A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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Praise be Holy Ones, Blessed Diviines
Praise be Holy Ones, Pure and Wise
Hala-ha de Ome An, Essa Viinesi
Hala-ha de Ome An, Uer eh Creti
Everyone sang the song with joy and decent harmony as he climbed the stairway to the Holy Altar on the Diviine Temple's rooftop. It made Gris remember when he was younger, singing it with his mother. It was one of her favorite songs, and hearing it shook him to the core.
Once at the top, the view opened wide to a horrified fascination. Every torch around the large platform was lit, and decorative streams of tiny lanterns around doorways, archways, and designated sitting areas. The aroma of food graced the still air, and acrobatics, singers, dancers, and musicians performed for whoever wished to stop and watch. Both palace and temple slaves dressed in their finest took care of the needs of the noble attendees.
But as Gris walked through the crowd towards the front of the Holy Altar, he frowned at the seven tall pillars built onto a black marble platform. Various priests had already gathered around them, each mumbling silent prayers and holding burning incense. Gris' mouth went dry and he regretted attending this cruel event. But he thought of his father's most recent threat, which he sent by letter warning him to attend or be stripped of his birthright.
He clenched his hands into fists and desired a distraction. He easily found the tented area where the palace chef and the slaves worked to see if he could busy himself. However, in a kind yet firm response, most of them rebuked him and denied his plea for mercy. So with a frown of defeat, he returned to the front of the Holy Altar and spotted the royal section.
"Grisonce!" Gideon shouted from close by.
Gris' shoulders slouched. He would've rather stayed invisible until the sacrifices were over. His stepbrother approached with two beautiful women clinging to him.
"I forgive you," he said with great joy. He opened his arms wide and caught him in a tense embrace. The scorn of the Fairs was shining as bright as the torches.
"Forgive me for what, Gid?" Gris said, twisting his nose from the strong smell of his rum.
"Everything! This is a sacred night of atonement and forgiveness. A blessed night." Gid released him and grabbed one of the women, plunging his tongue into her mouth. The other woman had ribbons in her hair and wore a highly exposed green dress. She caught Gris' eye and gave him a seductive smile.
Gris avoided the contact and frowned. "I see."
"Come, brother. Be with me tonight," he said, gesturing for him to follow. The woman took hold of his arm and pulled Gris along.
They entered the royal platform, where the conversations dipped, eyes glancing at Gris. He held his breath and clenched his teeth, unable to look at his father or Eron. He sat beside Gideon, who found an interest in kissing his woman's neck. One of his slaves approached him with a tray of finger treats. He respectfully declined.
