Chapter 10: Mercy

"She has given Her gift freely."​

Taking Mercy's holy symbol between your palms, you bow your head in prayer. The clawing emptiness that's been growing since the greater demon held you is all-encompassing. Your hands shake, even as they grasp one another in reverence to Her. The clean smell of a burning wick is a welcome reminder of warmth as you steadily pray. The gold between your fingers is cold to the touch.

Though you begin silently, before long you can't help but speak aloud. You need Her to hear. "As the children of Mercy turn to the Father, so too will he turn to the Mother. In the darkness, She brings light. In our pain, She brings solace. In our weakness, She brings strength. We do not presume to hear the Goddess. We do not presume to suffer in silence. Her works are in our comfort. In our healing. In our restraint. Her silence is Merciful."

The flame before you waxes and wanes. You trim the wick only as needed. The prayer becomes more and more feverish as the hours wear on.

"...our adoration and love for you need not be spoken, for She hears— She hears, She hears us speak. She has worked through the Father. She has given Her gift freely."

It's getting harder to see. Your throat is hoarse and dry. The flame burns low, yet you still diligently trim the wick, right your shaking hands, and clutch onto Her cold symbol.

"...I am so sorry. I'm sorry, Mercy. Please..."

The gold hands of Her symbol seem to sit awkwardly in your palms. It's nowhere near as reassuring as they always have been. Nothing feels right. Desperation claws at your voice.

"Mercy. Please. Am I unfit for Your blessing?"

The palms of your hands press to your rapidly beating heart. You whisper. "Is this body too impure...?" You clutch so tightly at the holy symbol in your hands that you're no doubt bruising yourself. "Have I not given everything for You? I do not ask for your blessing, Mercy. I ask for your voice—" Your voice breaks, trying not to start crying all over again. "For your warmth." Your whispers are raw. "I ask for your embrace."

The candle burns out.

Despite your exhaustion— despite forcing yourself to lay down— you lie awake for hours. Her holy symbol is warm to the touch. Clawing emptiness fills your aching limbs and your tormented skull. You fall asleep holding warm hands. Thinking of Her.

The Goddess.

Mercy.

Music

That night— deep in the dark— She visits you.

The warmth in your hands spreads along your body. Heat courses through every vein, every muscle, and deeper still. You are not in the ruins. You are not in Corcaea. You sink deeply.

Deeper.

Deep into the embrace of Mercy.

All of the trauma and emotion of the day does not slip from your senses. The cracks running along your body are the very fissures through which the Gods have blessed you. You do not need to hide as Her light greets your eyes. You do not recoil from Her sight— from Her working through you. You are not ashamed.

As you sink deeper into Her tender welcome, you can recognize the clawing insecurity, your doubt, and all of your fear. A lifetime of servitude, worship, and abject devotion is before you. She is emotion.

You see the light of Mercy.

​

Her embrace is through you. She is in you, and all around you. Not as a woman, but a soft and shifting form of light and gold. You do not see gold. Soft edges are mercifully shaped in Her likeness. She wishes to grant your mortal self an image of worship. You do not see light. She has hidden Her eyes, that you may not go blind before Her. There is no need to fall to your knees, to beg, or to offer yourself to Her. There was no need to ever ask for forgiveness. Every plea was already heard.

There was no need to question if She left you. She has always been by your side.

You do not see Her with your own eyes. You cannot.

There was never any need to doubt if She heard you. She is Merciful.

You feel Her. You feel Her with your mortal flesh, and hold Her as tightly as you can. She embraces you in turn, with waves of relief that trivialize the might of Storm. Her light caresses you. Mercy keeps you steady, as you feel like you could lose yourself to Her.

No words need to ever be spoken between you. Her embrace is everywhere. You are supported, and loved, and held for the first time. She holds you. She needs you.

She loves you.

Father.

Nothing needs to be said between you, yet She gifts you with Her word. You listen in perfect reverence. The Gods are Merciful.

Our love for you is infinite. It is unbearable to endure as the Father suffers.

Her embrace tightens around you. You sink deeper into Her endless embrace. You do not need to reassure Her that you never wish to leave, yet still She blesses you with kindness.

The world is full of cruelty.

She holds you more tightly than ever before. Mercy does not need to acknowledge the failings of your race— yet still She bears witness to it.

You suffer, as Our Children suffer. Do not be afraid, Father. You know what must be done.

Thoughts of your mission flit across your mind like a bad dream. The Catalyst. The cure. She isn't speaking of it. The Gods will it.

Your voice is warm and tender, as you hold your lover beside you. The Father asks one question of the Mother. "What must I do?"

Mercy's warmth fills you. Stretching through the reaches of the deepest fibers of your being. Resonating through your tortured skull. Healing you. Making you whole again. You listen to Her with abject devotion, and She delivers Her message.

"Too long have you suffered."

Her outstretched hands are warm as they lay on your chest. Reassurance that you are never truly alone.

"Gather Our children, Father. Though the only cure to the Catalyst is death, the afflicted themselves need not be abhorred. Gather Our children, and find one that appears taken by their weakness. Find one that still possesses kindness in their heart."

Long after each word been orchestrated, the choir of Her gift lingers in your memory. Awe-struck, you want to ask how— but will not dare to speak over an unparalleled commandment of Mercy.

"Grant them Our blessing. Grant them peace, through Our symbol. You cannot do this alone. You must seek Our Relic, Father. Seek Our symbol. Deep, deeper still within the lands, lies an answer to your pain. We entrust you with this mission. This most holy mission— to obtain not the cure to the Catalyst— but the cure to your pain. The cure to the pain of so many others. Seek Our Relic. Do this, and go forth with Our blessing."

Her hands have been outstretched, and lying under your own. They begin to part. You want to stop Her. You want to stay like this forever.

You know that you can't.

"You are never truly alone, Father."

I don't want to go back. I don't want to leave You.

Her warmth steadily leaves your frame.

Please.

"Please—"

Tangible, mortal words part from your lips as you lay on the stone floor of the ruins. The room is cold. Your eyes have yet to readjust to the darkness. You lay on your back facing the ceiling— heart racing— as you try and contemplate what you just experienced. The cold. The emptiness on either side of you. You wrap your arms around yourself, desperate for Her embrace again. Mercifully, Ofelia is still inert on the other side of the room.

Mercy.

You play Mercy's words over and over again in your mind. Mercy's words. Mercy's embrace. You want to go back. You stagger to your feet, sweat sticking to the back of your shirt. Though you're drained as if you haven't slept at all, you manage to find your things. You want to be with Her— but you know. You know that you have something terribly important to do. A mission.

Her gift.