Her whole life she had been told that a god resided in the Hall of Echoes.
They had told her that this god was her god, and that to worship was her calling.
She had listened to them, she had prayed, and she had been supplicant. The novitiate had devoted herself to the faith without question, never asking for much in return save for a place to sleep and a roof overhead.
As a reward for her servitude, she had been summoned to the fallen moon, to the Hall, called upon to stand in the presence of divinity.
A terrifying prospect for a child.
Fear gnawed at her but she refused to succumb to it. She kept her back straight and her gaze fixed firmly on her guide. She knew she did not belong there, that she was no one special. The novitiate knew that, but had come anyway.
The Hall of Echoes was colder than she had expected. Colder and wetter. So cold and wet that it was hard to keep her teeth from chattering. The two rectangular metal studs in her cheek felt like icicles, and the moisture in the air formed droplets of frost against the fiery red of her hair. Frigid crystalline water rose almost to her knees, and her skirts had soaked it up to her waist. All around her feet small rainbow fish swam amongst water lilies, nibbling at her and then darting off.
Somewhere far off in the shadowed distance, she could hear the great water wheels turning. To the novitiate, they sounded like the mournful cries of whales as they carried over the waters surface.
“Sorry child. It gets a bit chilly this far underground,” said her guide with the warmth of someone who was not cold in the slightest. “We don’t often get visitors here. Tell me, what do you think of the Hall?”
Sharde, her guide, was one of the Knights Meteora, and she was every bit as impressive as the novitiate would have imagined a Knight Meteora to be. With her polished moon steel armor and knee length white coat, she was the personification of confidence and control. She sported a longsword at her hip, and a long stemmed pipe between her lips. Tall even by a man’s standards, Sharde had sharp, angular features, short curly dark hair, and the lean physique of a fighter visible through the planes of her plate. At a guess, the novitiate would have placed the Knight at around forty years old, though had no way of knowing for certain. Almost all young women of Yinyue dreamed of becoming a Knight Meteora.
“It’s… Big,” replied the girl, glancing from side to side. “It’s big, wet, and cold.”
Sharde laughed, releasing a puff of smoke that smelled like mint and raspberry.
“It’s big, wet, and cold she says!” Sharde chuckled. “Well I suppose water was bound to get in after all this time seeing as we’re below sea level. As for the temperature, it gets colder the deeper you go. Still, you seem sturdy enough for someone your age.”
The novitiate glanced uneasily from side to side.
“Are we alone here?”
Sharde took another drag on her pipe and nodded.
“No one save for the knights comes down here. This is a holy place. It is forbidden. For now, we are alone.”
Stretching far into the distance in every direction was a pool of shallow water, dotted at intervals by basalt stone pillars supporting a ceiling so high above them that it was invisible through the shroud of darkness. Water plants and vines dotted the lapis blue and the smell of salt was pervasive. Though there were no torches or skylights, the room was bathed in an ambient dawn glow that seemed to follow them as they walked. the novitiate wondered perhaps if the light came from the Hall, or if it was divine light cast by the goddess herself.
The Hall felt like a garden, and it felt like a prison.
The novitiate rubbed her hands to together and tried not to think about it.
After a few more minutes of walking, she began to discern a shape looming out of the shadows ahead of them. As it came into view, she realized it was a statue. A statue massive enough that it was easy to imagine it dominating a city square in some great capital. It towered so high above them that the novitiate could barely make out the top of it.
The statue was of a beautiful woman seated cross legged with an orb in her lap. Her eyes, large in proportion to her face, stared wistfully into the distance, while her long hair flowed down and over her shoulders to the ground around her. Chips of paint from another age clung stubbornly to the statue here and there, and algae had grown in it’s cracks and crevices. To the novitiate the statue appeared mournful, it’s brow softened and it’s shoulders hunched forward.
“We’ve arrived,” said Sharde, her breath forming a cloud of mist as she exhaled. “Meet the goddess.”
The novitiate looked to the knight, then back to the statue, her mouth twisting in confusion.
Was this the god she had come all this way to see? It was an impressive statue, to be sure, but it was just a statue…
Wasn’t it?
