queried, glancing up at the Stars. 

She didn’t receive an answer. She never did. 

She continued making her way back to the mountain range separating the Demonic Peninsula from the mainland. It had taken the Hero’s party four days to cross it. They had then begun following the dried river bed immediately upon leaving the base of the mountains. Lore claimed it was supposed to lead to the Demon Lord’s castle and as they had no maps of the Demonic Peninsula it had been the Party’s best bet on not getting lost. She sighed at the memory. This whole journey was a case of insanity. One she had never wanted any part of. 

Aria had left the moment she saw the Warrior wasn’t anywhere near camp. While a part of her wondered what could have made him leave the Party unprotected in the middle of the night, it ultimately didn’t concern her. She wasn’t part of the Party. 

She wasn’t.

It didn’t matter what the Cleric believed. Or what the old coot had told him. 

She wasn’t the Saintess. Or her reincarnation at least. 

I’m not.

And with that thought Aria continued plodding through the sand and dust of the Demonic Peninsula.

While Aria had grown up in the temple, she had rarely seen the High Priest or the Cleric after they had rescued her from her decimated home. The old coot had visited a few times during her first year, but that was mostly to stop her from fighting with the street kids. It wasn’t beneficial for the temple’s reputation after all. Their ward couldn’t go beating up those they gave alms to. 

The Cleric she had seen more frequently. He had visited at least once a month the first couple of years, but when he was officially appointed as the High Priest’s heir and his duties increased he had become yet another face in the ranks of the temple’s elite. 

She hadn’t spoken more than a courtesy greeting to either of them in years. 

Then everything shattered. 

Ceramic shards. Damp soil. Starflower petals. All over the temple floor. 

The High Priest’s trembling hands. His dark eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. As if his soul would slip out at any moment, too shocked to stay any longer. 

Aria had just finished wiping down the altar. It was her turn to do so as an acolyte. 

She had been talking to the Goddess. Instead of her usual fuss over the temple’s flavorless food, she had described a soul. 

“It was the darkest I have ever seen,” she had recalled. “And it felt… cold?” She hadn’t been sure about the last part. It had been like ice, a shard stabbing into her mind as she watched it slowly rise up to the Stars. 

No soul had ever Ascended so sluggishly. None had ever felt so vile. 

The soul was supposed to be light itself. Warmth. A clear lake on a spring day.

Or so they had said of the Marquis’ soul. 

The Marquis had been renowned for proposing and advocating policies forwarding the education of commoners, construction of hospitals in the lower districts, and various philanthropic ventures. The sheer number of people that had gathered at his Ascension had been a clear indication of how many believed he had truly embodied his nickname, the People’s Noble.

The Marquis’ family had requested the High Priest sing at the Marquis’ Ascension. It was an honor. One that came with a hefty price. The temple needed money after all. 

The High Priest had led the Ascension, many clerics, priests, and acolytes joining him. The finest send off coin could have purchased. 

The High Priest’s baritone had risen up in a single clear note, filling the crowded Marquis' gardens. Voices layered upon one another, guiding the soul to the Stars. 

The pyre, lit by the Marquis’ widow, crackled.  

The soul rose up.

A swirling orb of darkness, the edges gray as if sucking light from the space around it creating a border of shadows.

Vile.

Tainted.

The People’s Noble. She had laughed to herself.

Kidnapper. Slaver. Auctioneer. 

In noble circles, the Marquis had advocated for the downtrodden. 

Behind closed doors, he had ruled the capital’s underbelly. 

His soul had borne every stain.

Thus, Aria had said, “The darkest I have ever seen.”

And the flower pot had shattered. 

Pottery shards like the colors of the temple’s stained glass windows hid in the soil strewn across the floor. Battered white petals, jostled from their stems peeked through the mess. 

Aria knew her life would soon mirror the flower pot. 

She wasn’t supposed to see souls. 

She hadn’t been a candidate for Cleric. 

She was just an acolyte. 

Acolytes helped sing souls to the Stars when asked to help with Ascension.

Acolytes did not see souls.

Acolytes did not have that much divine power. 

Aria did. 

And the High Priest now knew. 

Aria had tried to distract him, exclaiming at the shattered flower pot. He had grasped her hands and demanded answers. 

She had cursed out the old coot in her mind and started planning, an innocent smile plastered on her lips as she feigned ignorance. 

The temple had a clear hierarchy centered in levels of divine power. Aria wanted no part of it. 

She ran. 

The Hero’s Party send off celebration was the perfect opportunity to disappear. 

The prophecy was being fulfilled. The Hero had come. He had a Party. The Demon Lord would be vanquished.

The High Priest sang them the Goddess’ blessing. 

A parade cheered them on. 

The streets flowed with drink. 

No one had noticed the cloaked figure making her way through the capital’s alleys. The young women leaving through the western gate barely left an impression on the guards. 

It hadn’t been till the next morning that a young acolyte tasked with cleaning the Saintess’ relic had roused the temple with a shriek. Heads pounding, the devotees had gathered around the now empty pedestal. 

The Saintess’ flute was missing. 

Aria was long gone. 

The Cleric claimed it was the work of the Goddess when he caught her two weeks later. Aria just cursed him out. That was the first time the Hero had laughed at her. 

He’s no Hero, she had hissed in her mind. And so her tally had begun. Demonic versus heroic. So far there were only marks toward the demonic. 

But now she was free. Of the Hero. Of the Cleric. 

Of hearing she was the Saintess. 

Because what kind of Saintess would I be if I’ve never heard the Goddess? 

The Saintess had prophesied that the Hero would bring peace. She had been the voice of the Goddess, sharing her wisdom and protecting all from the miasma that had appeared with the melodies she played on her flute gifted to her by Diameer himself. She had brought the Hero’s armor to the temple herself in preparation of the Hero’s coming. 

I’m not the Saintess. 

Aria refused to be. She had made herself a promise when she had left the temple.

I’ll never sing again. 

She had kept it. With a goblin at her heels, a gigantic snake hunting her, and a demonic cat at her throat she had kept it. 

A sigh escaped Aria as she turned to look back the way she had come. A trail of footprints led up to her, waiting for a future breeze to vanish them away.

It was like watching her past life disintegrate. Every year at the temple, the life she had shared with her parents, the weeks she would have spent in the Demonic Peninsula – they would all have to disappear the moment she crossed the mountains. 

Aria pulled her hood tighter around her face and continued onward. 

***

“Aria,” murmured a voice affectionately. “You are far too stubborn, my dear.” The owner of the voice stood over a basin, the water inside showing the young woman as she trudged alone through the Demonic Peninsula. “I can not let you go.” 

She brushed her fingers across the water, ripples transforming the image to that of a young man looking up towards the Stars. Not a drop of sweat showed on his brow despite the armor he wore under the beating sun. A light breeze ruffled his blond hair and he let out a laugh as if someone had just whispered into his ear. With a smile he turned to face the men behind him. 

The figure wore a matching smile as she tapped the water. The image shifted more slowly this time. A hazy dark room formed. The stone walls let in little light and the few windows were covered in heavy drapes.

In the center of the room was a bed.

The figure leaned closer to the basin.

 “Soon.” Longing filled her voice. “I’ll see you again.”