Empty.
Creak!
The only word to describe the scene in front of them, as the wooden door creaked open.
It was expected.
Tap. Tap.
Their boots tapped the stone floor, echoing the sound against the hall's pale air.
Loud.
Wooooh!
The faint smell of damp rot hit, flowing through the air as their eyes tracked the halls stone cracked pillars.
It was spacious.
'...A church?', the thought ran simply through Saphira's mind, as a cold breath misted the room.
A faint memory flowed through those crimson eyes:
She was kneeling in a chapel, her mother's warm hand on her shoulder as wave of watchers protected them.
The warmth....
This was nothing like that.
Tap.
Rows of seats spread the hall, almost like the procession of a church; with no attendance.
The rows looked too neat, too waiting as if any deformities would be seen as sin.
Maybe their appearance would be seen as the same?
Wooooooh!
For the wind emerging through the cracks, whistled with faint violence.
Riven's gaze swept the chamber as the chill set in; those grey eyes narrowed as though piercing its stillness.
'...Of course.'
Whatever little hope the two had for potential "human" contact?
If it wasn't already clear....
The notebook.
The whistling wind.
The lumps outside.
The whole feel of the village's exterior had screamed it.
It was undeniable.
This place was hollow.
Wooooooh!
'...Is it all so cruel?'
A question.
One Riven couldn't answer.
Tap.
He turned, looking at Saphira.
Tap. Tap.
She stepped forward, walking a path straight down those rows of seats.
Slow. Steady.
He couldn't see her face...
But he could feel, she was just like him.
Grrr!!
'Ignor-'
Grrruummmblee!!
You can't ignore that.
Not possible.
His stomach coiled. There was no choice, and no way to control it.
The sound of hunger gnawed, louder than the fear deeply rooted in both those young souls.
...Fear of dying.
Fear of being forgotten, just like this village.
Wooooooh!
In that silence, hunger wasn't just in their bellies.
It was in the air.
In the wood.
In the snow.
The village starved with them.
Tap. Tap.
Riven moved, following her path through the rows of seats.
His eyes lingered on the cracks and dark patches festering all over.
It was just like his mind.
Woooooh!
His steps passed a wandering Saphira, as her fingers graced the old wooden seats, possibly thinking about a simpler time.
Tap. Tap.
Riven slowed as the aisle stretched ahead.
The benches rose on either side, neat and endless as his eyes lifted.
There was a banner stuck overhead in the rafters.
Woooooh!
It swayed faintly with the draft.
Its symbol was blurred, eaten by frost and time, as the colours drained until only the cloth remained; a relic that no longer remembered what it represented.
Riven's mouth parted as a breath of air exhaled.
Was it a laugh?
At the front of it all, sitting in the centre was a crooked stand that waited upon an elevated floor.
The kind priests would speak from.
It's wood was darkened at the sides, grains warped by age....
But it endured, still upright.
That meant something, right?
Wooooooh!
But its use wasn't for worship, nor prayer any longer.
The silence it spread was heavier than any speech or any lecture.
'...Judgement'.
Tap. Tap.
Riven's gaze stayed locked onto the rooted stand.
It loomed, as if daring him to listen to words that couldn't be spoken again.
Frozen.
Behind him, sound spread:
Tap.
Saphira's hand brushed along a seat's rest. Her fingertips traced the frost-slick grain, as if trying to scrub away its cover.
It's shell.
She paused momentarily, as a frown rubbed onto her face.
Hesitation.
It took a moment before she moved again.
"Haaa..."
A breath left her before she did; one that filled the air with a cloud of warmth.
She lowered herself into the bench, slowly.
Creak.
Her knees pressed together as her back met its rest, shoulders trembling.
She sat there, Riven in the side of her view, but she wasn't focused on him.....
She clutched her hands, cupping them tight against her lips as her head bowed.
She sat there; the cold pressed through her thin fabric, as the wood groaned beneath her knees, yet she didn't move.
'Please...if there's anything left. Isyra, hear me. Don't let this be the end. Don't let us fade....'
A prayer.
An action she had valued highly, for her mother had guided her through it.
She had knelt beside her in the same posture, whispering names of constellations as if stars themselves could shelter a soul. That warmth was gone now, but the act was eternal, and it trembled out of her....
Wooooh!
