The Greatest Sin

I am a man,

And we are but men,

I am but one pebble in an avalanche,

I am but one spark in an inferno,

I am but one drop in a flood,

A drop in a flood,

A spark in an inferno,

A pebble in an avalanche,

I am meaningless,

but we are not.

- Second stanza of ‘Order’s Advance’, a common poem among Paladins of Maisara. Written during the Great War.

Elijah Arad made a final round around the fort. He had been appointed rank of High-Seeker for this expedition, it was a sorry task. Only a few of the higher ups took notice of it, the Seekers were marshalling in preparation for the movements Maisara’s wretched Paladins and Fortia’s miserable guardians were making on Olympiada. Brilliant Goddess Allasaria, the light of his life, was meeting with them everyday and making plans upon plans of what to do when those two cursed relics of the past finally snapped.

And then Atis had gone missing.

Obviously it had to be investigated, there was no choice. Allasaria lead the Pantheon, it was her righteous responsibility as leader of the White Pantheon to investigate what happened. The Seekers themselves could not care less, Atis was another relic. The only difference between Maisara, Fortia and him was the former two still tried to claim relevance in the modern world.

When a piece of history disappears from a museum, the curators obviously have to go look for it.

And so Elijah Arad had ended up here. In Eastern Karaina, far past the edge of civilization. Away from the continent of Epa, closer to the ancient land of Guguo than anywhere else. The last place Atis had been confirmed, although the image was only a blurry photo taken by a surveillance drone from high above.

Elijah crushed another piece of loose rock under his plate armour. A heavy suit of golden-steel, handmade by Divine Theosius, of the Forge. The death of blacksmithing as a profession had led to the God growing weaker, but there was no one who could create arms as he did. Elijah came upon two sentries he had ordered to keep watch. He wasn’t worried, but it felt like the trees had eyes here, as if every shadow held a monster about to pounce. It was a cursed place, any place where a God had died would be a cursed place.

He simply couldn’t sleep today. The rest of the men couldn’t either. The heavy rain and thunderstorm outside only made the mood even gloomier.

Elijah walked back to the throne-room of the ancient dwarven hold. This place had been obviously cleaned up after the battle. Blood still smattered the walls, the broken Guguoan blades had been piled off to the side, the bodies had been removed, taken to only the Gods knew where.

His men had tried to bring some warmth to the atmosphere. A dozen campfires littered the grand palace in between the tall square columns, although half of them were shattered. The ceiling had enough holes to were smoke was not a problem, it wafted gently to the upper floors and then made its escape through more of the fort’s wounds. On the throne, they had placed their most precious relic.

A simple golden vase, small and reinforced with modern alloys. It held the relic that had left the museum: Atis’ soul. The God had not dispersed yet, but a soul in itself was useless to mortals. It would have to be brought back to Olympiada before the Divines could communicate with it.

Elijah sat down on the steps leading up the throne room and wondered if he would get any sleep today. The men must have felt the same, each campfire had a few Seekers by it. Some were cooking, some were quietly exchanging whispers. Only a few were confident enough to sleep, and even then, Elijah questioned if any of them would actually feel the sweet embraces of dreams today.

Could anyone sleep at the site of a God’s death?

Elijah stopped pondering the question as another blast of thunder shook the fort. He supposed this boredom was exactly why none of the higher-ups wanted this job. It was a simple fetch and return. The soul-jar had done all the work itself, they were merely guards for the object.

Elijah leaned back and closed his eyes. Even a few hours of sleep would do well to keep the chills of fatigue away.

A minute passed. Or maybe an hour. Too short a time for sleep, but too long for active thought; the worst of both worlds. Elijah was roused out of his solace by a Samuel’s shouting: “EVERYONE WAKE UP! HIGH-SEEKER! YOUR PRESENCE IS NEEDED!” He took a look at that grand doorway, it’s stone doors now laying shattered on the ground, it had been pushed in. Samuel stood there, fully armed, red in the face as if he had just been sprinting.

At first, Elijah had been annoyed. Not after seeing the man’s face. Even the flush of exertion had been dimmed by a pale visage of fear. The man’s brown pupils were small and his tone cracking with urgency.

The fourty or so Seekers not on watch immediately got to their feet. Golden spears held tight in their hands, swords hanging from their belts. Fourty capes moved with the wind’s cold draft devouring the fortress. “What is it?” Elijah called out, his voice a booming command. They didn’t make just anyone a High-Seeker.

“COME QUICK! IT’S URGENT! BRING ARMS!” The band of Seekers in the throne room moved their gazes from Samuel to Elijah. The High Seeker took a step forwards. “RUN, PLEASE RUN!” Samuel ran off. “IT’S NOT… WE DON’T KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING!”

And so Elijah ran.

Through the corridors strewn with rubble.

Past the walls dashed with blood.

Out the hole they had entered, blasted open by magic.

Four Seekers stood there, taking shelter under something which may have been a balcony a long time ago from the pouring rain. Sentries Elijah had posted. “What is happening?” Elijah waved the salutes away even though the men gave none as his band of fourty came running behind him. A Seeker could walk through any crime-ridden slum on Arda with his wallet trailing behind him and be sure no one would dare steal it. There were fifty Seekers in total here. What had gotten into them?

“Look.” One of the sentries pointed at something rustling in the grass. Elijah squinted as he looked closer, there was something… digging… in the ground.

“HIGH SEEKER!” Another Seeker called out, a man named Nathanael. Back on Olympiada, he lived in the same corridor as Elijah. “HIGH SEEKER!” He sprinted out of another of the gaping wounds in the fortress and almost tripped over a nearby branch.

“WHAT?!” Elijah shouted.

“It’s Seeker Beniamin! We just found him now!” The man almost collapsed.

“Found him? What? Did som-“ Elijah’s words were cut off mid-sentence as his head circled back to where the other Seeker was still pointing with his spear. A hand was suddenly sticking out of the ground.

It was covered in bloody chunks of fur. Its muscle was half devoured by insects. Its fingers ended in long claws rather than nails. Pale ivory bone was showing, flashing brightly as it was lit up by the lightning strikes from above. It was too large to be a human hand.

The hand moved.

It threw dirt away from itself.

Elijah heard men behind him throw up. The sound of the rain grew faint to him, his breathing slowed and he felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

It was digging itself out.