Chapter Text
“And so they cast the world into the dark, leaving its people to wither away and die.”
No one really cared about what she was the goddess of. It had been a while since someone had even bothered to ask, too, but her loyal followers knew the name and status of Anya – goddess of the light, darkness, and the gray area between.
She leaned forward, back pressed against a freezing stone wall as she surveyed the somber crowd. It was the fall equinox, her designated day in the calendars; one of perfect balance. The parade was held after sundown, in order to enhance the appearance of the procession itself. Colored lanterns were held by almost every member of the crowd, depicting phases of religious standpoint and progress amongst followers. The lanterns used in the procession at the end of the ceremony were whiter than the snow on the cobbled streets, whereas the ones upon the front shone with a hue not too different from the sun's last rays on the city's horizon.
Lowering her hood, she slipped through the thick and silent crowd. A large swath had been made clear in the center of the street, in order to allow the procession to walk freely, twinkling lanterns shifting on their chains. As the priests and priestesses marched somberly down the cobblestone road, one man led the procession, wearing a gold mask emblazoned with black falcon wings. Her high priest and champion, Alexei. A good and faithful man, she had influenced him from the dark since his childhood, forming him into her own disciple. A smile tugged at her expression at the memory.
Gaze shifting from the head of the procession to the bulk of the crowds, she paused, letting out a soft breath. The cloud from the cool night air carried a simple sentence, one that most passing by wouldn't even notice.
"Faithful, hear me."
Though practically inaudible, the phrase resonated amongst her followers louder than some of the procession bells. Dozens of the priests in the procession cried out, some of them falling to their knees, including her champion. Aveline sighed, turning her gaze away. The ceremony turned out the same as it had every year, and the sight had grown to bore her.
Then something unexpected occurred, capturing the goddess' attention. A man, only about twenty feet away, gasped. Gaze flickering in intrigue, she watched as he sat upright, and looking around frantically with wild eyes, searching for the source of the voice. Drawn to the figure, she gave the procession one final look, before drifting over towards the individual.
Anya’s pale hand encircled his wrist, and he turned to face her, quickly starting at the contact. Eyes wide, he jerked at the grip somewhat, panicked gaze darting to the side in the search for a chance to escape. Looking closer at the figure, she nodded to herself. This one was something special.
“Come with me.” Her few words had been so soothing, relaxing, that he found himself compliant to her request, stumbling forward. Her dark brown eyes glittered as she led him from the crowd, weaving through streets and alleys until they were far from the march. This was the place to hold her inspection.
After ensuring the lack of prying eyes, she turns to him, auburn hair swaying from the motion.
“You are faithful.” The words held no malice as she started to circle him, carefully appraising the stranger. Rather average height, green eyes. Surprisingly tanned, for residing this far north.
“I-I, uh,” he was at a loss for words. He kept shifting, pivoting to face her as she circled him. Only then did she notice the plated armor and sword at his waist, hidden underneath his cloak.
“A knight?" She mused, lowering to observe the sheath that held his weapon, "Most regular knights are faithful to my sister." A wry smile tugged at her expression, flickering up to meet his own.
His face held a mixture of emotions, unsure whether to be confused, calm, or shocked. It wasn't long before the decision was formed.
“You mean-” Realization flitted across his face, letting in a quiet breath. “Regina. She's the goddess of strength, why wouldn't I be?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion, shifting on his feet. “Why would you think I don't follow her?” The faithful stranger’s hand slowly maneuvered, landing upon the pommel of his sword. Cute.
“I know because you heard the call, just a moment ago. You know who I am.” The woman’s brown eyes bore into him, and as he finished the contact, his own widen. The depths of her gaze told much more than he could comprehend, yet the concepts struck a chord. Lives gained and lost. Worlds rendered to mere memory in the blink of an eye. The line between shade and light. He knew the woman before him, and yet...that was impossible, right?
“Why are you faithful to me?" She wondered, pacing in front of him, "Patrons would never sponsor you again if they knew,”
The slither of metal against leather was audible as the stranger drew his sword, urged to protect his honor. Blade glinting with a metallic malice in the moonlight, he glared at the woman. “Listen, whoever you are. You've insulted me and threatened my reputation, and I can't have that.” A step towards her, and she tilted her head. Judging by his stance and hold on his weapon, it was easy to see he wasn't a terribly experienced swordsman. Mouth twisting into a smile, she laughed at him.
Despite the clear provocation, he stopped, a shudder rolling down his spine. It sounded like chapel bells ringing, but over a mourning funeral procession. It was almost foreign; unearthly.
Eyes flashing, she took advantage of the pause, snapping her fingers. His sword flew from his hand, landing upon her open palm. He looks from his own hand to hers. "Wh-"
“You have spirit, and will, yet much to learn.” She tossed it back, the man stumbling to catch it by the hilt. “What is your name?”
He hesitated for a moment, staring down at his sword, before looking back up. He still appeared shocked.
“Knight Ramirez. Marcus,” he added, after a second of thought. His eyes were tired, though their green depths held sparks of flame.
“Mm. Something tells me that you have an important part to play, Knight Marcus.”
He frowned, straightening. “And what, exactly, does that mean?”
Anya continued to circle him. “You’re incredibly important to me, I can tell.”
“Like a champion?”
“No, Alexei is my champion at the moment. No, you feel… special.”
• • •
They were walking along a dim street, shoes making little noise against the frost-coated stones.
“Generally, most of the gods do not select a mortal champion. When a champion is selected, it is almost always the god's own child, or a child from a favored family,” she explained. “I've only ever had two champions, yet-”
“What were their names?” Marcus interrupted, pausing and receding after the statement was blurted out. She gave him a strange look, as if she wasn’t used to the interjection, before replying.
“Yvette, followed by Hiram. They spread good in my name, for many years. Until their service to me was over.” Her tone, edged with ice, warned him away from more questions. She continued, “I select far fewer champions than my brothers and sisters. My choices are usually carefully evaluated, unlike theirs.” Anya’s tone was almost sorrowful as she became lost in an ancient memory.
They walked in silence for a while longer. Marcus looked around, taking in the silent and empty streets. “They'll be worshipping at the temples until dawn,” he said, trying to fill the silence. “We, uh. Haven't got much time left, for you to stay.” He gestured at the horizon, already streaked with orange and gold.
“Well, I could stay longer if I had to, but it would take power that I can’t spare.” She looked ahead, hood beginning to cast a shadow upon her face. The sun was rising quickly, and her time was now limited. “I will be going soon, but I will contact you. Listen carefully for orders, but for now,” Anya turned to face him, “I will give you my blessing.”
He looked slightly confused. "Blessing?"
A laugh, muffled by the thick wool lining her robes – she gently took his head in her pale hands, and pulled him towards her. Anya planted a kiss on his forehead, the action bringing a tension in the air as black lightning crackled around them. It was gone in an instant, leaving Marcus looking dazed, though he managed to shake it off. "What was-"
“You’ll be safe from magical harm, but not physical,” she warned. “Don’t get killed before I send you a message.” Before a response could form, she stepped backwards into the shadow of a building, blending in with the depth until she vanished. Marcus was now alone and tired, left to wander back among the worshippers returning home.
• • •