The road was all he saw yesterday and will be all he sees today.
After the morning sun painted the camp in its deep red, the fires died out. The people grunted at first light, and unenthusiastic bodies stood up one after another. The procession reorganized itself as emptied water skins were refilled, lanterns were hooked back to the cart, and sleeping arrangements collected themselves in necessary obligation.
Nine figures could be found on the golden horizon.
Corvin helped with the tedious tasks while tracking movement in his peripheral vision. Lyra was set aside with an elder at each shoulder, still until it was time to walk. Their eyes met for a brief moment, the undertones of the previous night weighing them down.
Completed with their own tasks, Edren and some of the keepers prayed while clutching an emblem that was wrapped around their necks.
One of open arms.
After the clearing returned to its original state — ready for the next group just like it was before — the ritualistic march began anew.
The first day was the same as the last, with Corvin in the back observing as steps tracked along the cobbles. Due to the keeper incident, security around Lyra had tightened further, and no matter how she tried to break out or slip through, a hand always found her shoulder.
Corvin didn't know how to feel.
Gradually, the ground began to shift. Flat ground began to rise almost unnoticeably, and the soil became heavier, rockier. The mountain itself was still a vague shape in the distance.
Thirteen figures on the blue horizon. Inconspicuously closer.
When nightfall came, Corvin had to move closer to the flickering light sources. Without knowing exactly where the children were located, it was too dangerous at the edges. Some pilgrims ignored him, others showed gazes of disdain. However, a starry sky filled the lands above.
But the further they walked, the more they had to focus on one step after the next.
***
The fourth day of the idiotic pilgrimage arrived. The ground broke, uneven and jagged. His feet throbbed with blisters, every step sending a sharp pain through his body. His calves burned from the continuous rubbing of his boots. Sweat streamed into his eyes and he wiped it away with the back of his hand and kept walking.
A step. Then another. There was nothing to do but walk and think.
And Corvin didn't know what to think about... or rather he did, but he didn't want to. Because the easiest, and the safest option was to just keep walking. To get back to Mira.
'Who in their right mind would want to come to this procession.'
Corvin sighed heavily and tried to take his mind off his feet by looking at the changing environment. The road had begun to rise unevenly just like the surrounding landscape, and unnatural fractures formed along the rocks. The wrongness that had permeated the air only thickened with the distance traveled, and the sparse trees had started to thin out a while back.
He maintained his pace. An older woman's foot started to drop, and she began to limp as her hip tried to compensate. She was near the middle of the procession, and Corvin tried to look past her shoulder to see if Lyra could be found, but there was no use.
Completely and utterly bored, he started to reopen his runes and close them. Not that he hadn't already memorized them.
'I mean, it wouldn't hurt to get used to seeing runes... even if they are frustrating to read.'
The Spell seemed bent on mocking him, but after one flash of his runes something sparked his interest.
Corvin stared at his attribute: [Mark of Divinity]. Specifically, the word "Divinity."
'Didn't that keeper say Lyra carried "divinity"?'
He focused on the attribute and allowed the pain of each step to fade into the background.
[Mark of Divinity] Attribute Description: "You bear a faint scent of divinity, as though someone briefly touched by it once, a long time ago."
If what the keeper said was true, then both Corvin and Lyra carried a trace of the divine. He'd been wondering how the Accepted were chosen — was this how? The ancient humans didn't have the Nightmare Spell, so how did they test for divinity?
And if a touch of divinity was the tell... then how was she different from Corvin?
On the outside, Lyra looked just like an ordinary girl... well, he wouldn't say ordinary, but there was no tell of this divinity. There was also the mystery of his mother.
'Damn it, I'm going to have to ask Edren anyway.'
A couple more steps.
Corvin scratched his head and looked off into the distance. Fifteen figures were on the sunny horizon — the rate at which they had been accumulating had slowed, but they were closer. The others in the procession kept their eyes on the road, avoiding any glance at the monsters at all costs.
Walking and more walking. The cart creaked forwards as unlucky farmers pulled at it, wooden wheels bumping against the uneven cobbles. The pace hadn't changed but maintaining it had become a greater struggle over time. Everyone here had been ready for a long and harsh journey. Some more than others.
The next section of the road rose sharply, and the procession slowed. An older male farmer pulling one end of the stubborn cart grunted:
"By the Cradle. Pull, you piece of junk!"
The cart rattled as it overcame a protruding stone.
Corvin focused on his footing, picking a path through the fractured terrain. The farmers ahead were doing the same, other pilgrims forcing their bodies to hike. The upper half of the procession hadn't looked back to acknowledge the hardship at the rear — keepers walking in faith, elders ensuring Lyra was delivered.
How Lyra was doing, Corvin couldn't tell. At no angle could he see her.
The older woman wasn't doing so well. She fell back.
It wasn't dramatic — just a widening of the gap between her and the nearest farmer. Three feet, then five. She was still walking, still trying. Just slower than everyone else.
Corvin watched as the gap widened, then shifted his gaze to the shapes in the distance. Two of them subtly adjusted their position.
'Shit. So they do respond to gaps.'
He had hoped to be wrong. Something in the ritual suppressed them — perhaps it was the Accepted herself — but it didn't eliminate them. Corvin had already seriously doubted the whole religion to begin with.
'We've literally got monsters stalking us in the distance... what sane person would worship the Mother of them?!'
The old lady's jaw tightened as she fell even further behind, her limp turning desperate. A pilgrim to her right turned their head in worry but kept walking. Everyone kept walking.
Seven feet. Eight. Three shapes in the distance stopped to watch — they clearly had some intelligence.
Her foot dropped completely, sliding against the cobbled road. Awkwardly trying to hop on her other leg, she groaned. Her face contorted in desperation and frustration.
Then she reached the same level as Corvin at the back. The old lady stumbled, then found Corvin's eyes with her own. He looked at her sharply, then focused on the road ahead.
There's no reason to help someone if it costs yourself. And Corvin couldn't afford that. He needed to keep walking, for his sister's sake.
Full of grunts and murmurs, the old lady collapsed after some time. Left alone, idly sitting on the road as the Mother's children adjusted for their stranded prey. No one turned around, no one helped.
They must only do as the road demanded. Walk.