Page 4 of Daughter of the Serpent

Despite her desire to ascend, to one day wield like the others, every day she wrestled with the methods exacted by the temple. Her heart ached as she observed the innocent faces now before the crowd - most barely out of their training years. Regardless of age or willingness, if they had awoken even a spark of magic - the control over their own lives was instantly forfeit.

"Don't fret," Tara, her chambermate, comforted, taking her hand. “They'll be safeguarded by the gods."

As the crowd erupted into cheers, Sylvie glanced at her friend. Tara’s brown eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, her auburn curls escaping their braid as she bounced with excitement. Unlike Sylvie, Tara harbored no disdain for the ritual. She embraced its significance wholeheartedly, viewing it as both a profound honor and a necessary privilege.

Sylvie tried to mirror her friend's disposition, despite the twist in her gut.

Unlike her, Tara effortlessly embodied the ideal servant of the light. Both revered at the temple and beloved by the common folk, she traversed the world with a certain ease, a skill Sylvie had yet to master.

Tara clasped her hands together, holding them at her chest in awe, her laughter echoing through the crowd. "What a momentous day!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing pink. “The god’s have truly blessed us to have so many chosen!”

Sylvie's heart tightened. Despite the enthusiasm of all around her, she stood stoic in the crowd.

She couldn’t rejoice, when she knew only more death awaited.

Her eyes went to the roaring flame just beyond the alters, crackling wild and untamed under the watchful eyes of the gods. Many who stepped into its embrace never returned, and even if the gods permitted one to live, they would be forever tethered to the temple's will.

Her eyes searched the crowd, passing through all the differing faces - filled with joy, filled with hope. She wondered how they could so easily smile as they offered up their own children to death or service.

As the younglings approached the towering flame, their faces revealed a fragile balance of fear and resolve. Some clenched their fists, eyes wide, with beads of sweat glistening on their foreheads. Others squared their jaws, their gazes fixed with determination.

At the front of the crowd stood the parents of the chosen ones. Some offered reassuring nods or whispered words of encouragement as the children passed, while others clasped their hands tightly, their prayers of gratitude mingling with the murmurs of the gathering. Pride illuminated their faces, a reflection of the honor now bestowed upon their family.

How could they be so blind?

In her unease she searched for his face.

The only other person that had faced the flame on the day of her own judgment all those years ago, and lived. They had been mere children then, brought together by fate and bound by the sacred rite. But she had never forgotten, and neither had he.

Haldor caught her gaze, as if somehow knowing she searched for him. Those striking eyes of liquid blue met her face, and she felt herheart still as her cheeks flushed. Haldor's lips curved into a faint smile as if knowing his affect on her, his gaze lingering just a moment before he returned his attention back to the ceremony.

Though Haldor was one of her dearest friends, something had shifted in recent years. They were no longer the children they once were. Assigned as one of the protectors of the temple, Haldor had grown broad and strong, his prowess with blade and bow unmatched. Many said he was destined to become a Drengr, and it was no secret that he aimed to claim that title come spring. Daily, he honed his skills through rigorous training, and his successes in combat hadn’t gone unnoticed - nor had his god - given looks, even by those taught not to nurture such desires.

Relationships, especially those of an intimate nature, were strictly forbidden to women of the light. Unlike the men, they were to remain untouched and unblemished until divinely bound. Taught that beauty was a dangerous vice that could spark improper desire, many of her sisters had gone to great lengths to repel such affections. Whether through self - inflicted scars or headdresses to hide their beauty, many ensured to deflect unwanted attention.

All had to abide by the sacred laws passed down from the temple, and the gods. This was not only for the gods’ favor, but for the preservation of what Mardovians held most dear - magic.

There was a sacred duty to preserve purity and magical potency, so that the line of succession and magic could continue. As a result, those blessed or born of magical heritage were expected to marry only those of equal capability and strength, ensuring the power of their lineage.

Despite Sylvie's dutiful obedience and magical potential, she was painfully aware that she lacked the most coveted qualification - pure, untainted blood.

From the moment of her birth, many questioned her heritage.

When pulled from the womb she seemed perfect - all ten tiny fingers and toes, a crown of golden hair, and one eye as green and lush as summer. It was upon further inspection that its counterparttold a different story, revealing her fate. A jagged score of gold sliced through her left pupil, cleaving it in two. In certain light, it seemed to glow, taking on the eerie shimmer of something wild, dangerous, untamed. It soon became apparent to many that she bore not just a deformity, but the eye of Lafar - the cursed serpent god of trickery and deceit.

This had instantly marked her for death.

According to Mardovian law, only the strong were meant to survive, and those born with any sign of weakness or deformity were cast from the cliffs into the sea.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Her mother had intervened, staying her father’s hand and appealing to the gods. With their blessing, Sylvie was sent to the temple, to be forever hidden away under the watchful eyes of the priesthood. Though her life was spared, the whispers never ceased, and the rumors of her heritage and purpose persisted. She was cast as an object of fear, forever to be cursed and unworthy of trust.

Her experiences had only solidified this bitter truth. The elders had denied her the same education and opportunities as the others, keeping her from training in the ways of warfare and certain magical practices. It was clear they feared what she might become - what inherited evil may lay dormant in the marrow of her bones. Instead, they assigned her to the healers, to train alongside the children of the light, to never wield a sword or know a man’s touch until she was matched - and even then, she wondered if they would ever allow her to have children, fearing the potency of her cursed blood.

She would embody all that was pure and good, staying far from the darkness they said ran in her veins.

Sylvie clenched her fists, frustration burning through her. All choice over her life had been taken from her the moment her parents had given her up to the temple, and the sting of that pain was as familiar as the jagged scars on her back from the high priest's rod - always present, never forgotten.