xXx
Before reading my dear readers, I just want to heavily apologize for the uncounted days I've not been active and for updating this fanfic with new chapters. Lately, a lot of stress and pressure gathered on my shoulders and my first semester examination also started so I had no choice but to slow my pace and focus more on my studies and life in general.
For this, I want say I'm sorry. I am so, so, so sorry. I hope you can forgive me for also not informing you all that I was going to take a break and left you all waiting aimlessly.
I'm so sorry.
I hope that all of you can understand and accept my apologies. Thank you.
And now, here's a fresh new chapter :D
(Spoiler: The little galseeker needs some help.)
xXx
(Sudden Checkup - Self‑Reassurance - Close One - Lasting Hope - Little One - Design)
~~~ are used for changing the perception of vision (POV)
••• denotes flashback
*** denotes time skip
** denotes background sounds
'' denotes internal thought
() denotes layered perception
xXx
The latch turned. The door groaned softly upon its hinges.
"Dear Leader?"
Straightway I loosed my desperate clutch upon the blankets and thrust them from betwixt my teeth with all haste. Mine aching body rose upright once more, and I pressed my back against the cold wall behind me as though stone alone might lend me dignity.
Had the knocker perceived mine disgrace? Were they already aware?
"…Leader?"
'A truth too plain for denial,' I thought bitterly.
Then again the dizziness returned. It rolled through my skull like troubled tides beneath a storm‑dark sea. The pressure behind mine eyes swelled harder than before, as though invisible hands sought to press my thoughts inward until they cracked.
And with it came imagination.
Curses upon imagination.
I saw them already—my people, my followers, my beloved kin—whispering beneath the long pilgrim pillars where shadow mingled with fading gold. I could almost hear their voices threading together in secret judgment.
"Hazel hath changed."
"The Great Speaker thinketh strangely now."
"Her devotion hath become… peculiar."
'My reputation… My… authority.'
Mine image carefully forged through long ages of labour and suffering.
All ruined.
Ruined beyond the reach of dawn itself.
The mere envisioning of so many dreadful outcomes at once made my stomach twist violently. Bitter emptiness crawled up my throat. I wished to weep. I wished to scream. I wished to claw mine own thoughts apart before they could fully form.
Anything save imagining the worst end possible. An ending from which there could be no return.
(Then imagine it not.)
The words emerged within me with dreadful calm.
'I… I shall not permit my destiny to conclude in such a fashion,' I answered inwardly. 'Not whilst breath remaineth within me. Not whilst my appointed hour hath yet to come.'
Slowly the trembling grip upon my shell subsided. My hands lowered unto my lap. What profit came of inward lamentation? None.
I, Hazel, Speaker of the Seekers of God, was not fashioned to be a heap of unrestrained outbursts and private agonies. Nay—I was born to seek, to guide, and to worship the One True God worthy of all reverence.
(Worship.)
'Yes,' I answered myself softly. 'Remember, sweet Hazel. Remember thy teachings.'
Remember.
Worship is the surrendering of the self in silence. It is the emptying of pride until nothing remaineth but devotion toward that which standeth infinitely above one's own existence.
Worship taketh many forms.
A prayer uttered at dawn. A hymn sung in weakness. Even the smallest sneeze from some lowly creature may become worship, provided gratitude dwelleth within its heart.
Yet among all sacred virtues there remaineth one pillar most necessary…
Patience.
'A hand restrained preserveth the eye. Ashes build no home.'
Thus taught the Mothers before me. The storm may howl. The rafters may groan. The night may seem without ending. Yet still the house endureth.
'The house is body, mind, and soul. Let them remain steadfast.'
'Staycalmstaycalmstaycalmstaycalmstaycalmstaycalmstaycalmstaycalmstaycalm—'
At last I forced the frenzy to slow.
'Stay calm. Take all things slowly. Swallow thy pride if need require it. Feign ignorance if thou must.'
I swallowed hard, 'Be confident, Hazel.'
