✓ DYING MOURNINGS, original

two : a fathers failure

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𝐓𝐖𝐎 : 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐄

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The journals gave me no real answers.

When I had arrived home, I instantly stuck my head into the books. I needed some type of answers to what the woman was talking about, what she said I would be able to do. Although, if Cage couldn't, then what makes her think I could?

If Cage was as powerful as most people said he was, I would assume he'd be able to perform such a task as simple as raising the dead.

I flipped through the worn pages, finding comfort in my mother's handwriting. Her drawl was so like her, a doctor's script but also a mothers franticness. Her words were sweet as they were dangerous.

Cage tried reaching into the astral today, through the geata. He wanted to see if he was able to place a spirit back into their bodies after death. I know Archer wanted him to practice this, in case something ever happened to him or one of his men, but also because they wanted to prove it was Cage who the fates all spoke of.

Truth be told, I was glad he failed. I didn't need to be worrying after him anymore than I already have. For him not to be the one the fates screamed and sang of, it brought me relief as it gave me fear. The little one growing inside me could be forced to play out a role they never should face, and they'll have to do it alone.

I only hope that by luck alone, it won't be them having to go at this alone. I only hope that we'll be given the peace we deserve. If not, I will fight for my child. I won't let them be forced into this.

The rest of the entry was scribbled and smeared, like she had run her hand forcefully across the words. Like what she had written was a mistake.

The next page, though, had potential.

Cage described trying to raise the dead as exhausting. It left him drained and weak for the coming days. I told him I would help, give him incantations that might aid him but one after the other didn't work.

They were even the more simpler spells. The basics of "abyssus abyssum invocat. propria manu. adducite eam ad me. excitare." Which is roughly: deep calleth unto deep, by one's own hand, bring it back to me, awaken."

I thought it would work, honestly. Even the more simpler versions of that which just involves "surge! surge! surge!" (rise! rise! rise!). I even suggested to him to use his own blood but he explained that even with a droplet or a full stream, it seemed the gods would not listen to what was made up inside his veins as much as they would listen during the summonings.

He wasn't the hope the world so desperately needed and we both know, deep down, that hope was now growing inside me. I truly only hope that we're wrong, that our bundle of all things joyful will not be what brings that vile creature out of hiding.

The devil must stay within his own realm, our world is not ready for him.

It seemed, if I really wanted to try and raise the dead, all I needed to do was say a little incantation along the lines of one in the book. My father had even tried his hand at using his own blood but if it didn't work for him, how could it work for me? I would try with the spells first and if that didn't work, I'd go ahead with the blood or an offering.