Chapter Text
Death is a quiet affair for you. At least, you think it is, you really can’t quite recall. Though, you don’t remember much in general.
All you do know, is that one day you fell asleep, and woke up to a ceiling that isn’t yours.
Blinking blearily, you sit up slowly. The walls are beige and not blue, the ceiling is missing those glow-in-the-dark stars your friends got you, and the room smells of incense of dried flowers. Amaranth and lavender, your mind provides automatically, as if you’ve known this fact your entire life.
Next is your appearance, there’s no mirror but you can at least see what’s in front of you. You stare at your hands, opening and closing them over and over, there’s a mild dissonance between them and your mind. Your skin is paper white, and you have dark talon-like claws (though they’re trimmed down to a safe dullness), a dark gradient tapering from them to your knuckles.
‘Strange,’ you think to yourself, your mind distant. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been this pale.’
Memories begin to trickle in, slow at first—before becoming a steady stream. There’s not much really, but it’s enough to make your head spin, the urge to vomit rising. You swallow the bile, squeezing your eyes shut at the lance of pain shooting through your skull.
Your name is Time, you’ve lived with the Church of Eternity for as long as you can remember, you like to draw, and you are currently… 7? 8 years old? Somewhere around that timeframe.
It’s at this moment that you realize—
The door to your room creaks open. An unfamiliar face appears, their features gentle and soft—Acolyte Basil, your mind provides.
“It is almost time for the morning sermons.” They murmur, voice as soft as they looked, “The High Priest asked me to retrieve you for it, Time.”
You nod automatically, the words falling out of your mouth without a thought, “Of course, I… will be there.” Inwardly, you cringe lightly, your voice was higher than before, though expected for your age.
There’s a moment of vertigo as you hopped off the bed, nearly stumbling onto the hardwood floor. Luckily, Basil was there to catch you, having all but rushed over to make sure you didn’t fall over. It’s a bit embarrassing for you, as you clung to the sleeve of their robes, your tail—apparently you have a tail now— flicking back and forth from agitation.
”Ah—! It’s alright if you cannot attend today,” Basil says, guiding you back to sitting on the edge of the bed, “I’m sure the High Priest will understand, you are still recovering from that fever after all.”
”Mn,” you’re too dizzy to speak, simply letting the adult check your temperature and fuss over you. Being patronized like this should grate on your nerves, but you’re between feverish fuzziness and an odd awareness.
”…I’ll tell the High Priest you won’t be attending.” They reach over to ruffle your hair as they spoke, “Just remember to do your morning prayers, and finish this week’s study-work, okay?”
There’s another moment of dissonance. You’ve never been religious before, let alone for anything that required daily prayers. Regardless, you nod again anyways, muttering softly, “Okay, Acolyte Basil.”
They hum, patting your head one last time before heading to leave. “I’ll be off now, don’t push yourself too hard, Time. May Spawn bless your recovery.”
The door closes with a soft noise, as Basil left, their footsteps growing quieter the further they went. Something about what they said makes you reel, dislodging a memory. Though, it’s gone as quickly as the feeling came, your current memories assuring you that it was normal.
…By the time you’re completely alone, you realize you’re not even sure what morning prayer even entails. Rummaging through your memories, it all comes up to a blank, clearly a ritual ingrained enough to become habitual, with no need to remark upon it.
You barely notice it, too immersed in your own thoughts, but you instinctively reach over to the bedside table. Patting around the hardwood, you grasp at a thin chain with a metal insignia attached. It reminds you of a stylized sun, made of a black metal, the sight of it fills you with an alien sort of relief.
Was this what you needed for morning prayer? You’re still not entirely sure, despite seeming to instinctively grab at it.
The metal is cool against your skin, the sharp points digging lightly into your palm as you gripped it. A quiet sigh leaves your mouth as you held it, your other hand clasping over your fingers. It’s… fine if you just go by what your body remembers, right?
You sit up straighter on the bed, tucking your legs underneath you as you scooted back, your tail curling around you. Hands clasped in front of you, eyes closed, you… aren’t sure what comes next.
Well, fake it ‘till you make it.
(…you want to go home.)
The next few days pass mostly in a blur.
Basil comes by to check in on you on occasion, and sometimes other members of the church and your instructors drop by too. It’s all weirdly pleasant and polite, for people you consider strangers, despite your own memories of them. Your life from the Before begins to blur with your current life as Time.
You don’t know where You begin and Time ends anymore.
That’s besides the point anyhow. For living in a (presumably? You’re not entirely sure,) religious compound, it’s fairly mundane. Usually your schedule was just chores and study sessions, if broken up by daily rituals towards the Spawn.
