Bonds of the Fallen

Bat dragged herself out of bed, her head heavy with the lack of sleep from the night before. The day was filled with the daunting task of finding something suitable to wear for the ceremony tonight. She sighed, knowing that a trip to the festival market was in her immediate future. Ilka had given her the day off after a stern lecture on the importance of making informed, deliberate decisions. Bat had a sneaking suspicion that Ilka was rarely surprised or caught off guard, and she wondered if Ilka had been as shocked as she had been when she rushed out of work to register for the selection.

The festival market was a riot of color and noise, with vendors hawking their wares. Bat recognized a few of the vendors from the Dark Market with surprise. Bat’s eyes searched the stalls selling formal attire, the beautiful gowns with intricate embellishments and sparkling stones swinging gently on thin hangars. She wasn’t interested in anything fancy; she needed something simple and elegant. Her eyes landed on a black one-shoulder dress. It had a sleeveless bodice on one side and a long sleeve on the other. A long bow topped the sleeve, its tails falling elegantly down the back of the dress.

“What a lovely choice,” the vendor commented as she carefully wrapped the dress. “I would recommend you wear her hair up,” She winked as she handed her the box.

A blush crept up Bat’s cheeks as she took the box from the vendor, thanking her before returning home.

Bat gazed at her reflection in the mirror in the safety of her modest living quarters. She felt like a wholly different person. The woman staring back at her from the mirror was confident and ready to face whatever came her way tonight. With one last look, she walked to the festival, determined in her newfound sense of purpose.

Outside the ceremony hall, Bat felt the pulse of celebratory rhythms vibrating through the air. Her gaze landed on Rorick. His suit was a vision of luxury that was out of place for someone of Slaingard, his posture one of arrogant assurance.

“The next time you see me, I will be one of the Harii,” he boasted with an arrogant grin, his voice tinged with the kind of satisfaction that only came from those who were too accustomed to unearned respect and recognition. “My family will be proud to add a warrior to their ranks.” His words were laced with the sweet poison of pride, spoken loudly enough for those passing by to catch a whiff of his impending ascension.

His every step towards the ceremony was a study in self-importance, his eyes gleaming with the reflection of a future bathed in glory. But as he reached the threshold, a wall of flesh and steel barred his path. Two Harii stood before him, their expressions carved from stone, their stance unyielding. Bat watched, a silent observer to the unfolding scene, as Rorick’s hands animated the air with his protest, each word a desperate clawing against the cold dismissal of the warriors.

Bat’s presence, unnoticed until then, became the target of Rorick’s brewing storm as he turned on his heel. His gaze swept over her, a dark cloud passing over the stars, and his lips twisted into a sneer.

“You! You had something to do with this!” The accusation flew from him like an arrow, sharp and meant to wound.

He stormed towards her, a disruption of silk and entitlement. His finger jabbed the air, directing the weight of his accusation at her with the force of a gavel slamming down. Bat met his advance, her gaze unwavering as she prepared to deflect the blow of his groundless blame. Rorick was not one to seek answers when there was a convenient scapegoat before him.

Rorick’s game was one of power and perception, and Bat would not yield the field so quickly.

Bat attempted to step around him, to leave the suffocating cloud of Rorick’s inflamed ego, but he was an eclipse in her path, a darkness she could not avoid. “Leave me alone, Rorick. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice a cool stream flowing over hot embers.

“They won’t let me in. They said I wasn’t selected. No one agreed to turn me.” His words spilled out, laced with disbelief and anger, as he closed the gap between them.

Her eyes locked onto his, as fierce and steady as the north star. “Maybe you were right after all,” she retorted, her voice a weapon forged in the fires of her resolve. “Everyone knows who you are.” Her words were a mirror, reflecting his fears, revealing the hollow man inside.

She sidestepped him gracefully, leaving Rorick standing there, a figure of confusion and bubbling rage. He turned to the door only to find the unwavering Harii blocking his entrance again. His protests became a desperate plea for an audience that had already turned away, his situation unnoticed by the indifferent stone faces of the Harii. Bat felt the weight of his glare on her back, but it was no more burdensome than a gnat quickly flicked away. She moved through the crowd, her spirit untouched.

