The Unborn God

What Kira was about to do hadn't been done in thousands of years. The very prospect of it frightened her. She prayed that the gods would forgive her. It's not as if she had a choice in the matter, anyway. Prisoners don't have choices.

The only reason for her imprisonment was her birth. She had been born the wrong person. If only she had been born a normal child. How she wished she had been able to smile and play as she knew other children did. But she was different. She had magic. She was dangerous.

She stood at the altar in the Hall of Ceremony before the Emperor and his two chief advisors, who were there to oversee her work. She had known the Emperor her entire life. He had always been kind to her; he had practically raised her. Each time he saw her, he would give her a gentle smile, oftentimes stopping to talk about whatever he might be thinking at the moment. Yet with all his power, he had never set her free to live a free life. She knew that he couldn't do that, no matter how much he may love her. She was magic, and could never be trusted.

The Emperor wore a lavish green robe with intricately detailed golden embroidery and precious gemstones along the collar line. A large perfectly cut heart shaped ruby hung from his neck on a thick golden chain. His pale blue eyes watched keenly as Kira prepared for the ritual.

Kira pulled an ornate dagger from her belt and held it high above her head, fully extending her arms. She looked at the Emperor, “I'm ready to begin.”

“Good,” he said softly with a warming smile. “Let us hope that this works.”

“It will, Emperor.” Kira said, her voice full of conviction.

The Emperor stood there, waiting for the ritual to commence. Kira put down her arms and shrugged. “I'm sorry Emperor, but I must be alone to do this. Magic this powerful would most likely cause you great harm.”

“Are you sure, my dear?” He asked, as if he worried more about her safety than his.

Kira nodded solemnly. “I'm sure. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine, I think.”

“Very well. You do what you must,” He said, and then faced his advisors. “Let us leave her be.” He gestured toward the heavy doors at the other end of the cavernous room. His advisors started off. He turned once more to Kira, “Just let me know when you've finished. I want to make sure that you're all right, and that everything went smoothly.”

“Certainly, Emperor.” Kira said, giving a shallow bow with her head.

The Emperor turned and started walking down the long red carpet aisle that spanned the length of the hall. As he strode away, Kira started to feel anxiety surface from deep within her heart, touched with a drop of sadness and hope. This was her life, her calling. There was nothing more, and there never would be. A fresco of the three gods, Erana, Ziro, and Vra, was painted on the ceiling depicting the domain of each. She looked up at the fresco of Ziro, the god of life, and couldn't help but feel sorrow for what would never be. Kira had already been acquainted with Erana when she was created, and she knew that she'd come to know Vra when she died, but she'd never know Ziro- never feel the vivacity of life. He represented all that she would never be able to experience. He was the god of Life. Though it was to Ziro Kira prayed the most, to Him she had devoted her life, He had never answered her pleas. She found it oddly ironic that, now, it was for Ziro that she would perform the ritual. She felt she needed him, but in truth, she knew that the Empire needed him more – more now than ever.

She raised the dagger once more above her head, and then looked down at an ancient book that she had spread in front of her. She softly read aloud the incantations written on the aged yellow pages of the text. She stared back up at the dagger, at her hands wrapped tightly around the jewel encrusted handle. It was so heavy. She couldn't think about how heavy it was, she had to stay focused on the incantation until she felt it. She repeated the words of the long-extinct language over and over again, concentrating only on them, letting the words come to life inside her.

It was slow at first, like a creeping current spreading from the center of her body outward. She started to lose herself in the words. Her arms became hot, not only with the weight of the heavy dagger, but with the energy that had started to course through her. She could feel it building, condensing itself tightly in her heart. Her body trembled as she tried to brace herself against the oncoming pain. A voice in the back of her mind screamed that she was going to lose consciousness. She ignored it. She clenched her jaw trying to bite back a scream that was waiting to burst from her chest.



“Izlai, Arment ze Greuriste, Ecliat ze Viar .” Each word pained her more than the last. She saw the charge of power in the air around her. Then, for a moment, she felt complete relief, the world became calm, her muscles relaxed, her resolve strengthened.

Suddenly, the energy that had gathered inside her, ran in torrents up her tired arms to the dagger. The pain was far more than she thought she could handle. No longer able to hold in her suffering, she opened her mouth wide and let out a blood curdling scream that visibly shook the doors the Emperor had exited through. As her breath ran out, and her screaming quieted, so too did the agony she had endured. She stifled a breath, knowing that there was still more pain to come.

The color of the blade had turned obsidian, meaning that the first part of the ceremony had been a success. Kira was so forlorn. She felt used. Was there anyone in the world who truly cared for her? She could end it all right now – suck the life right out of her with the dagger. It could be over. The end. Her soul hungered for release. This is not the woman she had wanted to grow to be when she was younger. All alone. This dagger could be her salvation. No. She wouldn't do it. It was the Empire's salvation. The Empire was far more important than the desires of one woman, especially if that woman happened to be the Maiden of Life.

