Corvin blinked, then dismissed the runes and summoned them again, hoping that they would magically change or maybe he was just seeing things. There was no way he was that unlucky... right?
Name: Corvin.
True Name: —
Rank: Aspirant.
Soul Core: Dormant.
Memories: —
Echoes: —
Attributes: [Mark of Divinity], [Born of Nothing], [Unwoven].
Aspect: [Nameless Pilgrim].
Aspect Description: [Every pilgrim walks a road with purpose. A nameless one walks toward none.]
Of course, they didn't change at all. The mocking words reflected in his eyes.
"What..."
He finally lost his composure.
'What the fuck?!'
The Spell gave every carrier an Aspect — that much was common knowledge. It was the foundation of everything. It was why the Legacy clans held power, why Awakened were more than human, the whole reason why Corvin gambled his life on this in the first place. He knew that some enhanced your physical powers, some gave you magical abilities. Even the worst Aspect he ever heard of — from eavesdropping on a drunk guard — was some guy who could talk to insects.
Even that had a use...
'What kind of luck is this? Seriously? A pilgrim?'
He left Mira for this. He gambled on this. He felt something hot boil behind his ribs. Still, he swallowed it.
Corvin glanced at the gathering. The farmers were loading a cart with supplies suited for a journey; civilians were clustered in groups, talking with visible unease. Lyra's pale golden hair was visible in between the elders, and positioned there were guards who looked like they were wearing luggage and holding brooms. He still had some time to focus on the runes.
With a scoff, Corvin leaned on the stone ramparts and crossed his arms. At first, they reminded him of the inner walls back in the outskirts, but the unfamiliar warmth of the bare sun exposed to them was tingling his back.
Even if his Aspect was useless, at least it told him what role he was supposed to play. He's a pilgrim. He's supposed to travel to some place, and that place is without a doubt that temple. That also confirms what the gathering of commoners is for... but why are they making this journey?
'And why are those senile bastards looking at me like that?'
Why was his body even here to begin with? The pilgrim he inhabited was obviously not as well off as the rest of the party members, even further insinuated by his [Born of Nothing] Attribute. Luckily, it seemed to be similar to his own, so he felt in control but uncomfortable.
As Corvin glared at that specific Attribute with a scowl on his face, the runes shifted.
[Born of Nothing] Attribute Description: "You were born of nothing, and within you is the absence of everything."
He chuckled. Who knew it could get worse?
'The absence of everything? What does that even mean?!'
Underneath the irritation, something unsettled him. It didn't seem to be that he just lacked everything, that he was from the outskirts. Although, he couldn't articulate what made him feel that way.
For now, it wasn't useful, so he moved on. Understanding he could do the same with the other Attributes, he grudgingly read on.
[Mark of Divinity] Attribute Description: "You bear a faint scent of divinity, as though someone briefly touched by it once, a long time ago."
'Huh, this one actually seems interesting.'
As far as Corvin knew, "divinity" had to do with the gods. However, the gods had been dead for a long time. What touched him? Or was it his inhabited body that was touched? Did divinity only have to do with the gods?
'So many questions...'
At least that one might be useful. His eyes shifted to the next set of shimmering runes.
[Unwoven] Attribute Description: "Your string of fate was never threaded into the tapestry. You are apart from the pattern, neither blessed nor cursed."
Corvin paused and watched the ancient humans for a moment. Then, he scratched his head. At this point he was just confused.
'Fate? It works in strings?'
Apparently, fate itself was interconnected by strings, but Corvin was apart from it. He couldn't tell if that was good or bad. Although, if everyone else was tied into it and he was apart, what did that mean...?
A different kind of unexplainable feeling sat inside his chest.
'Well, if I can't ever be cursed by it, I'll take it as a win.'
Corvin quickly catalogued everything the Spell told him. Three cryptic descriptions, an Aspect that declared him purposeless. A dormant soul core with no Memories, no Echoes, and no abilities he could identify.
Oh, and he was touched by the divine.
'Fantastic start.'
The spiteful runes faded out of the air.
***
At the base of a long, winding road stood a prosperous city. Large stone ramparts protected the inhabitants from the dangerous wilds, and outside a closed gate was a group of people.
A loose cluster of civilians were gathered, tightening into something more organized. The coalescence of people who knew they were about to move and were arranging themselves accordingly. Escaping his runes, Corvin slipped back into the procession unnoticed.
Watching as supplies were loaded onto a wooden cart, as water skins were distributed, and walking staffs were handed to those who needed them, he counted. There were roughly thirty people. Farmers made up the bulk — both men and women accustomed to working hard and eating enough. Several elders, who moved well for their age and held the type of authority that liked to be listened to. The handful of guards he saw earlier, armed with spears more functional than impressive. A figure near the front walked with the deliberate, rehearsed steps of someone performing a role. Perhaps a ritual guide, maybe a priest.
And there was Lyra.
She was near the center of the formation. The elders had positioned her there the way you'd position something valuable — surrounded, insulated, never at the edge. She wasn't restrained, but she wasn't free either. Every time she drifted toward the edge of the group, an elder's hand would find her shoulder, her arm, guiding her back.
'Are they protecting... or containing her?'
Her clothes confirmed what he had already noticed. Finer than everyone else's — not luxurious, but deliberate. The embroidery had meaning. The white ornaments in her braid weren't decorative; they were ceremonial. She wasn't just a member of the pilgrimage, but something specific within it. Something the elders considered more important than the rest of them combined.
'And they won't even look at me.'
The contrast sat in the back of his mind.
Suddenly, a low sound drew his attention. A deep horn blown from the guide at the front of the procession. The noise rolled across the open ground, down the road, and was blocked and echoed by the impressive walls. The people responded instantly: conversations halted, movement straightened.
The ritual guide turned to face everyone. He was older than what Corvin had assumed — not elderly but wrinkled. His robes might have been white at some point but had faded to the color of old bone. One hand held the horn, the other a crowned staff with a symbol that resembled something curved and branching, like the outline of open arms.
He spoke with the zeal of someone who believed everything he was saying, even if understanding had abandoned him long ago.
"Children of the city. We walk today as those before us have walked. To the Mother's Cradle. To the seat of the Mother, who waits above and whose children grow restless at our walls."
The silence was total.
"We carry with us the Accepted — she who was chosen, she who will walk the inner path where we cannot follow. Through her, the Mother's hunger is quieted. Through her, the children withdraw. Through her, our walls hold and our families endure."
'The "Accepted"...?'
His gaze found Lyra immediately. Her head was up, expression steady. Not performing, but rather present, as if she had heard these words many times before. Or maybe she was just choosing how much of herself to give.
"The road to the Cradle is long. The Mother's children walk beside us but will not touch us while we walk in faith. Do not stray from the procession. Do not fall behind. The road provides, and the road demands. Walk with purpose. Walk together."
'Her children? The ominous dark shapes I saw while I was in that weird experience?'
Do not fall behind... what happens if you fall behind? No wonder the elders were giving him a stern look; they obviously didn't want anything to happen to Lyra. Although, Lyra seemed determined to test their patience.
The ritual guide raised the horn again. The low sound shuddered through the air, through the ground, through Corvin's bones.
"We begin."
The formation stirred as feet shifted on dry ground. The cart creaked forward. The guards took their positions at the edges. The elders closed around Lyra like a living wall.
Ahead, the road stretched into gray distance.
Corvin took his first step.