What exactly is thi—abruptly, before he could complete the thought, the grayness vanished, blurring away like mist over glass. In its stead, a strong weakness came over him, mind spinning as bile rose from his stomach..
He bent over, a putrid liquid pouring from his mouth onto the ground. It steamed on contact, releasing fumes of white pungent over his face. Merrin grimaced, slumping back with the weakness.
What was that? He thought apprehensively. This was a suddenness that shook his heart. He tried again, following the intuition that beckoned within him. The feeling that pulled at an instinct he never knew or developed.
Nothing happened!
Merrin started and tried again.. Yet nothing happened. The world remained the same; the walls dark and washed by the lamps' white light, the earth too retained its piles of filth and stone slabs.
No! he closed his eyes, holding the possibility that burned in his thoughts. It's not gone, he told himself. The intuition remains, so it's not gone.
Just give it a while, it will return. I didn't fail. He looked up at the roof, square patterns housing circles adorned the walls. This was a frame to the buildings of the night clan, he once heard the valor's preferred spirals. Odd.
His mind returned to the recent failure, and he told himself again that he didn't fail. It was a mishap; some outcome that was mundane to other casters. He had not lost it.
How can you be sure?
Merrin pressed his jaw and locked his eyes. Let me try again. Let me try again and see. He opened them and again reached into the recess of his self, feeling the notion of what he was to do.
Please work! Almighty, please work! He focused, straining his eyes to the highest limits. Yet nothing. No change had occurred. His heart now was sinking with a familiar coldness. Despair was soon to take him.
A heat flared on him. Merrin jolted, a smile curling on his lips. He was about to announce his success when he noticed something troubling; the world still remained in its gloomy state, but the heat…the heat was not spread around his body, no, it was in a spot.
Merrin grimaced, teeth chattering at the known pain of his arm. In the end, it was not some success to himself as a caster, what it was, was merely a call to the mines.
Merrin felt despair knock at his heart's doors. But he was to answer to the mine's call, and so he did. Standing up, folding the clothes, Merrin carried them and hid underneath a stone slab, before venturing out for the chasm.
It didn't happen. He told himself. This didn't happen. I won't fail them.
Merrin deliberately picked the rusted chain and axe; so old and worn, it barely served a function for the mines. But this was the one he was to take. After all, each time he took the newest or even had a thought of it, some life was lost to the chasm. Now that many looked up to him and saw him as some saviour, he would not fail them by causing another death.
Things needed to be different.
He tied the chains around his waist, trying his best to ignore the stares locked onto him. Slaves, miners, scrapers. All of them had heard of his actions the prior day; they had heard he was the reason many slaves taken by the sisters had returned.
Naturally, after making the witnesses, as they choose to call themselves, swear an oath to reveal nothing of what he had done, the larger number of Nightfell slaves thought him a foe. A foe who had taken the glory that the Gresendent sisters planned for them.
To them, being returned from the sisters meant a life of torture. A life of having to scrap and mine, only to be awarded bare cells weak enough to even purchase dried bread. They scorned him. Hated him. Merrin blissfully did not care for it. When the despair of their voices came over him, a light of realization washed over. This light, its source was the peace of what he had done.
He had saved many.
Even now, he still often found it a dream; a dream he hoped desperately to never awaken from. Who would want to?
You are no longer a caster! His thoughts whispered, and he ignored them.
He stood at the lip of the chasm, watching the spiral hole shrouded in dense darkness. At least that was before. Now, the lamps on the walls burned with a mad intensity. Their buzzing like the muffled voices of an army. And their light, now it shone intensely—bright enough that almost most of the upperparts of the chasm was revealed.
The stone surfaces, crude, rough, were washed by the whiteness, and despite the depths still veiled in darkness, that would likely end when the miners went down with their lamps.
Merrin stood at the lip, hands quivering at the depths. Why though? It wasn't like this was the first time he had jumped into them. So why was fear gripping him? He pondered for a while…Then realized why he felt such.
Among the eyes around the chasm that stared at him, some, few, yes, but some looked at him with pious reverence. Those were members of the sun witness. He shared the chasm with a few of them.
And this frightened him. After all, in the depths of the darkness with nothing but iron and stone, people could see sides to a person—make conclusions and impressions on who he was. What if he failed to live up to it?
What if he went down into those mines and instead of seeing him as what they believed, they instead saw the weakness he had?
No longer a caster. He vanished the thought. It took a breath to clear his mind. I just have to keep it together. I need to be alert, strong. He told himself.
For these people, he needed to be more.
He jumped off the edge, his chains screaming as they slapped against the chasm walls. It strained, but held him nonetheless. That was good enough. Better even, as it did not break or allow him a tumble to the certain death below.
Merrin took a moment to catch his breath, then raised the axe and pounded into the wall.
He had 6 days left. Six days before the caster to take him arrived. Mere days before he would be snatched away from these people. This was something he dreaded.
But what can I do? Merrin thought, punching the axe into the wall. Dust flying, with heated sand falling. He remained in this state, pondering this.
What was the point? You are no longer a caster! His mind snapped at him, and he felt the coldness surge through him. Fear. He was so very afraid, and this he knew, but again, he shifted to another thought.
The sister gave me seven days, so what can I do with that?
What could he do to avoid this? Run, escape with the witnesses? A stupid idea at best. For one, Nightfell was said to be close to the black sea, which meant it was likely surrounded by an abundance of fallen.
Weak fallen; fallen beasts, as more powerful ones would have died to the clan casters and excubitors. Yet, what could a band of slaves do against fallen beasts? What might be the outcome if they were ambushed by a horde of them?
Death was the inevitability!
The second possibility was escaping within Nightfell. Despite it being the territory of the clan of Night, the house of Noctis, it was still likely a spacious land, hence it wouldn't lack plenty of places to conceal oneself. However, that only gave them a grace period of more time. A grace that would eventually break after hunger and fear shattered what remained.
What could he do then? What options did he have? The witnesses think I'm not a caster, but I know I am.
Lies!
For one, there is likely no such thing as a sunBringer. I haven't heard of it, and they likely just formed the word as a testament to what I did… he realized.
But I am a caster. I snapped at the moment of death…Merrin cleaned the sweat from his brow. But I'm also that…El'shadie. Whatever that is…It could be some special order of casters. Like veilCounsel or that other one. So, which one is mine? What can I do with any of this?
He raised his axe, then stopped midair. What exactly am I doing? I have barely seven days before I lose everything again, and here I am, mining…Mists! Weren't casters meant to be some divine beings? They used and imitated the powers of the almighty, sure, but still, that imitation should have some relevance in it.
It would if you could do anything like that!
Merrin froze, silent. Now, he was out of what to think—what to distract himself with. And in that silence of mind, the fear came. The realization that he had lost the one thing that made him special.
Mists! No, not special. The one thing that could save him and these people, he had lost it long before he was allowed to grow it. It felt like a person who had dusted themselves with ash only to have it washed away by the rain.
Wasted.
Fruitless
Useless.
Merrin. He was all that—useless and without purpose.
"Mist this!" he snapped and hammered hard at the wall.
Bang!