Kira stared at her left hand hovering above the altar, a foot from her face. Her grip tightened as she brought the sinister blade closer to her open palm. Just a scratch, the dagger only needed a taste of blood. Gritting her teeth, she sunk the razor sharp edge into her skin and dragged it until her blood flowed freely. Her blood, which had started as a mere trickle, gushed out faster than Kira had expected. As more blood came forth, the dagger, ravenous for her life force, absorbed each drop.

Her eyes gone wide, Kira feared that the blade was consuming her soul. Then it was over, her self-inflicted laceration already beginning to heal. The dagger's blade once again changed color, turning into a perfect white; harsh light emanated from its sharp point to its bejeweled handle.

Glad that her undertaking was finally complete, Kira laid the weapon before her on the stone altar. She'd have to go fetch the Emperor now; he'd want to know how the ritual had gone. There were no words she'd be able to employ to justify the torment she had just undergone. A single tear streamed down her face and briefly hung at her jawbone before dribbling onto the dagger. She didn't notice the weapon as it sizzled.

A twinge of guilt stung the back of her mind. This dagger, which had been endowed with the most archaic and powerful of magics only found in the Holy Chronology, would be used as the man who had forged it had intended: to kill. The death it brought was an abnormal one. Kira didn't understand the true nature of the magics she had instilled in the blade, but she had learned enough to know that it had the ability to annihilate a man's soul, leaving no chance for existence in the afterlife, such is the magic of Vra that is necessary to give the dagger its power.



Her legs weak, she backed away from the altar and started for the exit across the hall. The distance to the doors seemed terribly far. She felt more drained than she had ever been in her life. Her dark emotions were a vortex of sorrow in her mind, her body a weak vessel carrying an unwilling spirit. There had been times in her life when she had felt cheerful – she was sure of it. She just couldn't recall them.

Her title, Maiden of Life, was not one given in haste. She was a special breed of woman. Under her were four priestesses, none of whom were nearly as powerful, but all of them were much older than she. Kira always suspected that the priestesses maintained grudge against her. She'd noticed them conversing amongst themselves often, periodically sneering at her as she sat in the corner of the palace libraries feigning deep study. The haggard women were endlessly jealous of Kira's beauty and power. Holding the position of Maiden meant living a life of perpetual sacrifice. Life outside of Gyr was forbidden. All her life, Kira had attempted to abandon her natural human desires for the knowledge that she would never be able to fulfill them. She never gave the pretense of dissatisfaction. She couldn't. She was the Maiden of Life, widely perceived to be the most powerful and feared woman in the entire Empire.

Once she opened the door, she scanned the dimly lit entrance hall for the Emperor. Two figures approached her, but the contrast between the darkness and the glowing torches made them difficult to discern.

“Maiden Kira,” The first man said. Kira knew instantly who the man was. “Have you finished with your witchery?” It was the Emperor's first assistant, Calvin.

“Yes.” Her voice was cool and confident, as should be the way of the Maiden.

“Where is it?”

Kira disregarded his question. “Bring me to the Emperor, I'll only answer to him.”

“Are you sure, Maiden?” Calvin leered at her as Tristan, the second advisor, sided up to him. “You look awfully frail after casting such ghastly magic.” It was then that Kira noticed a body lying on the granite floor just beyond the nearest torch, the handle of a knife projecting from its chest.

“I wouldn't want to have to bruise your pretty face.”

“How dare you even-” The world around Kira went hazy as Calvin's concussive strike landed on her cheek.

“Listen, darling,” Calvin's voice burned with malice, “you point us to where the dagger is, and Tristan won't use that nasty little weapon he holds.” Kira focused her eyes on the weapon in Tristan's hand. Though it was a dull rusty knife, she knew that that was all that would be needed.

“Listen to the man, honey, I don't want to cut up a stunning bitch such as yourself.” Tristan made no effort to hide his lecherous gaze.

Kira started to get a hold of her senses once more – had she not been so weakened from the ritual, she could have stricken these men dead in less than a heart's beat. “You have no idea what that dagger is to be used for.”

Calvin's lips curled in malcontent. “You really haven't the slightest idea how the real world works, do you, Priestess? You don't know what goes on beyond these walls.” He gestured as if revealing the outside world. “You're just a puppet – a servant to the Empire. This dagger of yours was the Empire's last, and might I add, desperate, hope. Do you consider us so naïve that we would not know its intended purpose?”

“Spies!” Kira gasped. She tried to muster the power within, but she simply couldn't summon it. “Why? How could you?”

Tristan shoved Kira back with his finger. “Because our master will be most pleased after we deliver the dagger into his hands. He'll reward us for serving the Legion and helping him to finally rid this world of the Alean Empire.”

Kira spit in Tristan's zealous eyes.

“You filthy wench!” he recoiled, “I'll slit your pretty throat for that!” He seized her shoulder and yanked her to within cutting distance.

Kira let out a cry and squirmed in his clutches as he grazed her neck, ever so gently, with the tip of his knife, just deep enough for blood to bead into small droplets. “Well, my dear,” he growled, “looks like your time wish us will be cut a little shorter than we had anticipated.” He drew the knife back in readiness for the final mortal strike.

