Chapter Text
Dahlia awoke to a pounding headache. Wincing, he tried to shift positions when he suddenly became aware of resistance holding his body down.
Restraints?
He immediately went on high alert, adrenaline coursing through him. He was lying on a thin sheet of white fabric unable to hide the bite of the cool stone beneath it. Above him he could see beautifully carved arches dimly lit by the light of the full moon streaming in from outside the window. Looking to the right revealed he was in an empty church on top of an altar, plain white candles on ornate floor candelabras circling him. He was dressed in a thin white tunic that stopped just before the knee, it did nothing to stop the cold seeping into his bones. He also happened to be tied down to the altar with thick rope.
What in the Actual Heck is going on? Where was he? Was he dreaming? Dahlia took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Think back. What was the last thing he could remember?
Dahlia would never consider himself an interesting person, but due to his nosy personality, he certainly has managed to end up in precarious situations every once and a while.
Case in point, last night he stumbled across a suspiciously dressed man hiding in the alleyway right by the news agency he was interning at. Dahlia normally wouldn't have paid him any attention were it not for the fact he was rummaging through the agency's trash. This was abnormal enough that Dahlia decided to hide himself around the corner to watch as the man pulled out, then pocketed, a stack of reports before sneaking off.
Stealthily, Dahlia followed the strange man to the back of one of those mystic crystal shops. After a few moments a woman came out of the shop that Dahlia happened to recognize. Gretchen. She was currently the subject of one of Dahlia's coworker's research. Something about suspected illegal markups and tax fraud..?
The strange man had handed her the reports and in return she gave him a gilded golden box and, after checking the contents, of which Dahlia was unable to see, the man nodded to her and she slipped inside the shop.
After that… things got fuzzy. He thinks someone came up behind him… was he assaulted? He couldn't remember. All this remembering made his headache worse anyway.
He brought his attention back to his surroundings. The ropes around his wrists and ankles kept them firmly in place, but other than that he had no binds. He gave an experimental tug to each one of the binds, each refusing to budge. Clearly the work of a knot master. He tried moving his hips around in an attempt to shimmy off the platform, but that too was unsuccessful.
Alright then, time for plan two.
Dahlia stilled. It was possible that he was just dreaming. Maybe if he went back to sleep and opened his eyes again he would find himself in bed. Or some cheap motel a friend set him up in. Both had happened before, although it was mainly after he had had too much to drink at the bar.
If he wasn't dreaming, and he probably was, this could make his captors wait longer if they wanted him to be awake, but that was unlikely as this was probably just a nightmare. He'd always been the victim of vivid dreams.
Ok, he was pretty lost when it came to options. He was tired and still dealing with a nasty headache, of course they weren't going to be the most amazing ideas anyone has ever come up with.
After an eternity, or maybe just five minutes gauging the passage of time is hard, Dahlia heard the doors to the church open and several shuffling footsteps. Nothing was spoken as the footsteps moved to surround him. Dahlia opened one of his eyes to get a better assessment of the situation.
He seemed to be surrounded by a bunch of people wearing white robes with teal accents, their heads and faces casted in shadow by large hoods. One person to his right was dressed even more intricately than everyone else, with several robed layers with golden accents. The people to their right and left both held beautiful golden boxes, one of which he recognized from the strange deal he saw.
What was going on? Was this some sort of prank?
Dahlia fully opened his eyes and looked at the intricately dressed person, assuming them the leader.
“H-Hello?” He managed to squeak out. “Uhm, a little help here?” He struggled against his binds again. As expected, they continued refusing to budge.
The leader, completely ignoring him, raised his hands and spoke in Mondstadtich.
“O great Anemo Archon heed these calls of your most loyal followers. May you stay by our side in freedom and bring us into a new age of hope.”
“Ahh, followers of the Anemo Archon? I-I know his main ideal is freedom. I'm sure he wouldn't be too happy with the fact you've tired me up here.” Dahlia spoke, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering. He didn't do a very good job.
Were they going to try and sacrifice him? They were definitely going to try and sacrifice him. If this was a nightmare, and he was still convinced it was, what was his mind trying to tell him? That he needed to be more religious?
“We bring before you a willing vessel-”
“Willing!? Vessel??”
“-so that you may better guide us into a new age.” He, at least Dahlia thought they were a he, lowered his arms and nodded towards someone at Dahlia's head. “Purify him.”
Purify him??? His psychiatrist was definitely going to hear about this dream.
Trying his best to look behind him, he saw two people approaching his head, one holding a golden goblet. The one holding nothing rolled back his sleeves, revealing pale skin, and dipped his hands into the cup. Slowly the other people started changing in loud deep voices.
“Hey, uhh, c-could you explain what's going on?” He managed to stutter out.
When the person's hands receded from the cup they were covered in a clear liquid. Water, maybe? Hopefully water. He then brought his hands over to Dahlia's head, touching him.
“H-hey!” Dahlia recoiled at his cool wet touch. At least he could now confirm the liquid was water, that's good.
The person with wet hands began speaking in Mondstadtich, but due to the weird chanting and the pure adrenaline running through his veins Dahlia had trouble understanding what he was saying.
The person then dipped their hands into the water again and touched his chest, right above his heart, then repeated the action touching Dahlia's head again.
“Let us rejoice!” The main leader spoke loudly and the chanting died down.
“We rejoice!” The group spoke in unison.
“Another lost soul is on their way to find true freedom.”
“We rejoice!”