Hesitantly, the novitiate took a step forward, and to her surprise the eyes of the statue followed. She squeezed the hem of her shirt and lowered herself in a bow, keeping her face just above the water.
“My divine,” she said.
A long pause, and then.
“Welcome, child,” came a woman’s voice. It flowed from the statue, but also from the room itself. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“No wonder they call it the Hall of Echoes,” the novitiate thought. A shiver ran from the base of her spine to her neck.
The voice was surprisingly high, though it carried in it’s soprano the authority alloted to divinity. Swallowing the lump in her throat, the novitiate kept herself bent forward. She could feel the statue’s gaze on her, pressing her down, and she was beginning to sweat despite the cold.
“Lady Sharde, you are sure this is the one,” asked the goddess.
“I am, my divine. She looks just like you said she would. Hair as red as an apple and eyes to match. Not exactly common traits, those. She was where you told me she’d be, in the temple on the ring.” The knight recited, sounding more like someone recounting a trip to the market than a person addressing a god. “You should have seen the look on the priestesses faces when I showed up asking though. Priceless.”
“Did they give you any trouble?”
“Hardly. I am yours, after all.”
“I see. Thank you, Sharde.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Tell me child, do you know why I summoned you here?” the goddess queried.
the novitiate had no idea why she had been summoned. It had been the single greatest question on her mind since the day Sharde had taken her from her from her home in the days prior.
Clenching her fists and taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and regarded the statue.
At the temple she had been one of a multitude, just another devotee given over to the faith by parents she had never met and never would. She had no family, she didn’t even have a name. Names were reserved for people with a place in the world. There was no need for a name when no one was going to use it anyway.
Shutting her eyes tight and squaring her shoulders, the novitiate found her resolve.
“To, to, to be a Knight Meteora!” she sputtered.
“To, to, to be a Knight Meteora!” repeated her echo, again, and again.
the novitiate felt her cheeks turn red even as the words left her mouth.
Silence loomed over the chamber.

“I’m such an idiot.”

the novitiate hung her head in shame as butterflies threatened to crawl up her throat and out her mouth. She was going to be sick. As the echoes of her wish faded into the distance, she began to make out another sound. It sounded like laughter, though muffled, perhaps by a hand.
Suddenly there was a sharp intake of breath.
“Bahahaha!” cackled the disembodied voice of the goddess. “I can’t hold it, I can’t breathe! A knight! A Knight Meteora she says! Brilliant!”
the novitiate took an involuntary step back as if struck, tears starting to build in the corners of her eyes. The raucous laughter reverberated throughout the Hall. It echoed until it sounded as if hundreds of people were laughing all around her. Her cheeks grew too hot to bear and a sob began to rise in her throat.
“I like you, and you do remind me of her,” said the goddess, cheerfully. “Well said, child. Well said indeed! I haven’t laughed like that in a century or more. I’m sorry, where are my manners. You just looked so adorable with your little fists and determined expression. I swear, no harm intended.”
the novitiate blinked the tears from her eyes and looked up at the statue. It had not moved, though it’s eyes were most definitely fixed on her. She turned her attention to Sharde, but the knight only grinned and gave her a shrug.
“Is this a dream?” asked the novitiate. “This cannot possibly be real.”
“No child, this most certainly isn’t a dream. It was however, very brazen of you to declare your ambitions to me. I’m impressed. I am sad to say that you are wrong, however. Probability has something else in store for you. I could show you if you like? Would you allow Sharde to take a little bit of your blood?”
“My… Blood?” asked the novitiate. “What do you need my blood for?”
“So I can show you the future.”
“The future?”
“Yes,” said the goddess. “The future. Your future. Consider it wisely. You can take your time.”
the novitiate shook her head. She had no need to consider it. She had already come this far.
“Of course, my goddess,” she replied. the novitiate wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffled, and then turned to Sharde, palm extended. She was confused, anxious, and shaken, but she would not hesitate. Not now. “Uhm, I’m sorry, lady… Do you have a knife on you by chance?” Sharde reached inside of her coat, and withdrew a small dagger. Unsheathing it, She offered the dagger to the novitiate.
