"Kakaka!!" The voice laughed sharply, not offended by Jinn's words. "Take the water of the sacred mountains and the dew of the Moonless night. Empty the bottles at the same time. Remember, under no circumstance should one drop of either fall before the other. Otherwise there is only one alternative—failure."
Without even blinking, the boy took the bottles in each hand. One was filled with clear water and the other with a milky dew. He uncorked each bottle with his mouth, raised them above the Mortar, and flipped his hands simultaneously.
"!!!"
The smile in the air froze with alarm.
The two liquids streamed down the vial into the mixture so fast that there was no time to even check whether they fell at the same time or not.
The moment they touched the broth, something changed. The gory mix suddenly started devouring the liquids as if it had come to life. Bubbles started to pop all around its surface, letting out puffs of gray smoke.
"Hurry and add the sacred blood!" The voice said alarmingly. "Make sure it's only one drop!"
The way the voice spoke, it was clear that everything had gone smoothly.
Jinn quickly raised the last vial he had 'borrowed' from the priest without his knowledge. Removing the glass top, Jinn slowly tilted the vial carefully as the crimson blood glowing with golden divinity inside slid on the glass surface.
Drip!
Under his carefully measured movements, only a single drop fell into the bowl, and then…
Gurggle!! Gurgle!
The concoction suddenly started to convulse; a golden glow covered the mortar, hiding the contents underneath it. The radiance of the glow made Jinn squint his eyes. Just when he thought it would continue to expand, the glow subsided, and he could finally see the contents of the mortar once more.
'It changed?!'
The Chunky bowl of gruesome bloody horror was gone, leaving none of its old trace behind. What was left was a silky smooth silver liquid, glistening with golden threads that subtly moved around the bowl.
"This is it?" Jinn asked, although he already knew the answer in his heart.
"From here on, everything will be similar to what you saw the priest doing." The fog dispersed from the air, leaving Jinn on his own with a….
"Good luck; you will need it."
Jinn narrowed his eyes at the Mortar and then stood up. Keeping the things he still needed, he moved everything else away from the area he needed to paint the altar.
Besides the concoction inside the mortar, there was a packet full of root-like substance and a thermos.
Walking back to the bowl, he crouched down and dipped his fingers in the liquid. A cold sensation touched him as the divine concoction dripped from his fingertips. At this very moment, a very odd sense of calmness filled his heart, dispersing all the doubts and confusion.
'I can do this.' With newfound confidence, Jinn's fingers danced on the cold hard floor, creating a ritualistic glyph on it.
With the last stroke of the leftover liquid from the mortar, Jinn stood up to admire his work and felt a bit cringy inwardly. 'I am no artist, but this should work.'
He picked up the packet and opened it up. The string fell on the ground, and the cloth slid around his hand to reveal several thin twigs of wood.
The Soul Vine
It was smooth to touch, the brown wooden sticks, some twisted and some straight.
Taking a few of them, Jinn opened the thermos and dropped the twigs inside. Closing the bottle, let it rest for a minute before shaking it hard.
"What about the pendant? The mark of the Order of the Seven."
Standing in the middle of his creation, Jinn poured himself a cup of the warm broth when he recalled the item that the priest had given to other kids. They were all holding the insignia of The Order while they underwent the awakening.
But Jinn… he had nothing like that.
"Like I said previously… you are different from others, and you have known about this since your birth."
"Here goes everything…" After everything was finally in place, Jinn took a deep breath and drank a mouthful of the herb broth he had prepared.
He closed his eyes and focused all of his attention on clearing his mind and feeling any foreign sensation.
***
The clouds above the city of Veloria rumbled like a raging god, ready to unleash his wrath. Strong wind blew across the city, shaking everything it could, awakening many from their sleep.
Fortunately, the orphanage had its windows bolted shut, preventing any loud noises from disturbing anyone. But that could not be said about the others who lived in the city.
"Where did this sudden storm come from?" sitting under the warm glow of an oil lamp in her room, sister Agnes looked at the swinging windows in worry. She got up from the bed, allowing the Mexican dress she wore to flow down.