As Tristan was about the plunge the blade through her windpipe, he heard a loud thud and paused, looking down to see Calvin collapsed at his feet. His eyes went wide with confusion just before rolling back into his head. Tristan crashed to the ground dead, the knife that had been in the Emperor's chest, now firmly planted in the nape of his neck.

A man dashed to Kira and dragged her behind him into the Hall of Ceremony by her arm. “I didn't kill the other one, I just knocked him out” he panted. “Are you all right?”

Kira was still trying to catch her breath and gather her wits. “I'm fine, we have to get the dagger.”

“The dagger?” He asked, pulling her along.

“It's in here, on the altar. It's important.”

“Let's get you out of here, first,” the man urged.

“No. The dagger is more important than me.”



“But if that man wakes up, it could be an issue. I take no pleasure in killing.”

“Even so, the dagger must be protected,” she said as they rushed on.



The dagger sat atop the altar radiating intense white light. “This is not simple magic.” The man stated blankly.

Kira appraised him for the first time. By the way he was dressed, he looked to be a palace servant. Could he really know what he was talking about? “It isn't.” She acknowledged.

The man nodded and stared at the dagger wistfully. “It needs to be destroyed.” A lone tear rolled down his cheek.

“Not even I can-” Kira quieted abruptly.

The monolithic doors slammed shut at the end of the hall. Calvin marched down the aisle, gripping a knife in each hand, one of which was still glistening with fresh blood. “Bring me the dagger, and I'll let you both walk free. No more servitude. You could lead normal lives. Give me the dagger, and you can live.”

Kira found herself weighing her options. She could be free, but it would have to be at the expense of the entire empire. What would quality of life be like after the Empire fell? She couldn't give up the lives of others to live an empty life outside the walls of Gyr.

“No,” The man who had saved Kira said, not giving her a chance to answer.

Calvin quickened his stride toward Kira. “Then I'll kill her – slowly. You'll have to watch as she pleads for death, begs for the mercy of Vra to destroy her very soul. I'll start in on you, but not before you see her eyes cry tears of blood.”

The man took Kira's hand and gave it a quick squeeze before swiping the dagger from the altar. “You have no choice but to kill me first, I won't let you touch this woman.”

“Do you know who that woman is, servant?” Calvin asked, closing the distance between them even more.

“It doesn't matter who she is. It is your intention to kill her, and it is mine to stop you.” The dagger glimmered in his hand.

“She's the Maiden of Life.”

The man nearly dropped the weapon as he peered over at her, his mouth agape. This was not the time to care about such things, he realized. He turned back to Calvin, “I told you it doesn't matter, and it doesn't.” Kira tried to catch his wrist to stop him, but he had already descended the steps from the altar to confront Calvin, who was now only a few paces away.

“So be it, boy.”

Calvin threw a quick jab with the rusty knife, which the servant smoothly evaded. The servant tried getting in close with his blade, but Calvin kept him away with a swift kick to the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Calvin sliced at the man with his other knife, but he only caught air. The servant was agile, but Calvin was determined to end this inconvenience.





With a firm punch from the servant's free hand, Calvin's bloodied knife clanged to the floor. He stumbled backward before launching an attack that slashed across the servant's chest, but no blood was drawn. Red hot fury boiled in the servant's eyes as he lunged at Calvin, knocking him to the ground and pinning him to the floor.

As the luminescent dagger bore down on Calvin's forehead, he grunted, grabbing the servant's wrists desperately trying to keep the blade at bay. He managed to knee the servant in the groin, stunning his opponent long enough to get a grip on the dagger and start to turn it toward his would-be assailant. The servant cried with effort, trying to regain control. Turning the blade more, Calvin butted the servant in the head.

Kira looked on, but could do nothing, she was too weak from what ordeals she had already faced.

“Run!” The servant commanded. “Go!” Kira wanted to, but her legs felt as if they were cemented into the ground. “Please, my Maiden!”

My Maiden.

With a final thrust, Calvin sunk the dagger deep into the servant's heart, and wrenched it around. The man's eyes shot wide open with the unexpected jolt of agony. Gore poured from his chest. He tried to cry out, but instead blood gurgled from his mouth. Within moments, his eyes turned glassy as he gazed upon Calvin with the eternal glare of death.

Kira fell to her knees and wept for a man she never knew.

Calvin withdrew the dagger and slid the corpse off to his side. Regaining his composure, he stood up before the Maiden of Life. The dagger was no longer glowing.

“What happened to the dagger? What did you do?” He demanded.

“I- I don't know. The dagger should have retained its power. I can't explain it. Now, however, it's of no use to you.” It was hard for Kira to get the words out, but at least the man hadn't sacrificed himself for nothing. The dagger was devoid of the magic it once had held.

“You're going to fix this.” Calvin hissed, closing the distance between the two of them.

“I'll do no such thing. Even if I wanted to, it would take me weeks to recover enough power to reattempt the spell.”

Calvin drew back a fist. “Very well.”

Kira's world went black.