A Distant Reverie

Chapter 15

"How beautiful."

The Priestess whispered. Her long slim fingers slowly stroked the side of Suisei's face. Pale white skin. Fragile features reminiscent of the elven race. Soft. Free of blemishes. The Priestess' eyes were entranced with admiration and longing.

"And how detestable."

Her tone grew bitter—her eyes maddened with an envious gleam. The side of her neck, where the nasty scar festered, suddenly flared up. A sharp pain erupted from the wound. The Priestess clenched her teeth, biting her lip, fighting the urge to claw at the scar. It would make the burning pain even worse—she knew well from centuries of experience. No matter what medical expertise she sought, no matter what remedies she concocted, the pain would never go away. Like clockwork, it would flare up without warning. Unpredictable. Sometimes it wouldn't bother her for months and years. Just when she thought she could finally move on, the pain would return, abruptly and violently. It was like a curse. As if to remind her to never forget the terrible incident that caused it.

Her tormentor. Their gender, their face, their voice, their characteristics lost to time as her memories eroded. The only two things she could recall was that they were human, and the sadistic sneer they wore before they pressed the molten iron brand on her neck. She could still remember the caustic, revolting scent of her own flesh burning.

The Priestess shrieked. Hatred seethed in her heart as the resentful memories surfaced. The humans branded her with a humiliation and pain that she could never get rid of, and so she vowed to take away their hope in exchange.

Noel Shirogane. The current hero of humanity. The prodigious warrior that humanity has pinned their hopes on in this war.

How tragic would it be if her life was stolen by the very people that she vowed to protect. The Priestess could only imagine the shock and despair on her face as she laid in a pool of her own blood, slain by the people bound to her with the Sigil of Obedience. She would never see it coming.

The Priestess clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. The ambient mana in her surroundings began to coalesce around her body. Slowly, she breathed in, diligently weaving the mana with care. The spell she prepared manipulated the target's mind, binding it to do her bidding. It was a troublesome spell to cast, requiring immaculate control of mana and a lengthy incantation. If the spell was too powerful, the target risked brain damage, becoming unable to fulfill their role. Too little power, and the spell would do nothing more than inflict a minor headache. And if she lost concentration in the midst of the spell, the accumulated mana in her body would surge out of control, ripping apart her insides. It was therefore imperative that her targets were unconscious during the process.

A minute passed in silence. The mana she gathered grew sufficient. Satisfied with her preparation, the Priestess began to chant.

"Dean seirbhis dhomh..."

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Suisei's heart raced. The severe drumming against her chest was growing excessively loud, so much so that she feared her captors would notice. Silently, she bid her time, listening to conspiratorial conversations and crazed mumblings of the elves. It was agonizing. Sweat dripped down the side of her neck. Her back was soaked. Her nerves frayed as she found herself alone in enemy territories.

The elf in the room with her—the one that Enya and Cyrus called the Priestess, was terrifying. Suisei could feel the malice and insanity radiating from her. It took every ounce of willpower she had to remain still when the Priestess began caressing her face. Jitters shot down her spine. Suisei wanted to scream and run. Her instincts protested her inaction, wailing at her to do something to escape the situation. But she suppressed herself by grinding her teeth against her gums. The inside of her mouth soon began to burn, the faint metallic taste of her own blood pooled on her tongue as her gums bled. It was painful, but it was the only way she could keep silent.