Thunder roared above, a deep, shuddering sound that rattled the stone chamber. The sound rolled through the ancient walls, shaking dust loose from the ceiling, however the lanterns lining the room did not flicker. Their flames burned steady, defying the darkness clawing at the edges of the walls.
In the center of the chamber a boy stood frozen at the platform's edge, his reddened eyes were locked straight ahead with his fists clenched so tightly, his nails bit into his palms.
Before him, atop a raised slab of smooth black stone, lay a coffin of carved basalt, its lid unsealed.
"It must be by your hand," the voice of the elder came from behind him, quiet and steady.
The words caused the boy to swallow hard, his gaze locked upon the still figure inside the coffin.
They were still breathing. Each breath was slow and shallow, each rise and fall of his chest slower than the last.
The boy knew what was required of him, he had been foretold of this moment for longer than he could remember. But as he gazed upon the fragile figure before him, all he could think was 'how could anyone expect him to do this, this was his father'.
The dagger in the boy's hand felt like a brand.
He shook his head, his throat tightening.
"There has to be another way."
The elder, standing just behind him simply exhaled softly.
A patient, knowing sigh.
"You already know the truth, Elric."
Elric turned at those words, finally taking his eyes of his father and turning to the elder with eyes burning.
"Then say it!"
The old man regarded him with quiet sorrow, he understood all to well.
He had, had this conversation far too many times. Every time he wished he could say something, give them some hope. However the world they lived in was a cruel one and so all he could do was speak the truth, "If he dies on his own... he will rise."
Elric's grip on the dagger faltered. His father was all he had.
He could feel the warmth of him, could see the flicker of life behind his closed eyelids.
And yet they expected him to end it. How could they... how could anyone expect him to do this?
As the tears pooled in his eyes, he felt the elder's hand rest on his shoulder, firm but gentle. "It must be done while he is still himself."
Elric swallowed hard at that and returned his gaze to his father once more. His heartbeat pounding in his ears, louder than the storm, louder than anything else. His father's face was not the stern face he had known his entire life rather it was gaunt, skin already losing its color. The bandage over his torso did nothing to hide the massive scar that now adorned his chest. Soon, although he refused to admit it, his father would draw his last breath.
"I don't want to," Elric whispered.
"No one does."
Silence stretched between them for a moment, heavy and suffocating.
A rasping breath broke the silence. Elric stiffened. His father's fingers twitched.
Slowly, his father's eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, he heard it, the familiar voice. however it was now weak, a barely audible whisper.
"Do it, son."
The dagger felt heavy. His father's eyes, once sharp and full of fire, were dim now, clouded with pain. But there was no fear.
Elric could feel his father's warmth fading. He didn't know how much time was left.
He didn't want to know.
A gust of wind howled through the cracks in the stone, and in the distance, beyond the torches, something shifted in the dark.
The elder's grip on his shoulder tightened. "You have to do it now."
Lightning split the sky. The lanterns flared, their light barely holding against the creeping black.
Elric took a breath, before lifting the dagger with both hands above his head.
With his tears falling freely, he drove the blade into his father's heart.
"Haaa!"
The blood splattered upon his face, as he heard the sharp wheeze escaping his fathers lips.
He proceeded to pull out the dagger, before slitting his fathers throat as he forced himself to say the words, "Vash liora sa'kael toren do'zel'kaeth". Stumbling back from his father with the dagger still at hand, rivulets of blood streaked down his face as the elder repeated the words in a somber voice.
"Vash liora sa'kael toren do'zel'kaeth"
With the reality of it all setting in, he dropped the dagger which let out a loud *klang* as it made contact with the stone below. Before dropping to his knees and letting out a gut wrenching scream, that seemed to rival the thunder outside.
The elder who observed this from the side sighed before heading to the door and opening it to reveal two guards in leather armor with spears at hand, standing outside. "Tell Dalvos there will be no need for a purification, the Oran'thara was a success".
Upon hearing this the guards let out a breath even they were unaware they were holding, before giving the elder a short bow and leaving to give their report.
***
Elric was led through a well lit tunnel, his face and hands now clean of his father's blood. The words the elder spoke to him barely registered in his ears.
"I will not lie to you and say the pain shall pass, but I want you to know you did the right thing. There was no other way."
The Elder looked at him as he simply responded with a nod, his eyes glazed over as the memory of his father gurgling out blood after he had slit his throat played over and over in his mind.
"Here we are", the elder's words drew him out of his own thoughts, they had arrived at the tunnel's exit. "Get some rest, Elric and if you need anything at all don't hesitate to find me".
Elric simply responded with another nod before stepping out of the tunnel and into town.
The firelight blurred in Elric's vision, the twisting glow of torches melting into smears of gold as he stumbled through the streets. His hands felt raw, still warm from the blood that had stained his hands. The image of the light fading from his father's eyes as he choked on his own blood, was firmly at the forefront of his mind, playing over and over again.
His feet carried him forward, but the town felt wrong now, unfamiliar in its sameness. The streets were just as they had always been, narrow, cobbled, lined with flickering torches, but the weight in his chest made them feel distant and unreal. His breath hitched as he passed a brazier where an old woman sat tending the flame. Her hands, steady and practiced, dropped fresh oil-soaked wood into the fire. The scent of burning tallow made Elric's stomach twist as he asked himself, how many times had he done the same for his father's hearth?
The air thickened as he reached the eastern district, the scent of tallow and charred meat mingling with iron and smoke. The hunter's quarter loomed ahead, its gates flanked by jagged trophies, fangs, skulls, remnants of creatures slain in the dark. His father had walked these streets once, carried a blade at his hip, fought the things that lurked just beyond the firelight.
Elric had never noticed how heavy the night pressed against the torches here. Beyond the gate, the blackness swallowed all things. It did not care for grief, for love, for loss. It only waited.
He exhaled shakily and turned away. His house was close now, the light of its brazier flickering in the distance. The flames were still burning.
But his father was gone.
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Vash liora sa'kael toren do'zel'kaeth - May your soul find refuge beyond this cursed abyss.
Oran'thara - The passing of the ember (these are the last rites of the dead)