The Myth - The Fading Eden

Chapter 3 - Ika

The white silk of her simple tunic fluttered to the sides in rhythm with her quick steps. It was late, so the bridges and passageways were deserted. She walked barefoot, ignoring the cold stone under her feet. The red wax adorning her ankles had begun to peel, but Ika didn't care about the crumbling flakes. Her anger and frustration were slowly building, like an approaching sandstorm. Another meeting had dragged on without any clear reason.

They were testing her. Seeing how much she could endure.

She understood that the Inquisition Initiation was approaching fast, but they still debated over the color of the napkins. For Milites' sake! Field hospitals were poorly stocked with herbs, and the deliveries were once again delayed. Orphanages were overflowing, and there was still a shortage of staff. Contact with the Border Priestesses remained irregular and uncontrolled. She had a growing pile of reports on her desk about attacked villages and no time to sign the letters notifying the families of future Priestesses about the immediate recruitment of their daughters! And they were still debating that damned color of the napkins!

"Maybe this year we should choose blue," she muttered under her breath, mimicking Elossam. "But last time it was bottle green, and if we are to follow the natural reflection of our glorious seasons, orange would be the most appropriate color," she continued, mocking Priestess Likoletta's tedious speech.

She snorted loudly. She could still see their priceless expressions when she had stood up, slamming her fist on the table and announcing that this year's Initiation color had already been chosen by her and that they would receive the preparation instructions in the morning. She didn't have to explain anything to them. She had enough. Why should she care that the Initiation's setting was reminiscent of the accursed spring and the blooming of flowers, which in no way matched the end of summer, the change of seagulls' plumage, whose names she no longer remembered, and the number of vowels in the name of the twelfth ruler of the Green Poppies divided by four?

Once, she saw meaning in all of this. The Queen imposed her logic, leaving no room for spontaneity. But over time, she realized that these small trifles became unnecessary burdens placed on her shoulders. She was wasting time that she could have spent taking action, sharing what she had learned thanks to the grace of the Spirit of Milites.

She paused for a moment, listening to the night. Drawn by a muffled gong, she passed the line of columns supporting the entire roof of the bridge and looked outside. A solitary, tall tower crowned with a golden bell tower was striking midnight.

"It's time," she muttered to herself, stepping back from the stone railing and nearly colliding with a silver fox that reached up to her waist. Suppressing a shout that rose to her lips, she took a step back, then sighed in relief and smiled at her Patron.

"Amala!" She placed her hand on the fox's large muzzle and stroked her silky fur. A warm current immediately coursed through her arm, flooding her entire body with a sense of safety and harmony. Ika gazed into the wise cornflower-blue eyes, wondering not for the first time what truly lay behind them. She hesitated, seeing a desire for communication in them, but at that moment, the fox's head turned toward the corridor.

"I've prepared everything. We'll make it," Ika said, patting her friend on the back. She hurried forward, feeling a sting of disappointment in her heart. She had heard that many Guardians could hear their Patrons' voices, but Amala remained stubbornly silent. After all these years spent together, the hope of hearing her voice still burned brightly within her.

Ika silently ran up the stairs and passed through the open doors into the Chambers of the High Priestesses. The white marble floors and walls surrounded her with a familiar sight. Thick silver frames encased portraits of men and women who had distinguished themselves in battles. Their names and heroic stories of sacrifice for the Kingdom were permanently etched into her memory.

"Submission to Her Majesty is posthumously rewarded with a place on the wall," she muttered, fighting the urge to spit out the sour taste of the words. She felt surrounded by the deaf and blind. Once, she had believed. But that was a long time ago.

The long corridor was illuminated by sparsely placed candelabras. The flames of tall candles burned with a blue glow, highlighting the majesty of superiority. Ika frowned with displeasure at the sight of the wasted Power. For many, they were a source of pride and a symbol of belonging to the most faithful of the Kingdom. To her, they were nothing but arrogance and vanity.

Without slowing her pace, she passed her chamber and reached the turn in the corridor. She stopped in front of a passage used only by the servants. Carefully, she placed her hand on the handle and cracked the door open. The fox silently slipped past her and disappeared inside. Ika checked the corridor one last time before slipping inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

Marble was replaced by plain quartz. Here and there, a single candle burned, casting a warm light on the path. Ika ran to the shadowed recess of the nearest storage room and pulled a bag out of an unused bucket. She quickly put on a linen dress stained with dark spots over her silk tunic. She slipped on canvas shoes and threw a hooded cloak over her shoulders. Clutching a small package in her hand, she stepped back into the corridor.

Amala waited for her patiently, staring intently at the Grand Priestess.

"How many times have we been through this?" Ika asked, pulling out the Summoner from under her collar. "You can't pass through the portal, and besides, you'll immediately draw attention. The streets are full of the Queen's spies. A Patron is always close to their Guardian, and you know no one can recognize me. Be glad I'm even bringing you along."

The fox snorted in response.

"You don't need to get offended. Rest assured, I'll summon you when needed."

Ika brought the crystal whistle to her lips and blew gently into it. A sweet melody resonated around them, and the Fox was enveloped in a shimmering white mist that completely concealed her. The air trembled slightly before the sparkling dust settled on the floor. The Grand Priestess tucked the Summoner back under her dress and instinctively smoothed the dirty fabric.

"Time to get to work," she muttered under her breath.