Pyre | MxB

Chapter 4 | "Weak"

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Mild mentions of gore.

Aster's stomach lurched as he neared the end of the hall, small splatters of blood speckling the reflective stone floor. There were no corpses, only the outline of some small creature against the backdrop of red. He had to swallow back his fear and steel himself as he followed the path of dark liquid. His mind raced with the gruesome details that had caused those stains to be there, and he was about to meet the creature responsible.

"Left." There was an eerie calmness to the deep voice's commands.

Aster felt himself compelled to follow his instructions. He naively clung to the hope that the voice was leading him to safety, and that it was the deity he had been searching for.

He tried not to let the presence of blood bother him, turning to the left as the voice had directed. He had no other sense of direction besides the voice, the mirrored hallways still concealing their exit.

Aster let a little gasp slip past his lips as he stepped through a reflective wall, relieved that he didn't suffer the same asphyxiating effects as previously. He was momentarily blinded by a sudden influx of light, willing his eyes to adjust to the change in scenery. Natural light streamed in through several arrowslits, illuminating the entire space surprisingly well. He stood still for a moment, blinking and squinting to make sense of his surroundings.

He appeared to be in some type of foyer. It seemed dilapidated and unkept, as if nothing had been touched for several centuries at least. A cold stone floor lay beneath his feet, unpolished and rugged. The walls were covering in creeping foliage, the plants clinging to the grooves and taking over the once elegant decor. The air was thick with a cloying earthy scent, and the overall atmosphere was one of abandonment and decay.

A decrepit staircase spiralled up to an upper level of the building. The stones that made up the staircase were a dark, roughhewn granite, their surfaces pitted and crumbling in some places. Vines coiled around and chewed into the wooden railing, their tendrils reaching upwards to run along the ceiling like veins.

Aster's eyes had been drawn to the staircase not because of its broken state, but because of the figure standing upon its end.

"So you've made it..."

Aster's eyes widened as the tall, cloaked figure spoke, his imposing form leaning against the railing.

The figure's face was completely hidden beneath his hood, his features shrouded in shadow. Though Aster couldn't see his eyes, he could feel the intensity of the man's gaze. He felt pinned down as if the figure was peering into his very soul, examining him like an animal in a cage. Aster felt overwhelmed again, on the verge of tears, but his dehydrated body couldn't produce any.

As Aster stood there, paralyzed by the figure's gaze, he noticed something else about him; a pair of massive, vermillion wings fluttering and twitching behind the man's back. They had been partially hidden from view before, obscured by the cloak draped over the figure's broad shoulders.

"Y-you're... our mountain deity." Aster croaked, phrasing it as a question although he was fairly certain of the answer.

Aster's voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. As he spoke, he could hear the weakness in his own voice and cursed himself for sounding so small and vulnerable. Still, he managed to form words, addressing the figure before him with a mixture of awe and fear.

The figure chuckled softly at Aster's statement, the sound rich and deep. He leaned further against the railing, his wings shifting behind him as he spoke.

"Your village calls me that, yes," He said, his voice low and sonorous. "but that is not the title I choose for myself."

Aster frowned slightly, a little puzzled by the figure's response.

"Then... what do you call yourself?" Aster couldn't help but ask, his voice still scratchy and dry.

"Phoebus."

Aster felt a shiver run down his spine, as if the figure's name held some kind of power over him. The man's authoritative and confident tone sent a wave of dizziness through Aster's body.

"Phoebus..." Aster repeated softly, the name sounding extremely foreign on his tongue.

"And what of you? I know you only by your scent, omega." Phoebus spoke the word "omega" with a hint of mockery. He was definitely teasing Aster, calling him out for his designation and relishing in the fact the could smell it on him.

Aster felt a pang of humiliation, wincing upon hearing it spoken in such a way. He felt a flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks.

"A-Aster..." He replied meekly.

He cringed at how weak his name sounded in comparison to the grandeur of the figure's name. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed beneath the figure's piercing gaze even though he couldn't see his eyes.

There was a brief moment of stillness.

"Weak."

It was a simple syllable, but it felt like a dagger to Aster's chest. He knew that it was true, that he was weak and pathetic, but hearing it spoken aloud sent a wave of shame through him. He wanted to shrink into himself and disappear.

"You're right... I am weak," Aster said, the words sticking to his throat as he forced them out. "That's why I need your help. My village needs your help. Please."

Phoebus let out a low grunt in response. He didn't seem surprised that Aster was asking for his help, however he did doubt the validity of the request. "Why would you want to save a village that sacrificed you?"

Aster's chest felt tighter in shame and guilt at the question, knowing Phoebus was right. He had been betrayed and abandoned by the people he once saw as family, but still he couldn't bring himself to turn away from them. That would mean his sacrifice meant nothing in the first place.

As Aster struggled to come up with a response to Phoebus' question, the figure let out a mocking chuckle.

"I can't save your village."

Aster felt a wave of horror wash over him as Phoebus spoke, his heart sinking in his chest. He had come so far, had suffered so much, and it all seemed like it would be for nothing.

"W-why..?" Aster stammered, his voice trembling in disbelief.

Phoebus had turned his back on Aster, almost as if he didn't care to see the expression of hopelessness that was no doubt written across the boy's face.

Aster stared at Phoebus' broad back, his eyes fixated on the large wings that protruded from the figure's shoulder blades. He felt frustrated by the man's supposed indifference. He wanted to scream at him, to demand that he help his village, but he was afraid that it would only make Phoebus more recalcitrant.

But it was Phoebus' next sentence that would shock the omega the most,

"I'm extremely ill... that is why I cannot help you."

...