No one had forced Aru. He had voluntarily become the sacrifice after learning what had happened. Some villagers thought he was foolish. He could have refused—no one would have dared to harm him directly, for fear of angering the guardian deity. But if he refused, the guardian deity would rage at the loss of the original sacrifice, and the entire tribe could suffer disaster.
In the face of the villagers' lives and his own, Aru chose to sacrifice himself to save the tribe, offering his blood to earn the guardian deity's forgiveness.
And so, Aru was led from his home to the altar outside the village as the new sacrifice. As he walked, he kept glancing toward the place where he and Kapatcir had made their promise. He wanted to say something, to ask the villagers to go to the fields in his place and apologize to Kapatcir.
He was sorry for breaking his promise. Please don't blame him. Please don't blame anyone.
But every time he tried to speak, the words wouldn't come. And even when they did, the villagers cut him off.
"Aru, good child—"
"Don't say anything more. We understand. Don't worry, we'll take care of your parents."
"From today on, your parents are our parents."
"Don't worry, it won't hurt."
"It will be over soon."
"Go in peace. As long as the guardian deity is satisfied, she won't hold the tribe accountable."
"Everything you've done for the tribe, we will remember."
"We're almost at the altar…"
Along the way, dozens of adults escorted Aru, their eyes fixed on him, afraid he might change his mind and flee into the mist. If they lost another sacrifice, the entire tribe would be doomed. So they watched him closely.
Fortunately, Aru did not try to escape. He willingly offered himself to the guardian deity. As long as the guardian deity was satisfied, he had no complaints.
At the altar, the villagers followed their customs, binding Aru's hands and feet with special ropes. They lashed him to a thick wooden post.
"Tie it tight. Don't let him fall."
"If he falls into the fire, it will only cause him more pain."
"Let Aru go without suffering."
"Stand the post up. Lift the sacrifice onto the altar."
As they spoke, they raised the post, lifting Aru high into the air above the altar. The sacrifice was ready. The next step was to begin the ritual.
The villagers murmured among themselves.
"Everything is ready. Shall we begin?"
"Where is the High Priest?"
"He's Aru's father. He couldn't bear to watch his son being sacrificed, so he left. Let the other priests perform the ritual."
"Time? Is it time yet?"
"Just a few more minutes. We'll start when the time comes."
"The implements? The vessels for the blood, and the tools for drawing it?"
"Don't worry, everything is prepared."
Without the High Priest, the villagers were especially cautious, afraid of making any mistake that might incur the guardian deity's wrath.
As they talked, Aru, bound high above, seemed to see through the mist to the distant fields, as if he could see Kapatcir waiting for him. But it was only a vision. He was about to be sacrificed.
The minutes passed. At the priest's command, the ritual began.
A small wooden basin was raised, and in full view of everyone, the ritual tool cut into Aru's skin.
The pain was searing, like a knife cutting into him—because it was a knife, cutting through flesh and blood. He felt the cold of the blade and the warmth of his own blood.
Though he had known it would be painful and had prepared himself, Aru was still a child. He had never imagined it would hurt this much.
When the ritual began, the agony struck without warning. Aru was a good boy, a strong boy, but he couldn't bear it. He opened his mouth and screamed, wanting the villagers to stop, to end his suffering.
But the ritual had only just begun. So had the pain. It wouldn't stop.
"Aru, don't cry. It will be over soon."
"When your blood runs dry, you won't feel pain anymore."
(T/N: No shit bro.)
Time passed. Aru's screams never ceased. His blood fell, drop by drop, into the waiting vessel.
No one knew how long it lasted. Aru's throat was raw, his strength gone from blood loss. He was on the verge of death, barely clinging to life. The villagers waited for him to close his eyes and take his last breath, so his suffering would end.
"We have enough blood—"
"Surely this will satisfy the guardian deity this time—"
"Look, Aru is nearly gone. Let's move to the next step."
"Prepare the fire."
"Send Aru off."
"Aru, your blood will be given to the guardian deity. You will become part of her."
"You are not dying. You will live on with her."
"Light the fire!"
Though Aru was not yet dead, merely clinging to life, once they had collected the blood they needed, he was of no further use. Without hesitation, the villagers lit the kindling beneath the altar.
The small flame grew, catching the dry wood, becoming a roaring blaze. The fire licked at the post and at Aru's clothes. He was already weak from blood loss, barely conscious, yet his awareness remained. The burning pain tore at his broken body and his fragile soul.
(T/N: Goddamn.)