6 - The Miscreant's Plea

Crimson Covenant is a chronological narrative. Make sure you’re caught up!

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I sit still, reflecting on the question.

Does She?

Scattered moments from my brew-induced vision race through my mind – fragments of meaning searching for a connection. Before I can grasp them, a familiar voice echoes through the cave again, more urgent this time:

"Zenn Aeqius!"

"Ye—" The dryness of my mouth cuts me off. "Yes! I'm here. I'm alive."

Anticipation fills the silence.

"Approach the platform. It's time."

"Yes, Warden." The words scrape past my parched lips, and with them comes recognition – Errig, appointed guardian of the Aeqius sector. His disappointment cuts deeper than any other Warden's could. But then, he's always held me to a higher standard than the other Vessels.

I attempt to stand for the first time in days. Weariness floods my legs, and I clutch the cocoon frame for support. Darkness edges my vision, and the dizziness reminds me of something... but I can't quite figure out what.

The smell of wet stone grounds me. Around the corner of the sleep pod, a wooden platform rests directly below the large opening above. Thick ropes descend from the foggy mouth, anchoring to its four corners.

My bare feet alternate between hollow thuds on stone and soft squelches through moss as I approach. Luminflies drift through the air, reminding me of the lantern still hanging in the cocoon.

I spin too quickly to retrieve it. My knees buckle, and thick moss catches my fall, leaving wet circles on my pants.

Slow down.

Carefully retracing my steps, I retrieve the lantern and exit the pod for the final time. The lid squeaks as I twist it open.

"Go on," I whisper, "be free."

For a moment, nothing moves. Then one luminfly twitches its wings, leading the others upward. Their thumbnail-sized indigo thoraxes fade into warm, fuzzy light as they rise.

Indigo.

Fighting off thoughts of the beach, I step onto the platform. Wet footprints mark my path across the dry wood as I center myself for the ascent.

"I'm ready."

"Stand strong," Errig replies.

Wood groans against damp earth as the platform lurches upward. Old ropes creak, drawing me toward the surface. I rise past dancing luminflies and falling droplets, like a comet among stars. The cave's chill falls away as a tepid breeze fills my shirt, tussling my cropped honey-colored curls unkempt from two days in the cave.

Fresh air fills my lungs with a sharp inhale. Above, through the fog, I catch the familiar scent of spicy cedar and cool ferns – and glimpse a looming grey silhouette.

My chest tightens.

Confession awaits.