The Divinity Game

1: Dweller

When one lived underground, the only interesting event that could transpire was getting caught, and that was exactly what happened to Araceli.

It was mid-Somnus hour, the 12-hour period of nighttime, and the whole of Infernus was soundly tucked into their beds. No one works the night shift, save for Jenkins and his men who claimed themselves the role of watchers. Every being who called Infernus their home owned something that doubled as something else; a bed that doubled as a sofa during Sugere hour, a shelf that doubled as a dining table. Infernus dwellers lived scrap to scrap, so much so that by Somnus hour no one had any energy left to stay up. Naturally, it was the perfect time to do magic.

Araceli sat hunched on the ground with one finger tracing her own blood across the wooden floor. One straight line. One curved line. Little swirls here and there. Every now and then she would glance at an open tome beside her. Her copying skill wasn't the best, but the drawing was similar enough. The circle was complete.

She sat back, wrapping her slashed palm with a bandage. This had to work. She had stretched all her resources thin and pretty much offered her head to Jenkins to get all the materials needed for the ritual; a bowl of water, a burning candle, and some loose dirt. Dirt was abundant here, but the candle and bandage had cost her the last of her coins. If even food was hard to come by in Infernus then these materials were akin to gold. Wysteria often had to resort to stealing, be it from Jenkins or their neighbours. She needed those supplies and Araceli was forever grateful that her mentor had been willing to go to such length to teach her. And now that she had suddenly disappeared, Araceli would, should, go to greater lengths to find her.

Araceli lowered her head and, closing her eyes, began chanting the ancient incantation. Archaic Angelic was a language dead and forgotten, but Wysteria had put her fluency to use by teaching her. All this while she had been confident of her casting ability, but those lessons she had with her mentor were mainly theoretical. Performing magic felt protected under a tutelage, now that she was casting it for real everything seemed on the brink of failure. The arcane words came out awkward by her tongue, and for a moment nothing seemed to work, but then the air shifted.

A face, faint as a weak shadow, began materialising.

"Wysteria?"

The apparition pulsed. It seemed to pull her. She reached out and whispered. "Wysteria, where are you?"

The apparition disappeared and Araceli was absorbed back into the room. The chill returned and the bowl had tumbled, its content bleeding into the dirt. The candle still stood melting where it had been placed, flaming teardrops swaying with the cold draft.

Recovering from the casting, Araceli shakily stood up and ambled over to the chair where Wysteria always sat for meals. Not that there were many of those going around, but whatever Wysteria did they do it together. Araceli ran her hand over the dining table. They didn't have much, no Infernus dweller ever had much, but Wysteria would always set up whatever edible scraps on the only two fine china plates available in the house and pretend it was a full course meal. Ever a good student, Araceli had played along to her antics, even when she had never heard of a full course meal.

She yawned. Real magic can be utterly draining. Araceli settled onto the sleeping berth off to one side of the small house she shared with Wysteria, falling asleep as soon as she hit the mattress.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ ･ ───

A loud commotion woke her up.

She peeked through a small torn hole on the yellowed curtain that framed the only window in the little shack. The shack was built high above the main square, closer to the roof of the vast cavern that made up Infernus. Her vantage point offered a view ideal for security, and horror plagued her at the sight below.