"Y‑yes?"
'Sweet merciful Void.'
Why had I stammered? At once fresh panic struck me. No. Peace. Be at peace. Surely the visitor beyond the door had not heard it clearly.
"May I enter, Great Speaker? I came but to inquire after thy condition."
The voice beyond the chamber was gentle.
I let mine aching body sink deeper into the softness of the bed in hope that comfort alone might drive away my distress. The bed truly was exceedingly comfortable.
"Yes," I answered, carefully sweetening my tone. "Pray enter."
'O Lord, I thank thee.'
This time proved different.
Not only had I refrained from stuttering like some witless hatchling lost amidst fevered dreams, but mine voice itself carried grace and composure befitting my station.
"As thou desirest."
The door opened at last.
And there she stood.
My closest confidant.
One whom I had scarcely spoken with since preparations for the Lord's return had wholly consumed our sanctuary. Time itself had abandoned us to duty.
She had guided the others in their daily labours whilst I oversaw the restoration of our near‑extinguished people.
'Praise be unto the Lord,' I thought.
Truthfully, I had never been one greatly inclined toward familiar conversation. Even before that occurrence—the incident which transformed the very structure of our fellowship—I had kept myself apart. If I spake unto my kin, it was most often instruction. Guidance. Correction. Doctrine.
Rarely warmth.
Yet I possessed no excuse. Such reserve was simply my nature. And I knew full well what some whispered beneath the pillars and near the old shores concerning my fondness for solitude.
"Hazel loveth isolation more than company."
"The Great Speaker dwelleth too deeply within herself."
I minded it little.
The Mother before me had taught during her final nights that loneliness was often the burden of leadership.
"Our Great Speaker," she said softly, "how fareth thee now?"
Though formal, her voice carried tenderness beneath it. That was ever what I cherished most concerning Stella. She understood that I preferred order and ceremony, yet she never forgot the living souls within such structure.
"I… believe myself improved," I answered. A lie most transparent, I admitted inwardly. I feel utterly dreadful. Still, hearing my reply, Stella exhaled in visible relief.
Then she smiled, a small yet sincere smile, "That gladdeneth me greatly," she said.
Her eyes drifted briefly across my features, observing the diminished flow of Void seeping from mine eyes. Personally, I did not consider the substance troublesome.
How could I?
It was the sacred essence of our Lord Himself. Could purity born of darkness truly be impurity?
Without much thought I patted the bed beside me. Though I valued personal distance perhaps overmuch, I was not so devoid of courtesy as to leave a trusted sister standing whilst I reclined amidst such softness.
To my quiet satisfaction, she accepted. Yet I noticed the slight widening of her eyes as she approached.
Ah.
Even she found the gesture unexpected. Years of leadership had sharpened my reading of expression and movement alike.
'Praise be unto the Lord,' I thought again.
Still… something troubled her.
I could discern it readily. Her shoulders remained too stiff. Her gaze lingered too long upon silence.
"Stella?" I called gently.
The stillness between us had become unbearable. Ordinarily discourse with her flowed naturally, like speech unto one's own reflection. Among all my companions, she had ever been one of the few capable of understanding me without need of excessive explanation.
She—and several others besides—had become something akin unto family. Though even such closeness paled beside devotion owed unto our Lord.
Had she not steadied me during my younger years when fear strangled my voice before assemblies? Had she not remained near when uncertainty consumed me?
Surely kindness deserved repayment.
What sort of leader ignored the hidden fears of her own people? Yet still she hesitated. What burden weighed upon her thoughts?
Then realization struck me.
The Lord.
Was this concerning our Lord?
Immediately my imagination betrayed me once more. I saw black tempests descending from the heavens to devour me whole. I saw my flesh stripped away beneath divine displeasure until nothing remained but shame.
No. Control thyself. Someone sat beside thee. It was not that I feared Stella would join idle gossip—never that—but rather that she, above all others, knew me most closely.
What image of me would remain within her mind if she perceived the true depth of my devotion?