“You’re going to do it yourself?” the knight asked. the novitiate nodded. Sharde sighed. “You’re surprisingly brave. Very well then, child. Here you are.” She flipped the knife over in her palm and offered it hilt first.
the novitiate gingerly reached up and took hold of the blade. It was lighter than it looked, with an engraved silver handle and a small red tassel hanging off the back of it. the novitiate examined the knife, and realized the engraving was a stylized crescent moon with an eye at its center.
“It’s the symbol of Yinyue…” she said.
The knight winked at her.
“Good luck.”
Taking a steadying breath, the novitiate drew the knife from it’s tiny sheath.
“No time like the present.”
She slashed it across her palm. It was sharp, and the cut was a little too deep, but it didn’t hurt much. She offered the knife back to Sharde. The knight stared at the knife for a moment before retrieving it by the tassel. It dangled in her grip, a single bead of blood running off it’s tip and dropping down into the water below. Fortunately, there was plenty left.
“It’s good to be decisive,” said Sharde, “but it isn’t bad to think things through either. Wait here.”
the novitiate examined the blood pooling in her palm, admiring it’s color and the way it caught the light. Had she done the right thing? Had she had a choice in the matter? She brushed her fingers against the studs in her cheeks. There was a slight *click* from near to the statue, and then the goddess spoke again.
“Your blood is exquisite, child. It tells quite the story. Would you like to hear it?”
the novitiate turned towards the statue, looking up to meet it’s gaze.
“I would.”
“Very well then. Let us begin.”
Before the novitiate could so much as blink, time froze and the entire world became pain.
She opened her mouth to scream but the only sound that came out was a raw tearing of flesh. A thunderclap resounded inside of her head, driving her down so hard she thought she would shatter. The room became red, then white, then black, then red again. She thrashed against the agony, splashing water in every direction and sending the fish scattering. There was the smell of burning wood, of burning incense, followed by the stringent taste of copper as she bit down on her tongue.
Then it was gone…
Only a single sound remained, a chord reverberating inside of her.
“It’s a song,” she realized.
The second chord was less painful, and through the pain the novitiate began to make out a melody. There was no Hall of Echoes anymore. That place had gone silent. There was only the song, and it was coming from inside of her. The instruments she could hear were not real, they were her soul and her heart, her mind and her bones. She was thrumming with their tune.
the novitiate submerged herself in it, like a tiny ship sinking into a vast ocean.
It was the saddest melody she had ever heard…
Her song, the song of her blood and of her soul, was tragic.
Then there was a glimmer of color in the darkness. There was a girl with long white hair and thin, frail wrists. The girl was looking up at her, embracing her, thanking her for something, and apologizing for something else. Tears streamed down the girl’s face as she said over and over.
“Thank you,” and, “I’m so sorry.”
the novitiate did not know why, but that gratitude was her treasure. It was the most important thing in the world to her, and she would die protecting it.
Then the darkness took her again.
Now she was on a battlefield, watching a lone figure. A man midst a field of corpses, his spear buried in the dirt, shield on his back cracked and broken, shoulders bent and hunched as if he were carrying an immense weight.
“There is so much blood on your hands,” she thought to herself, not knowing where the thought had come from.
She knew, just as she had known with the gratitude that she would help that man carry the weight one day. That weight too would become one of her treasures.
Images and song swirled in her mind, shifting this way and that, there one moment and gone the next.
An old man with a kind, youthful smile.
Twin girls with beautiful, determined eyes.
A young woman with auburn hair, blushing.
Then they stopped.
A burning city surrounded her, along with another face she did not recognize, but wanted to reach out and touch. The face resembled that of the girl from the first vision, but was slightly more masculine. He reached out his hand towards her, desperately grasping. He felt so close, and yet impossibly far away. Longing filled her, but she would not take his hand.
If she did, he would die.
The song roared in her now as it ascended towards it’s crescendo. She understood that her life was not going to be a happy one.
As she smiled back at the man, a final note of acceptance lingered on the air.
She spoke three words to him, though she could not hear them. Those three words would be her final treasure, even while the heat of the flames peeled and crackled her skin like parchment. As the fire reduced her to ashes, she was enveloped in searing light.