Your scattered memories are excused by your prior fever, and the Acolytes and Disciples are more than happy to remind you of what you’ve forgotten. Most of the days end up with you shadowing one of them, as they did their daily tasks. They’re usually pretty delighted to have a second pair of hands to help anyways.
The High Priest they all talk about doesn’t show up once.
Admittedly, you don’t particularly mind this, even as some weird instinctual part of you feels a pang of loss by their absence. The sensation makes you squirm internally, the foreign emotion of missing someone you’ve (technically) never met.
Though, perhaps because you are the universe’s favorite cosmic joke, nothing goes right for you.
Here’s the scene; a few days after recovering from your ‘fever,’ you’re outside at one of the commune’s gardens. Kneeling in the dirt with a basket beside you, you’re happily rooting through the foliage, tearing out weeds and unwanted growths. Your tail wags behind you, it’s ivory white spines and bladed tip stained lightly by dirt and grass.
Too engrossed in your task, and humming an aimless tune from Before, the name of the song escaping your mind right now. You don’t notice the presence approaching behind you, nor the soft sound of footsteps.
“Time, there you are.” A voice sounds out from behind, it’s soft and pleasant to the ear, and eerily familiar.
You jolt at the sudden noise, almost knocking over the basket. A squeaky noise escapes your mouth against your will, followed by a quiet chuckle in response to your surprise. Straightening up, you turn around and look up, eyes meeting with the gentle expression of a stranger.
Except, it’s not actually a stranger.
“…High Priest Amarah, did you need me for something…?” You ask, unsure of what to do.
”Oh, none of that child.” High Priest Amarah waves it off, “I am just here to see how you’ve been recovering. Tell me, are you well?”
“I’ve gotten better.” It’s the truth, despite your whole… memories issue. Not that they need to know about that. A wary part of you hoards that knowledge of a past life close to your heart, unwilling to share any of it.
“Good, good.” They say, none the wiser to your inner thoughts, leaning down slightly to your level. “The Spawn has truly blessed you with such a swift recovery.”
“…Mhm.”
You don’t know how to respond to that.
The silence afterwards is awkward, you don’t have anything to say, and the High Priest seems content to just… watch you work. You also don’t go back to humming, turning back to the patch of vegetation and basket of weeds. Gardening goes… much more subdued, your tail only flicking on occasion with the more stubborn overgrowth.
The silence is broken by a question from High Priest Amarah, “Are you lonely?”
It’s out of left field, sending you reeling. You blink up at them, bewilderment clear in your questioning gaze. “I… don’t know?”
“The others have told me you’ve been by yourself lately,” High Priest Amarah only smiles at you, their expression unreadable. It makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle, “There’s no shame in asking for a companion. I know most of the children your age have long since moved out of this commune.”
You avert your gaze, and don’t answer the question. Well you kind-of do, but it comes out as a; “…Mn.”
It’s neither a confirmation, or a rejection to the High Priest’s earlier question. They take it as some sort of answer anyways, their expression growing soft as they reached over to pat you on the head. Before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping away some dirt that got on your face.
After that’s done, you dismiss yourself from the interaction—though it’s closer to you fleeing the situation as fast as possible. Much to the amusement of the elder Church member.
(As you leave, a strange expression crosses the High Priest’s face, a shadowy blight upon their pristine image. No child changes so quickly overnight, even after sickness. Something had to have happened, and perhaps—it can be used to the Church’s benefit.)
(Not that you’d know anything about that, you were busy running off to do literally anything else.)
(By Spawn, you hate interacting with people.)
Weeks pass without much fanfare, and you mostly forget that whole exchange. High Priest Amarah visits you much more often now too, whenever their duties to Spawn aren’t keeping them.
Despite their general presence leaving you on edge, you start looking forward to running into them, and the study-sessions they usually rope you into. You’re pretty sure most of your nerves come from the fact they’re an authority figure anyhow, some deep ingrained part of you automatically falling into a fawn response to them. It also helps that you didn’t particularly want to disappoint them.
Joy of joys, you fall back into the habit of being as much of a teacher’s pet as possible. Mostly so you can get away with your schemes to sneak out and forage in the surrounding forests. The one you’ve sort-of been told you shouldn’t go near, without some sort of supervision.
No one ever suspects a teacher’s pet.
Usually.
(You’ve only been caught once. It went… fine. The High Priest’s disappointment cut deep, but it wasn’t particularly enough to deter you from future attempts. You just had to get better at hiding your tracks.)
(The High Priest tuts at you, expression hidden by the shadows as they sighed. “Please understand that I do these things to protect you. There are those out there who would not hesitate to hurt you for following the Spawn.”)
(In response, you only avert your gaze, silent as you’re left in the dark room. The sound of the door locking echoes, followed by the High Priest’s heels clacking against the floor as they left.)
