The Longest Day
A solstice ritual for the Mother of the Cosmos
This story is a Level 2 response to the first Power Up Prompt.
Please enjoy…
The sun clung desperately to the horizon, almost as if it knew that if the ritual was a success, it may never rise again.
Alana stared forward as she walked on unsteady feet. A thick tome known as the Voidshield weighed heavy in her hands but not as heavy as the guilt she carried on her shoulders.
Dressed in a flowing white robe, she walked in the center of a crimson wave. Hooded figures went before and behind her, leading her down the cobblestone path through the small town.
The Circle was just ahead, past a wall that bordered the Forbidden Lands.
By setting foot in that ancient place, Alana’s people believed her soul would be forfeit. Forever stained, she would be ostracized from her people.
That is, if there were any left.
The arrival of Dahlia and her twisted acolytes marked the beginning of a massacre. Those who would not bend the knee were cut down. Nearly an entire town, put to the blade in search of one person.
Once they found Alana, the killing finally stopped. They had what they needed.
Alana winced as they marched her across that border. She wasn’t sure she believed in her people’s fear of the Forbidden Lands, but she knew enough of that place to know she never wanted to set foot there.
Ahead was The Circle. A monument to an ancient battle between two gods. Ornate stones adorned with forgotten and forbidden runes spanned the exterior. Beneath them was a portal, a rift that had been there since that battle long ago.
The power of The Circle atop it formed the bars of an abyssal prison. For generations, the Ostarian bloodline ensured the Circle’s magic remained resolute, but some wished to see the unfathomable thing inside it set free.
They believed its arrival would bring untold knowledge and power over the realm.
Past The Circle were the cliffs. The edge of the world. A steep drop into an ocean of stars. Under any other circumstances, such a sight would have been beautiful.
The cadence of marching feet came to a stop. Alana felt the cold metal of Dahlia’s dagger press into her neck. It wasn’t the first time she had felt its embrace.
She had lost hope.
“Servants of the Mother, I give you the Ostarian!” Dahlia shouted.
Cheers erupted from the acolytes who had gathered around the edges of the monument.
“Tonight, on this holy solstice, when the veil between realms is thin, we right the wrongs of our ancestors! May Zal’Ythra smile upon us all!”
Dahlia leaned in close until Alana felt her breath graze her ear. “Tonight, your bloodline ends, Ostarian.”
Alana's eyes scanned the crowd. Among their wicked gazes, she saw a pair of kind eyes staring back at her. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Peter was here. He had kept his promise.
Dahlia stepped back in front of Alana, smiling through crooked teeth.
“As the sun sets on the longest day, we will shatter this cage beneath our feet and usher in the longest night!” Dahlia said, cackling with delight.
Alana opened the Voidshield and looked down onto its wrinkled pages. Strange calligraphy graced the pages.
To anyone else, it was indecipherable. Under the gaze of an Ostarian, however, the ancient ink danced across the page until it became a language familiar to the reader.
Dahlia’s fingers curled around Alana’s throat and forced her gaze up from the book. She looked into that woman’s eyes, seeing nothing but insanity staring back at her.
“I’ve studied your old magic. I will know if you try to seal the prison, Ostarian. Try anything, and I will drag this knife from your neck to your navel, spilling your guts upon this holy ground. Do we have an understanding?”
Alana nodded. She had to play along for now.
Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest as he locked eyes with his beloved. He had done unspeakable things to earn the trust of the Mother's worshipers, but in that moment, he cast aside all regret. That brief glimpse was all he needed to steel his resolve.
Dahlia, the self-proclaimed leader of the cult, threw her hands into the air.
“I must have volunteers to perform the ritual. Come forth!”
Peter shoved through the people around him and broke free into the center of The Circle.
He waved his hands and shouted. “Please, choose me!” he cried.
Dahlia smiled at him, clearly drawn to his resolve, though she mistakenly took it for blind faith.
“Of course, my child, you may join,” she said.
Peter’s mind was racing as he laid his hands on one of the stones. The runes on its surface all lit up with an ethereal blue light.
“Repeat after me,” Dahlia said, “ratanna erebach alnalia, morick danthel.”