The pull of the wind at his back, caused Riven to turn around.
The sight of Saphira hunched over, on a wooden bench met his view.
'What are....'
He stood still as he fixed on her bowed head.
The words she mouthed were too soft to hear, but he understood them all the same.
Faith.
A hope clung to when nothing else remained.
To what was she praying?
To who?
He didn't know.
'...Does she?'
The thought lingered, but it posed another...
'...Will it answer you?'
Grrrr!!
'Will it feed us?'
Tap. Tap.
He turned from the prayer, the sound of her whispered breath faded....but still carried over through the hollow hall, gracing his ears.
Tap. Tap.
He stepped through a narrow aisle, weaving past rows.
Searching.
Anything.
A piece of wood...
A small glove...
'...Anything.'
Wooooooh!
To find something in such a decrepit building, was--
THAK!
He found something.
It caught him low by the benches; a heap, submerged in darkness and dust.
Creak.
His fingers brushed its surface, as the other rested on the bench; knees meeting the cold ground.
Stiff. Frozen
Cloth.
Woooooh!
Saphira's lips moved still, hushed words barely leaving her mouth.
The prayer was soft and pleading, but it was disturbed--
Crrkk.
The sound cut through the hall.
Her head snapped up, hands still clasped.
A broken prayer.
At the far row, Riven straightened, his visage emerging from the dark.
In his hands she froze....
It was cloth.
A sleeve trailing dust as he pulled it free from beneath the bench.
A long dark blue coat.
Woooh!
Riven paused, staring at it momentarily.
The howl of the wind seemed to mock his budding emotions.
He placed it on the bench before dropping down.
Creak.
It didn't stop there, he pulled more:
Scrrkkk.
The fabric bounced against the wood, stiff with age.
Dust rained down in threads...
Cough!
He exhaled, as it carried the smell of both stale and metallic.
Another coat, grey in colour; heavy and worn.
It cradled in his grip.
Its seams were shabby, its edges bitten by frost; but it was enough to ward off the cold.
Crrkk!
He lowered once more, pulling again.
Beneath lay pants; dulled by time, but untouched by rot.
They were folded as if someone had meant to return.
Luck.
Better than what they were wearing currently.
The academy uniform dressed upon Riven?
It was torn at the edges and unrecognisable in others. The silver seams and charcoal design was dirtied; dried blood and darkened hashes rid the clothes of any symbolism to Riven's previous department.
And Saphira?
Her layers were simply too thin.
Coming from that ceremony, she wasn't dressed too glamorously, but it was clear to be carefully handcrafted. It was a uniform; royal in cut, built from crimson and silver threads, the mark of her house was stitched on her spine; a pair of golden phoenixes glowing with a crimson aura present, but sullied against the Veil.
Woooooh!
Darkened.
Just like her.
Creak.
It was noble attire. But one she had not expressed or revelled in.
The Veil didn't care.
Tap. Tap.
She stood up, walking towards him.
'...Isyra'
Her thoughts travelled to that whispered plea, still hanging in the air.
Maybe this was the answer; rough cloth, dust-stained, frost-bitten.....but warm.
Her red eyes flashed as she got closer.
Woooooh!
Riven's grip lingered for a moment before he let go, to him this wasn't an answer.
It wasn't mercy, but the least he could do.
A scrap of survival.
Nothing more.
But it was something....
A slight flicker flashed through those dull grey eyes.
Tap. Tap.
"Here." he called, holding out a bundle.
"Pants, and a heavier coat." he uttered, staring at her thin royal layers hidden under blankets.
"Yours won't last."
Wooooh!
The wind pushed as her steps finally reached him.
A short blink took hold, as her fingers brushed the dust-stiff fabric.
"What about you?"
His hand hovered over the other piece; a long coat, dark blue, frayed at the cuffs, but not the same heaviness or warmth.
Creak.
He threw it over his shoulders without hesitation.
The symbol of Eldris; it's fiery symbol of energy, covered in an instant.
Chak--oosh!
It slid on simply, as its length rolled down, nearly passing his waist.
"I'll manage."
Woooooh!
Her lips parted, as if wanting to say more.
Instead she clutched the layers to her chest...
A faint breath escaping:
"...Thank you."
The words lingered, fragile against the cold.
Simple.