(You don’t mind the isolation, you’re quite used to it—in this life and the previous one. If anything, you mostly use the time to drift off into your own daydreams.)
(It’s just that…)
(…)
(…Your back aches…)
…
…Hm, you don’t really want to think about that right now.
Anyways, since you woke up as Time, you’ve noticed a few new developments since then. Most of the other Church members give you wide berth, even when you approach them first, barring Acolyte Basil and a few of their associates. Most of the Church looks at you with something between doting patronization, and eerie reverence.
Neither of which you care for, if anything it just makes you squirm in discomfort.
Not to mention the High Priest’s hovering over you. Even taking you directly under their wing.
(It’s one of those days with High Priest Amarah, one with them in a more mundane moment. A lot like the days where they’re more of a ‘mentor’ than a High Priest. They’re busy trimming your hair, snipping away parts they deemed too long and unruly.)
(You’re not sure why they’re doing this, let alone the new attention you’ve garnered since your apparent fever. Sure they hovered before, but never really to this extent. As far as your memory goes.)
(They only chuckle when you ask about it, scissors coming close to the nape of your neck, “It’s of no concern, child. For the ones the Spawn favors, it is only natural.”)
(“…If you say so.” You murmur, still not quite getting it, and dropping the subject for the time being.)
(High Priest Amarah hums, pleased with your acceptance, before clicking their tongue at your fidgeting. “Do mind your tail.”)
(“Sorry.” You curl your skeletal tail around your body. Holding it in your hands, and absently rubbing the spines. It’s an interesting texture, not porous like actual bone—but closer to smooth ivory.)
(The rest of that event continued in silence.)
Even now, you still don’t know what to make of that memory.
You mostly tuck it under the mental list of ‘strange, but not really that alarming’ memories. Which was admittedly getting a bit long.
Today was one of those days where the High Priest called you for one thing or another. Usually it was to witness certain rituals, something about making sure you understood them when you were older. Most of it goes in one ear and out the other, but you try to retain some of it, keyword; try.
Sometimes it’s choir practice. You don’t mind choir practice much.
Anyways, you leave the chapel and head towards the courtyard. The well at the center was usually where High Priest Amarah asked you to meet them at. Well, either that or their private study, but the latter was usually for more important studies or for…
…
(“The ceremony requires a witness, and you—are Spawn’s Witness.”)
Well, nevermind that.
There are a few new faces with the High Priest, who is currently (probably?) introducing them to the community and the daily schedules. It looks like they’re pretty busy, so you hang back and watch the procession.
It’s actually pretty boring to watch. Though honestly, it’s also been the closest thing to entertainment you’ve gotten since you got here. Tangentially, you’re still not entirely sure if you’ve ended up in some sort-of fantasy world, of if the entire community was made of —what was the word— luddites?
Also you remember one of the Priests mentioning something about admins and ‘source code’, but in the same conversation something about magic and sorcery? There’s a vague recollection of a name that started with D, and pumpkins.
Were you meant to hear any of that? Probably not.
Tangent aside-
As you lingered along the edges, lurking behind a tree, the crowd slowly dispersed. High Priest Amarah has long since noticed you, turning their mild smile your way. They wave you over, while at the same time, motioning(?) for one of the crowd goers to stay. For what reason, you don’t know.
Leaving the shade of the oak, you take your usual place by their side. The High Priest’s hand falls on your shoulder, it’s likely meant to be reassuring, but you fight against the urge to grimace or flinch. You settle with just stiffening instead, before forcing yourself to relax.
Admittedly, you start actively tuning out the High Priest’s words, more focused on scrutinizing the stranger in front of you. Which is fair play, since they’ve been staring at you since you (metaphorically) emerged from the shadows.
”—since your cousin cannot join us with their work in the other branches—“
The first thing you notice is that they’re young, likely around your age. The second is that they’re the most intense looking child you’ve ever seen in your life, if looks could kill you’d be dead a second time. Though, that’s a bit of a rude (if true) thought—they can’t help their face looking like that.
”—as such, you’ll be learning under the Spawn and our community—“
They’re a little familiar actually, in the same way a lot of things when you first woke up here are, scratching that itch of deja vu. Dark messy hair, really bright violet eyes, and a funny witch hat of some kind. You kind of want to ask where they got it, since you’ve been cycling through the same outfits for a while.
”—child.”
High Priest Amarah’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Blinking, you turn to meet their gaze, not quite making eye contact. They squeeze your shoulder in a gesture meant to be reassuring, but the next sentence only makes your heart stop, as several missing pieces click into place.
“Time, this is Azure. You two will be studying together from now on, so please get along now.”
Oh.
Oh no.
You are absolutely, fundamentally, and irrecoverably fucked.
