"Emory!"
Crawling toward the silent child, Darian scooped him up into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Emory." Sitting on the ground, he held Emory close to his chest, resting his chin against the baby's head.
Behind him, the carriage driver stood frozen. Horror stretched across his face, his timid eyes wide with shock. What did I just witness..? H-his hands... his legs... his chest... He jerked his head to the side and vomited onto the dirt.
"What... happened?" Darian finally processed what he'd seen. Just moments ago, the soldier's blade had hovered in mid-air. Then, his eyes twitched, blood trickled from his nose. His knees buckled. Bones snapped. One by one, his limbs collapsed inward, crushed by an invisible force. A heartbeat later, his chest imploded—burst, leaving no trace of blood behind.
Meanwhile, Emory was now sucking on the dead fish, yawning now and then. Darian adjusted his hold on the baby and stood up slowly, carefully. He glanced towards the carriage and the vomiting driver.
He was a mess. After vomiting, his eyes began to lose what little luster they'd once held. He fell from the carriage, hitting the ground with a soft thud. He stared blankly ahead, trying to make sense of the impossible.
Then, he laughed.
"Heh... hehheheh... hahahahahaha!" The laughter turned manic. "Did my eyes deceive me?! Have you not witnessed it?! A calamity!" His expression twisted with madness.
"I'm just a lowly carriage driver!" he cackled. "What is this world? Who are these people? The Elevated? They're not real... They can't be! Supernatural abilities?! Where are _mine_?! Why wasn't I blessed?!"
He turned to Darian and Emory, still laughing, even harder now.
"A child?! No older than a month, killing a grown man? Preposterous! He's just a baby—a filthy fish-sucking baby!" His tone turned pleading, desperate. "Oh Lord, if you're out there... it's about time I received some abilities, right? I've never asked for much—just wanted to be left alone! Funny, isn't it? That I chose to be a carriage driver, of all things?! Hehheheh!"
"Give me! Give me! Give me! Give me!" he screamed, clutching his long hair and pulling at it violently.
"I need power! I need to kill her! That wretched woman… she took my son!" His eyes were red with rage. Whatever timid man had once existed, he was gone.
Darian watched him quietly, face unreadable.
"Silence."
The command rang out from nowhere and everywhere. A resounding order that froze time itself. Darian's eyes rolled back as he collapsed to the ground. Only Emory and the carriage driver remained conscious.
"W-w-what is that?!" the driver stuttered, eyes darting in every direction, trying to find the source of the voice.
"You have called for me. So I have arrived. Speak, human."
Pain exploded in his ears. His eardrums ruptured, blood streaming out. He wouldn't survive long hearing this voice.
"P-powers…" he gasped. "I want them! Yes! Powers! Let me bathe in the glory of wealth, the glory of influence, the glory of power! Please!"
The skies cracked. A purple fog descended, shrouding the world in shadow. A deafening blast shook the air, a portal was ripped open in front of him.
Blood poured from his ears, but his eyes were transfixed.
Step. Step. Step.
A man emerged from the portal.
He wore a black robe with a white streak down the middle. A bow and quiver were strapped to his back. His features were unnaturally perfect. Pale skin, black eyes that seemed to devour light, hair hanging just above his eyes in messy waves. His robe was sleeveless, exposing defined, godlike muscles.
His mouth parted. "Kneel."
Thunder cracked in the distance.
"You have earned the immense privilege of speaking to His Liege. Kneel, human."
The man immediately dropped his forehead to the ground, the impact drawing blood. The robed figure strode past him toward the baby. He stopped in front of Emory and gazed silently.
Then, in a voice steeped in unshakable authority, he declared:
"His Liege, the Tyrant, has granted both humans present the permission to recite the Chronicle of the Eclipsed Veil."
He flicked his wrist. Wisps of black ink spiraled into the air, forming into a paragraph that hovered before them. Then he turned to the driver and extended a hand. Shadowy coils of dark magic slithered up his arm like serpents, then shot forward into the driver's chest.
"Moik Drav. Carriage driver for twenty-three years. Divorced. Wife took his son, Lex. A lowly human who pretends to be timid, but harbors major greed and resentment."
The robed figure listed off every dark secret Moik had hidden away.
When it was done, the coils withdrew, and the ink in the air solidified into a dark, elegant script.
Placing his hand over his chest, the figure spoke:
"By the power vested in me, Behedet, Fourth Mourner to His Liege, Lucius—I grant Moik Drav the ability to recite the Chronicle of the Eclipsed Veil."
Moik's body lifted into the air, his eyes glowing with a faint grey hue. Purple flickers of energy spun wildly around him.
"Recite," Behedet commanded.
Moik spoke in a lifeless monotone, as if the words had been etched into his soul:
"From the subtle artistry of deception, the veils of mist shall answer my command, guided by His unseen hand. Through the barriers of the corporeal, passage shall be granted, a whisper of His boundless reach. The very essence of visibility shall bend to my will, cloaked in the authority of His name. I shall regain the stolen Authority of my Liege, cement the power and glory that was stolen from him. My mortal form shall know a measured strength, a fraction of His enduring might. I offer my being as a sacrifice, awaiting the stirring of His formidable gifts."
Moik dropped to the ground, convulsing. His chest heaved.
"Obey me and follow my commands," said the voice from earlier, "and you shall reap the fruits of your sacrifice."
Even though it was not directed at him, Behedet collapsed to his knees, trembling with fear.
Moik slowly rose. His skin flickered in and out of visibility, like a glitch in reality. He stared at his hands, eyes wide.
His mouth opened.
But no words came out.
He was speechless.
Then... he went quiet.
Not frozen, not bored. Just still.
As if listening.
Nodding.
Whispering...
To something no one else could hear.