"Stella," I asked carefully, "is aught troubling thy spirit?"
"Oh!" She startled lightly. "N‑no… it is merely…"
"Speak freely," I urged. "Fear not mine anger. Thou knowest well that honesty shall not offend me."
"Well… forgive a measure of informality."
"Nay, Stella, there is no need for such caution here. None are present save thee and me."
"But—"
"I shall understand whatsoever thou sayest," I assured her. "As leader I seek only to soothe our Lord, that all of us may fulfil the purpose appointed unto our existence."
I paused.
"And among our kin, thou art counted among the most exceptional. Therefore thy thoughts shall ever possess welcome within mine hearing."
At last she nodded.
"…Very well."
"Dear Leader—"
"Call me Hazel."
Again she nodded.
Then, after one steadying breath, she finally spoke:
> "Dear Hazel… I wished to speak concerning what transpired during our Lord's return."
Immediately a subtle pressure tightened beneath my ribs. Of course. I had expected as much.
Yet still the words struck deep. Unable to trust my own voice, I merely inclined my head for her to continue.
"Especially…" Stella began carefully, "especially when thou were forced to crawl toward our Lord on behalf of all our foolishness."
My thoughts halted.
Entirely.
Of all things I expected, this had not numbered among them.
"There was confusion amongst us at first," she continued. "We understood not thy purpose. We were too astonished to move. Yet then I perceived what thou were truly doing."
Slowly she reached toward my hand. Wordlessly she asked permission. I granted it. Then she clasped my hand gently within her own.
"Truly, Mother," she whispered, "thy devotion unto God is not of this world."
For one terrible instant I ceased breathing altogether.
Praise.
She was praising me. Not condemning. Not recoiling. Not judging. The realization overwhelmed me so swiftly that I feared tears might truly come.
'Thank thee, my Lord,' I thought desperately.
To imagine and weep simultaneously bordered upon sacrilege among our teachings, for no mortal mind ought attempt fully to envision the Lord.
Such understanding would surely destroy us.
Yet gratitude still flooded me.
"Oh dear," Stella murmured after a time. "The others may require my aid presently. Might I take my leave?"
Still she did not release my hand. A laugh escaped me before I could restrain it.
"No need remaineth to call me Mother," I said warmly. "I possess yet far to journey before I deserve such title. But aye—thou mayest go."
"Then I shall depart."
Reluctantly she loosened her grasp and rose from the bed.
"You ought wash thy hands afterward," I jested weakly. "I am but a sickly and helpless worshipper."
To my delight Stella giggled, "Yes," she replied. "I shall not forget, Sweet Hazel."
She was seldom openly expressive.
At times she seemed almost excessively dutiful. Yet moments such as this reminded me she had merely spent long years abiding by the rigid order we ourselves upheld.
The doorknob turned softly, "I shall pray unto the Lord for thy swift recovery," she added.
Again I laughed. I nearly told her such prayers were unnecessary. That remaining here in quiet rest—granted by the Lord's mercy—already comforted me greatly.
Yet another thought intruded. This… this feeling was personal. A sacred matter between devotee and God.
I shook my head faintly to banish the thought.
(Again thou dreamest overmuch.)
"Very well," Stella said. "I go now, dear Hazel."
'Yes,' I thought. 'Please go. I require solitude.'
"Okay—"
Suddenly—
BANG!
The door flew wide with violent force and struck Stella full upon the side.
"O Dear Speaker, forgive me!"
A much smaller seeker stumbled inward, panting violently. Sweat glistened along the edge of her mask, proving she had run with reckless haste.
"What trouble is this, Lia?" I asked, forcing calmness into my tone though dread immediately coiled within my stomach.
For if Lia—small though she was, yet brave beyond most among us—appeared in such condition… then surely nothing ordinary had occurred.
"The Lord!" she gasped. "HE COMETH!"
The words carved themselves across my mind like burning scripture.
Oh.
Oh no.