The vision and song came crashing down around the novitiate in a cacophony of noise and color.
As she began to awaken, the novitiate could just make out voices. The voices were deadened, as if spoken through thick fabric, or over a great distance. There were traces of panic in the voices. In her delirious state the novitiate recognized one of them as Sharde, but the other was different.
“My divine, you must not stress your body like this!”
“Silence, Sharde. Don’t touch me. I have to do this!”

“Is that the Goddess?”

“But, lady Tiel! “
“I said silence!”
Then the novitiate felt a weight straddling her waist and something grasping at the collar of her shirt. Suddenly, she was yanked forward, up and out of the water just as something struck her across the face hard enough to jolt her. She coughed and sputtered as her breath returned. Her eyes shot open to find someone staring back at her through a haze of tears. It was a girl. Her eyes were inhumanly large, two golden discs glimmering. The girl looked to be near the novitiates own age of ten, despite the sliver white of her long hair. She was dressed in a baggy green robe, and her cheekbones bore tiny, almost metallic, flecks of violet, scattered like freckles.
The girl was shaking her as violently as she could, tears streaming down her face as beads of water flew from her soaked clothing.
“You’re the one I’ve been searching for!” she screamed.
It was the voice of the goddess, but it had changed somehow.
Off to one side the novitiate could see Sharde, a hand over her mouth and an expression of anguish on her face. Then, the girls two hands jerked her head forward again, close enough to kiss. Over her shoulder she could see… The girl had no feet… There was nothing below her knees. Twenty paces away, right next to the statue, she could see a chair with two wheels, toppled over and half submerged in the water. The chair was right next to a door built into the leg of the statue. She had not noticed it before…
“Tell me, child. Will you help me?” the girl said, fists clenched so tightly it was like she was holding on for dear life. “Please, please help me! I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to hurt you! It wasn’t I swear!”
“You’re the goddess,” the novitiate whispered. It was not a question. She knew without a doubt in her mind that it was true. Had the goddess dragged herself from the statue? Was that why she was so wet?
Her thoughts were cut short when the goddess, still sniffling and sobbing, shook her vigorously once more.
“Answer me, damn you!”
“Help you with what?”
“Help me break the cycle!”
“But I’ll die,” replied the novitiate.
It was true. She had heard her song, and seen it with her own eyes. She was afraid, and she felt herself starting to cry. “I saw it all.”
The goddess released her grip, her hands falling limply to her sides. She leaned forward, pressing her head into the novitiate’s chest.

“She’s so small,” thought the novitiate.

“I know,” the goddess replied, stifling her sobs. She reached up and wiped at her eyes and nose. “I know that, but I need you. I need you…”
The girl from her vision, the one who had given her her first treasure, was the goddess. This frail being would become important to her. More important to her than her life, or her hopes and dreams.
Slowly, the novitiate reached out, wrapping her arms tightly around her goddess. Compared to the novitiate, who had always been tall and robust for her age, the goddess was tiny and frail, little more than skin and bone. As the novitiate embraced the goddess, it felt a little like embracing a sister, or a long lost friend. She hugged her close, stroking her long silver hair and whispering into her ear.
“There there. Everything will be fine. I’m here now. I will help you, my divine.”
“What a strange sight this must be,” thought the novitiate. Her, a nameless nobody, lying in the water, comforting a crying god. Was this the right choice? Did she even care? the novitiate knew that a long road lay ahead of her, and that it would not be a pleasant one. She knew that she would suffer, that she would lose everything. She knew that in choosing this path, she was choosing to abandon self. It didn’t really matter. There, in the Hall of Echoes, as she held the goddess to her breast, she felt something she had never felt in her life.
Love.
They remained like this for a time, the novitiate and the weeping god. Eventually, it was the goddess that broke the silence, her face still buried in the novitiates chest.
“What do I call you?” She asked, her voice scarcely a whisper.
“I don’t have a name…”
“Can I give you one?”
“I would like that.”
“Then I’ll call you Tezzariel.”
“What does it mean?”
The goddess pressed herself into the novitiate, into Tezzariel, as if scared she might vanish.
“It means friend,” she sniffled. “It means we’re friends…”