Once safely inside, the ceremony hall took her breath away—the ceiling adorned with statues of gods and other beings engaged in epic battles. The figures shifted to show scenes of a Norn standing between the gods and other beings. In the final image, Val led the Vampir in agriculture, trade, philanthropy, and cities rising from the ground. The beauty of it all was overwhelming.

Humans and Vampir moved seamlessly together. The space was alive with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic beat of music. Intricate patterns of gold and silver adorned the walls, glinting in the light of the torches. The air filled with the sweet smell of burning incense, electric with excitement and anticipation for the Ceremony of the Valkyrie. A grand staircase led to private ceremonial rooms reserved for those participating in the ritual.

Bat stood in the middle, accepting a glass of champagne from a server weaving through the crowd. She took a moment to take it all in. She had never seen anything like it before. As she stood there, the bubble of the champagne dancing on her tongue, Bat couldn’t help but think about how far she had come from the small girl she once was.

As the crowd shifted and mingled, a Vampir with the lithe, assured movements of a predator on the prowl caught her eye. He was all dark hair and piercing steel-blue eyes that stood out against the pristine cut of his suit. A hint of suspenders teased from under his jacket, a promise of his careful attention to detail. He balanced a flute of bubbling champagne in one hand while the other caught the dim light, not with the warm hue of skin but with the sleek, dark sheen of expertly forged metal.

“I couldn’t resist the chance to come over and say hello. I’m Acel,” he introduced himself, a grin playing on his lips that showed off a chiseled jawline. He raised his glass to her slightly—a toast to their meeting. “You stood out at the registration desk yesterday, and I appreciate memorable sights.”

Her gaze naturally drew to the sleek mechanical arm, but his presence captivated her. Her eyes grew wide in recognition. “You’re the one who saved those children from the blast.”

With a flourish, Acel took a sip, the metal of his arm catching the light in a dance of shadow and shine. “A casualty of duty,” he quipped, his laugh a melody that harmonized with the ambient music. “And regrettably, it doesn’t grow back. Immortal life, but not without its quirks.” He surveyed her with keen eyes that stripped away the masquerade of the gathering. “Most women can’t help but stare,” he winked.

She found herself momentarily at a loss, her mind grappling with the reality of him standing before her. “I...I thought you had died,” she stuttered, a blush coloring her cheeks.

Acel moved his prosthetic arm with a skill that defied its inorganic nature. “Oh, it takes more than a bit of steel to weigh me down,” he assured her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a playful challenge. “And as for functionality,” he added, lowering his voice to a suggestive murmur, “it has its... advantages.” The insinuation hung between them.

She flashed him a daring smile over the rim of her champagne glass. “Fascinating,” she said, “I’m Batilde, but most people just call me Bat.”

The glint in Acel’s eyes sharpened, a playful predator mesmerized by the dance of its intrigued prey. “Is that so?” he teased. “Well, rumor has it that you’re seeking your own transformation. How do you know Val?”

Her response was a languid sip of champagne. “I don’t know him well. I had to put a name down.”

A single, expressive brow arched over Acel’s intrigued gaze. “And your first thought was to put down Val? That’s quite the leap.”

She shrugged. “Val is the Sire of the Fallen. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

His laughter was a rich, enveloping sound that wrapped around her. “A seemingly safe bet, maybe, but Val—the Sire of the Fallen—he’s a myth wrapped in an enigma. He’s never turned a soul.”

The revelation sent a shiver down her spine, her next sip of champagne a desperate gulp that ended in a cough. With reflexes, Acel relieved her of the empty flute, replacing it with a fresh glass, the clink of crystal against metal, an intimate note hanging between them.

Their fingers brushed a deliberate stroke that sent whispers of heat to her very core. “Why Sire of the Fallen, then?” she pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Acel leaned in, his proximity an intoxicating pressure. “Because, Bat, he was the first of us the gods made. He unwillingly bore us from his flesh as the gods made the rest of us.” He ran a finger up her exposed arm. “He’s the patron of lost souls who fall through the cracks, the humans who find redemption in his shadow. He doesn’t need to turn anyone to rule—he’s a king by another name, a savior to some.”

