Some betrayals strike like lightning. Others drip slowly, like poison in a well. But the betrayal in Lumenfall? It doesn't roar. It whispers. In voices you know. In hands you trust. And the cruelest ones don't come from strangers. They come from home.
The Gift of Betrayal
Brann left the dome. He couldn't face the people of Lumenfall, not yet. He couldn't face the questions, the fawning, or the pressure of a fate he never asked for.
Instead, Brann found himself drawn to the only place he'd ever truly felt useful: his father's stone quarry.
He grabbed an old chisel that had been tossed aside and started chipping away at a rough stone aimlessly. He needed to understand, he needed answers.
Why had Baldur chosen him?
The god of peace and righteousness had said his name. In the ritual of inheritance, it had been Brann who was crowned heir to Lumenfall. Not Fridus, the eldest. Not Macca or Hann or Silas. Him.
What makes me worthy? He thought to himself.
He dropped the stones into a bin and turned, but a voice stopped him.
"Brann."
Brann turned around with the chisel still in hand, startled. It was Silas, his second-eldest brother. He was stepping out of the shadows and smiling for once.
"Silas?" Brann's brow furrowed. This was unexpected.
"We want to take you somewhere," Silas said, extending a hand.
"We?" Brann blinked.
Josias stepped into view. "It's a surprise."
"Now?" Brann glanced at the darkening sky.
"Yes," a new voice said, and Hann came into view too.
"It's something only rulers are allowed to see. A secret of Lumenfall." Fridus added with a grin as he stepped out of the dark.
Brann's eyes lit up. A secret? For him? Could it be? Maybe they were proud. Maybe they saw this as an honor for the family, not a slight against them. "Really? I thought—"
"Come," Macca interrupted, stepping forward and clapping him on the shoulder a little too hard.
"Your destiny awaits, brother." Fridus added.
Brann followed his brothers and they led him deep into the forests. They crossed the northern woods, where fog appeared, almost like ghosts at rest. It was getting too dark, and Brann didn't like the dark. He began to feel uneasy.
"Where… where are we going?" he asked quietly.
No one responded. Macca was walking directly in front of Brann, and his large hand tightened around something hidden at his side.
Brann stopped walking as soon as the metal caught his eye. "Why do you have that, Macca?"
Fridus turned, and his smile was gone. What twisted his features was a sneer that made him almost unrecognizable. He chuckled darkly.
Fridus walked towards Brann slowly. "You really believed it, didn't you? That you—you—were chosen over us?"
Brann's heart began to pound. He trembled and stammered as he spoke.
"It wasn't my doing," he pleaded, taking a step back. "Baldur chose—"
"Baldur made a mistake!" Hann gritted with fury.
Macca stepped closer, he wasn't hiding the blade now. "You? You've always been nothing."
"A dog trailing behind his betters. A worthless child clinging to our father's teats!" Silas seethed.
Brann's mouth opened, and his eyes went wide. The accusations from his brother stung more than any poisonous bite.
"I never wanted to take anything from you—"
"And yet you have!" Josias shouted. He rushed forward with contempt. "The throne. The legacy. Our future!"
Brann saw something in his brother's eyes that he had never seen before, murderous intent. His instinct screamed at him to run. And he ran.
Branches tore at his arms. Roots clawed his feet. But they were faster. They had planned this. Brann looked back as he ran and saw his brothers were closing in on him.
"Please. I'm still your brother—"
"Not anymore!"
Hann moved first. He punched him hard on his ribs, throwing him off his balance. Just as he tried to regain his footing, he felt Macca's blade slice across his left leg.
"Arghhhh!!"
Blood began seeping through his plain garment. He stumbled, feeling the ground tilt beneath him. Then came the kick. Fridus used his boot to stomp heartlessly on Brann's chest.
"Stop!" he cried. "Please! Fridus, I'm begging you!"
Then came the kick from Silas that sent him sprawling. He tumbled over the edge of a ravine as rocks tore at his skin. His skull hit a jagged stone with a crack.
As blood trickled down his head, his vision burst into white. Through the dizzying and defeating ringing in his ears, he heard one voice before he blacked out.
Josias.
"Bury him. The animals will do the rest."
The moon had reached its zenith, and the clock had struck midnight. The woods were colder now, and the ravine was eerily silent.
But in the silence, a new sound came to light. It wasn't the rustling of leaves or the chirping of a cricket; it was a song.
A piercing and strange voice rose from beneath the earth. A foul hymn, sung in a tongue that had not touched mortal ears in a thousand years.
The Goddess of Song, Saga, wept. Not out of sorrow.
But fury. She sang a forbidden song. One that was said to undo crowns and crack holy stones. Her voice lured not gods, but what the gods had chained.
"Rise, host of the Five. Let the deeds of the cursed servants of Recabither return.
Let the Hell-Father breathe again… let Archinobilim crawl forth… let Indolith awaken… and let Sor Molg march."
The five vile ones heard her; the five servants of Recabither, fallen, despicable, sons of Kelvathar.
The first to rise was Hell-father. His breath withered the air and his spirit snatched the souls of crows mid-flight. And their bodies fell like black snow.
Then came Archinobilim, sometimes called the Insect Lord. Every crack of the ravine squirmed with beetles and wasps and gnats as his spirit awakened.
Next was Indolith, Brann's eyes immediately shot wide open very briefly the moment Indolith's spirit awakened.
And then the earth shook and the grass around Brann immediately died when Sor Molg rose.
Their spirit form hovered around Brann's broken, bleeding and almost dead body.
The Hell-father spoke. "This one is hollow," he rasped.
Followed by Indolith. "Yet unclaimed."
Sor Molg grunted. "He has tasted betrayal."
Archinobilim clicked his tongue. "Then he belongs to us."
As Saga's voice continued, the spirit of the five turned into darkness, deeper than any shadow, and began to ooze from the very ground around Brann.
It came together, swirling like smoke, before rushing into his open wounds, into his mouth, his nose and his eyes.
Abruptly, Brann's eyes snapped open. But they were no longer his. He screamed as the five servants of Recabither took host. The sound wasn't human. From the mountaintop, birds fled and animals hid.
And from far away, the goddess Saga finished her song. And smiled.