"Bless us, Lady Lucia…" She pulled a single eye-shaped emblem from her neck and kissed it before climbing back into the bed.
Ting!
Ting!
A giant bell rang on top of the obsidian tower in the center of the city, assaulted by the torrent of wild winds. The voice echoed through the spire, but miraculously the sound of the bell never left the vicinity of the tower.
The bell looked ancient and was covered in all sorts of unique characters. Tied to the bell was a thick red rope that seemed to be acting as some sort of restriction, locking something away.
What? Or why? No one knew.
Inside the spire, several men dressed in priest clothing rushed out of their rooms and gathered in the gloomy hall.
Their faces were plastered with panic and shock. The first thing they did upon arriving in the room was to raise their heads. And through the gaps in the ceiling, they could see the bell, still swinging in full motion with no intention of stopping anytime soon.
The chilling wind and the heavy ringing of the bell made their hearts beat faster and their spines shudder.
These priests all had the same pendant on their wrists. The symbol was carved on the pendant, walls, and gates.
The Seven stars formed a complex pattern that looked like a shield.
Just then… the gates of the room opened with a loud bang, and an old man walked into the hall.
His long beard was wrapped around his waist, acting like a belt. His white hair swept the floor, shining under the slightest shade of light inside the room. There was a look of seriousness on his face.
The old man stopped and looked up at the bell before speaking.
"We all know what this means."
The others started whispering among themselves, their faces struck with horror as if their worst fear had come true, and the bell never stopped banging.
"Is it really happening?" one of the older and calmer priests stepped forward and expressed his worries. "Is the great evil spoken of in the ancient texts about to be released, Bishop Marx?"
Everyone suddenly stopped speaking and looked at the man before turning their heads to the oldest man in the room. The old man, Bishop Marx, seemed to have the highest position of authority among them all.
Bishop Marx nodded gravely. "I am afraid it is true, father Seth. I am not sure when it will be or how it will happen. However, according to our texts, now that this bell—the artifact blessed by The God of The End himself—has rung…"
Bishop Marx scanned the room, but he had no words of comfort for anyone; they all knew what was coming.
"The prophesied hour has arrived. Alert your people and make sure this news does not leave this order."
Everyone understood the gravity of the situation and nodded seriously.
"If our hearts are righteous and our actions are just, we will prevail through this dark era just as our gods prevailed over every other darkness in past epochs." Leaving those words in the air, Bishop Marx left the room. The doors closed behind him, drowning the murmurings of the priests.
Bishop Marx stopped after ascending the spiral stone stairs lit by lights set into the wall.
He stood in front of a closed gate, but his attention was not on the door but toward a dark corner in the hall.
"What are your orders, your Excellency?" A voice whispered from the shadow, tinged with respect and obedience.
The Bishop turned his head to look at the gate before him, his head shining under the glow of the light in the room. He took a deep breath and replied, "Deploy the friends of the order and have them look for the source of the doom."
Bishop Marks paused once more, his thoughts unknown but his gaze contemplative. The Giant bell on the top of the spire continued to ring; each time it struck, a ripple would course through the air itself.
'Thirteen times…' he thought, realizing that the bell had never rung again and that all sounds seemed to have drowned along with it. The look on his face turned solemn. "Tell them to eradicate anything that gives them even the slightest of doubt that it might be the source of all evil."
The voice never replied back, but Bishop Marks moved on. He raised his hands and opened the door in front of him.
The room was filled with old books and scrolls. Despite how old everything looked, there was not a speck of dust.
Under the warm glow of the colorful lamps in the room, he walked up to an open book placed on the table in the center of the room.
His gaze slipped through all the detailed texts and landed on something written in an uneven handwriting at the end of the page.
When the Thirteen descend, cloaked in shadow,
The Seven's reign shall end in sorrow.
Earth will quake, skies will bend,
Their fall shall herald the world's end.
At the source of all, a single lost soul.