Halfway through the incantation, a bright flash cut the spell short. Peter looked to the direction of the light and saw one of the cultists stumble backward, frantically clutching at his neck. Peter saw blood leaking through the cultist’s fingers.
“A Warden hides among us! Find them, now!” Dahlia shrieked.
Peter didn’t know what a Warden was, but he was glad for the distraction. The cultists all broke from their organized groups and flooded the Circle. Peter charged toward the center.
Alana stood frozen with her eyes wide. Beside her, a man dressed in a white tunic held one of his hands over Dahlia’s mouth as he drove a dagger deeper into her chest.
He looked up briefly at Peter. His golden eyes flashed as he dropped Dahlia’s lifeless corpse to the ground. With his work finished, he turned to Alana, still clutching Dahlia’s dagger.
“Stay away from her!” Peter shouted, throwing himself into the imposing figure.
He managed to knock the man off his balance as other cultists swarmed him. Peter took Alana’s hand and pulled her behind him.
“It’s going to be okay, my love. I will take us both far from here!” Peter shouted.
Peter took advantage of the chaos to lead back through the gates of the Forbidden Lands and towards the setting sun in the distance. He had made her a promise, and he intended to keep it.
They ran toward the horizon in silence until they reached the edge of a cliff that overlooked the ocean.
Peter stopped, struggling to catch his breath as he looked out onto the red and orange hues of the sunset. The beam of light leapt between the trees of the forest in the distance with a freedom he had never known.
He turned to Alana, and his heart filled with joy as he saw a smile crawl across her face.
He wrapped his arm around her and softly kissed the top of her head.
“Just as I promised,” he whispered.
“It’s beautiful,” she replied.
Her voice was distant and strained.
“What’s wrong, my love?”
He looked down at her. Her smile wavered for a moment. A trickle of blood emerged from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin. Peter grabbed her by the waist as her legs gave out. He slowly lowered her onto the grassy field below.
Tears escaped from his eyes. His body was numb. In shock. His heart was racing as fast as his mind.
“What is this? Alana, tell me, what has happened?”
Her distant eyes wandered over to him as her hand reached up and touched his cheek.
When he spotted the wet blood staining the left side of her ceremonial gown, everything became real.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” Alana whispered.
He felt her warm touch for only a moment before her hand fell limp beside her.
“Alana?” He shook her shoulders, as if to wake her from a nightmare, “Alana, say something!”
He couldn't accept that she was gone, not after everything they had been through.
Peter looked up, his vision blurred by the tears in his eyes. Standing over him was the man with white tunic and golden eyes from the ritual, the one who had killed Dahlia.
“You did this?” he asked.
“I had no choice,” the man replied.
Rage and hopelessness waged a war in Peter’s heart. He wanted nothing more than to strangle the life from the stranger, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Alana’s side.
“This world is but one of many like it, all stretched out across countless dimensions. The names, the places, they are all similar, yet different. I am tasked with protecting these worlds at any cost,” the man said.
Peter stood and glared at the man.
“I do not care about other realms beyond my own. You claim your cause is to save these worlds, and yet, you have ended my own,” Peter said.
“I am aware that my voice falls on deaf ears, but I swear to you, I wouldn’t have done this if there was any other way.”
Peter saw the cultists marching toward them from the cliffs, carrying weapons and torches above their heads.
“Come with me; I can save you,” the man said.
Peter shook his head. “Leave me. I am already dead.”
The man lifted his hand and turned one palm toward the sky.
He pressed his other hand to his chest. “Tell Durwood it’s done. The last Ostarian of 17133 has fallen. The prison remains sealed.”
The air shimmered in response. Peter saw a strange realm beyond it, as if staring through a window. His mind was unable to comprehend the imagery before the man stepped through and disappeared.
He knelt back down and laid Alana’s head into his lap as the cries of the cultists grew closer.
If what the man said was true, perhaps there was another dimension, another life, another world where they were together.
He’d like to think so, but it wasn’t this one.
Thanks for Reading! Here’s Your Musical Pairing
Listen to this after reading, like pairing a glass of wine with dinner.
I really love this story!
I love all the details here, I know you usually do this in all your stories but I'm really noticing it in this one haha.