Two members broke out of the circle and went to open up the stained glass windows nearest to the altar. A soft night's breeze made its way inside, sneaking across his skin.
“Can you tell me what's going on now?” Dahlia tried again, this time in Mondstadtich. As usual, he was ignored. Suddenly, cold water was being poured onto his forehead, it clung to his hair and streamed down his temples. “H-Heey! Stop that!”
He was getting pretty annoyed about things happening to him without his consent.
“With this, may you now feel the breeze forever more! Lift your voice to the wind and the Archon shall hear! With this baptism you are now a child of Barbatos! Let the wind lead!”
“We rejoice!”
Baptism? Dahlia didn't know much about baptism, such a thing died out alongside worship of the old gods, but he thought it at least had to be consensual. Did it not? Could you just surprise baptise people?
“In the eyes of the Lord now you are clean of sins and ready to take him in!”
“We rejoice!”
“Ready to take him in?” Dahlia never regretted not knowing more about the old Church of Barbatos than he did now. Was this normal? His brain was just making up the weirdest stuff.
He had to close his eyes for a second and remind himself that this wasn't real. This was just a nightmare. It will be over soon. Hopefully.
“Prepare the vessel.” The leader spoke in Common.
Prepare him?? Didn't they just do that? No, that was purification, what else were they planning?
Was his… brain planning?
Dreams are weird.
The two people holding the golden boxes moved to either side of him, one still on his right while the other to his left. Just as they touched the boxes and started to open then, the other members began chanting again, this time louder and clearer.
“Come to us, O Lord, let the wind lead.” Over and over and over again.
The boxes were fully opened now, one of the other members and the leader pulling out something shiny and metal from the boxes.
Knives?
What are they going to do with two knives?
…
WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO WITH TWO KNIVES?
“H-Hey, uhh, d-do you think that maybe we c-could talk this out first? Haha…” Dahlia tried to bring his arms closer to him before remembering that he was still restrained. He tried thrashing, desperately hoping anything could lessen the tightness of his binds, not taking his eyes off the leader.
The leader walked slowly and calmly towards his bound hand. They were planning on sacrificing him weren't they? Oh archons, he was going to die. He didn't want to die, he couldn't die! He was still so young…
“L-Look ok, if you want money, you can have it! All my money! I d-don't care! Or, I can do something for you. Yeah! We can work this out.”
The leader placed the knife between the loops of the rope. Dahlia could feel the cold metal press against both of his wrists. This was it wasn't it? He was going to die, he was going to be murdered, sacrificed for a god who may or may not even still exist. His life… for nothing?
“I-I'll do anything you want, please!” He could feel thick teardrops running down his face, his nose stuffing up. He couldn't take his eyes off the leader's knife pressed between the rope. “P-Please don't kill me! My mom and dad, my friends… they'll all wonder where I've gone… please” He puked even harder at his binds which started digging painfully into his skin. The leader remained unfazed.
A sharp pain bloomed in his wrists, starting out as a trickle it soon felt like his wrists were on fire. He couldn't help but cry out. He could feel both knives cutting deep into his wrists.
“Help, please! Don't do this!” He was having trouble breathing, trying to pull his wrists closer to him. The act just irritated the deep cuts more.
He could see a dark red liquid seeping from the rope, oh Archons, that was his blood.
“Please, please, please!” He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop the blood leaking out of his veins.
The leader raised their arms again, knife stained red with his blood.
“O Archon, we've perfected this vessel just for you! We hand it over to you completely! For this is but one gift to you, to pay for the thousands you have left us!”
The chanting grew louder as they all slowly approached his body. He could feel them too watching the blood drain from his wrists.
Dahlia couldn't feel his hands anymore. His eyes were locked on his wrist, watching in morbid fascination as the blood kept coming. It seemed never ending, bubbling up and staining the pure white cloth underneath him red.
The leader was saying something else, Dahlia didn't care anymore. It was hard to care anymore. It felt like his mind was slowly slipping away, weariness taking over his being. The blood was still coming, it must be pooling at the bottom of the alter now.
His legs had gone numb. He didn't care. All he could do was watch.
Watch as his life, his hopes and dreams, washed out of him in a never ending stream of red.
Would he be missed? Would his friends and family be left wondering what happened to him? Would they mourn him for a while before turning back to their regular schedule?
Would they forget him? Only a memory, a picture, a fleeting moment. When someone asks ‘Who's that?’ maybe they'll remember enough to go ‘That's Dahlia’.
Would they even learn how he died? Or maybe he would just remain missing, his parents holding onto any hope that their son might still be alive.
Until, even they lose hope…
No longer a person… just a thought. Just memories. Just a face in a photo, until even that is forgotten.
Someone grabbed his face and forced some foul tasting bitter liquid down his throat. Dahlia could barely swallow it.
He was tired. He was just really tired. He knew that if he closed his eyes he would never wake up again.
Last words… he should say something clever. His last chance to make a mark on this world.
What should… he say…
His mind was slipping from him as he was dragged deeper into the depths of unconsciousness.
He took one last look at the world beyond the open window. It was a beautiful night, a full moon shining brightly upon his demise. He couldn't feel the breeze anymore, but if he listened closely, over all the chanting, he swore he could hear the breeze through the leaves of a tree.
“I'm… sorry…” He whispered.
Somewhere, perhaps deep in the crevasses of his mind, a lyre played a soft tune, lulling him to sleep.
He closed his eyes, and let unconsciousness overtake him.