Bat found herself leaning into his space, drawn by the gravity of his presence. “And what about you, Acel? What do you rule?”

His lips hovered near hers, his breath mingling with her own. “Tonight, I’m considering the possibilities of ruling your attention—if you’ll permit it.”

With a mischievous head tilt, Bat finished her champagne in a single, bold gulp. “I do hope this all becomes less cryptic,” she quipped, her eyes alight with the thrill of the game they were playing.

Acel replaced her empty glass with water, his gaze showing concern. “You must pace yourself, especially if you’re serious about the ritual. They can’t initiate someone lost to the night’s indulgences, however tempting they may be.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk undercut the gesture. “I didn’t realize I’d brought my chaperone along.”

His chuckle was a low sound that stirred the air, sending a shiver along her spine. “Oh, the trials you’ll face, Bat, they’re just beginning. When Val stands before you, will you rise to the occasion? If he denies you, will you fly towards your new existence and defy the Norns by allowing another to turn you?”

Her response came as a coy flutter of lashes, her wink a spark igniting the space between them. “We’re about to see, aren’t we?” she teased.

The ceremony’s call to order yanked her attention from Acel back to the ritual that could alter her entire existence.

She gripped the glass of water like a lifeline, the cool liquid grounding her in the swirling opulence surrounding her.

The names of humans rang throughout the room, destinies sealed with each call. A sigh of relief escaped Bat when her name remained unspoken, an omission that left her path undefined.

In the grandeur of the unfolding ceremony, Acel’s mechanical arm presented itself as an anchor in the storm of uncertainty. “May I tempt you away for a moment? I want to show you a world beyond this one.”

Without hesitation, Bat placed her hand in his, the cool metal of his arm a reassuring presence. They navigated through the sea of bodies and into the lush gardens just outside. Here, the night bloomed with life, and the scent of nocturne roses twined through the air. The grounds outside, lit by the moon’s silver glow, cast a veil over the world, bathing the space in magic.

Acel led her to a machine, an enigma of silver and silence, waiting in the embrace of the greenery. Its delicate, precise movements held a grace that rivaled nature’s own, a triumph of the ingenuity of the Vampir. Its rhythmic movements were mesmerizing, a harmonious dance almost alive, emitting a delicate hum.

Bat’s eyes, reflecting the lunar light, sought Acel’s. ” Is this what you wanted to show me?” Her voice, barely above a whisper, wove into the night.

A softness, rare and fleeting, touched Acel’s features. “I grew up in a small, humble village. Hope was scarce, and miracles even scarcer,” he began, his voice a tender cadence. “My parents’ desperation led them to the Vampir. They pleaded with them to take me in. Instead, they returned with food and clean water.”

The machine hummed, its pulse a steady drumbeat of life-giving magic. “This creation alone can provide clean water to an entire city. Val’s vision was always to offer a crossroads of fate, where choice, not circumstance, would define us.” He paused, his gaze distant as he lost himself in the memory. “What I’m trying to say is, you have a choice. Your city will thrive, and you won’t be forced to change unless you desire to.”

“When did you choose to participate in the ritual?”

Acel’s voice was steady as he replied, “When I was old enough, I traveled to the festival, driven by a need to give back to those who had saved my family, my entire village. I wanted to be part of something bigger, to extend that help to others.” The starlight framed his silhouette.

“And do you regret your choice?”

He stepped closer, his presence a comforting flame in the night’s chill. “Regret has never shadowed my decision. And as for the one who will guide you through the transformation,” he breathed, his words a whisper against her skin, “regret will be as elusive to them as fate’s thread in a weaver’s tapestry.”

His lips brushed against hers, a fleeting caress that left her questioning its reality. But before she could react, he pulled away, his attention drawn to a figure emerging in the distance.

“Batilde, it is time for your ceremony. Please, come with me,” the figure called.

“Wait—just a moment,” she hesitated, pleading to the shadows. A hushed silence fell over the gardens as she returned to where Acel had stood, but he had vanished, leaving her alone to face her decision.