Ican walked down the Path of Rebirth wearing the ceremonial clothes his parents had given him. Attached to his waist with a string hung several large water skins, although their contents did not contain the liquid one would expect. In his white ornate clothing, much finer than anything he had ever seen or worn before in his village, he walked down the worn cobblestone path through the forest, the sun shining past the layers of leaves that the formed the rooftop of the forest.
So with pride the ten year old child, who instead of flesh and bone was made completely of a black jagged crystal that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect, walked down the beaten path like so many had done before. It was peaceful, beautiful, being surrounded by all this life, he hoped to remember this moment, even after his body would start to wear down and become old and forgetful like Aunt Eldra. It was his moment after all
Well not completely his. Four other kids had been born the same month as he was, so they would all take part in the ritual as well, first with Bo’, the oldest, and then him, the second oldest in his group.
Speaking of which, had the others already made it to the ceremony site? They had all taken different paths. Was he going too slow? He didn’t want to make everyone wait but at the same time he wanted to go at his own pace. He should hurry up.
With a nervous gait, Ican sped up his walking, making sure to be careful with his ceremonial robes, his mom said that they were expensive and costed the village a fortune to buy these silk garments. Although Ican personally thought they were a bit bland with only one color.
Finally he made it to the ceremony site, his feet a bit tired from all that walking, but thankfully he seemed to be on time. As he walked out of the forest, into a large wide open clearing with a gathering in the center, Ican stepped from rough cobblestone to cool grass, relishing the feeling of the meadow between his bare feet.
The gathering of his fellow villagers, numbering to about fifty other adults and children gave Ican a cheer as they saw him approach. If Ican had skin he would have blushed, so as he approached the gathering of village folk he kept his head down.
Unlike himself, the adults had already gone through the ritual. They weren’t like him, a solid mass of black stone whose form took the general shape of a person. Whilst Ican’s body lacked much detail, looking more like a child’s drawing come to life than a actual living being, the adults had recognizable faces and features. And those features were of a variety. Some of the adults took the form of basic humans, their skin a tad grayer than the average person but still very human, whilst others had the forms of animals that walked on two legs, their very bodies a mixture of human and beast, a rare few were even plantlike, appearing to be plants or trees given a humanoid form.
However no matter the variety in their forms, a key trait marked them as members of the same race. Their shards. Usually embedded into their shoulder, chest, or back, was a black crystal, completely fused with their body. People unfamiliar with Prisms might think that they had been stabbed or impaled, but those black shards were a part of their bodies, as natural as fingers and eyelashes. They were the Prisms, the crystalline people descended from the now shattered Dream Gate. No one knew what the Dream Gate was, but apparently it's destruction led to the creation of their race, so Ican figured it was pretty important.
As Ican moved towards the crowd, they parted to allow him access into the center. As he walked past, several stopped him to congratulate him, sometimes giving him a pat on the back, a kiss on the forehead, or worse a hug. In the center was a large stone altar, its age after decades of being exposed to the elements evident by its worn stone . Built into the altar was a basin, large enough for a child his size to fit inside snugly. To his relief, standing proudly a step or two away from the basin was Bo and his sister Allea, who both wore their own ceremonial robes. A short distance away from them were they’re parents, the father having the shape of a humanoid ram whilst their mother seemed to be some sort of cat.
Like Ican, Bo and Allea were virtually featureless, only the build of their crystalline bodies and voices telling them apart from each other.
Bo gave Ican a wave and motioned for him to stand beside them, they still had to wait for the others before the ritual could start.
Ican quickly moved to stand beside his peer, although they didn’t talk or whisper to each other once. Their parents had been very stern for all of them to be on their best behavior or else the ritual would fail.
So, the three children waited in silence, the adults among them respectfully keeping their distance from the honored children, murmuring and chattering to themselves, causing a soft chatter of noise that Ican processed as a indecipherable stream of sound and noises more than any actual language.
It felt like several hours had passed, although the sun was still high in the sky approaching noon, before the other two arrived. A girl named Rin and a village boy who Ican didn’t know the name of. The adults cheered as they approached nearly simultaneously, beckoning the two to stand beside Ican and the others.
When the five children were gathered into one place, the ceremony began. All chatter was silenced when the village chief, a proud wise looking Prism, whose body was that of a horned Tiefling, his crystal shard protruding a few inches into the air from his right shoulder.
What a terrible place to have your shard be. Ican thought. He hoped that wherever his crystal shard formed, it would be small and in a place that wasn’t too much of a inconvenience to have.
Gratan, wearing the green dyed tribal hides of the village chief, began his speech. Ican didn’t really pay attention to what the chief said, his mind wandering to other places. After the first few minutes of splendor and pride of standing, he had already become disinterested in the ritual and thus paid the chief little attention.
He did hear snippets of the chief’s speech. Hearing words and phrases like “the next generation”, “new glowing shards brimming with potential”, and something about the six Dreamers, the great divinities that ruled kingdoms and empires.
Finally, Gratan called Bo to the altar, grabbing Ican’s attention. The ritual was about to start. He didn’t know much about it but his older brother had told him it hurt real bad at first.
Ican was glad he wasn’t the first one to go then, that meant he could prepare himself before he had to undergo the ritual.
The chief kneeled down on one knee to meet Bo’s eyes. He wore a kind smile on his face and patted Bo’s head gently.
“Now tell me, Bo is your name yes?”
Bo nodded shyly.
“Well then Bo, this is a special day for you, so help me help you, what did you choose as your aspect?”
Fingers fumbling, Bo nervously grabbed the several pouches that hung from his waste, bringing them up for Gratan to see.
Curious, Grantan delicately took one of the pouches and looked inside. He reached in and pulled out a clump of wool, ingrained into it appeared to be small fragments of a ram’s horn.
“Ah... so you wish to take more after your father do you not?”
“Yes... sir.”
“If that is your desire, and your desire only, then that is what you’ll be.”
Grantan handed the the pouch back to Bo’ signaling to several of his attendants to begin.
“Bo’s rebirth shall now begin. Bo, please step into the basin, remove your ceremonial robes and relax, it will end before you even realize.”
Bo did as told, taking off his robes, untying the several pouches from his waist and carrying them in his hands. Now only in his basic tunic and pants, he stepped towards the basin, visibly nervous, giving a look towards his parents who both supportively nodded at him, a proud smile on both of their faces.
Gingerly, he half climbed half crawled into the basin, his crystal body causing a obnoxious scraping sound it rubbed against the solid stone.
When he was finally inside, resting inside the raised basin, so that only his head and arms were visible to the short Ican, did two ritual attendants come forward.
Gratan motioned for them to begin.
Carrying wooden buckets of what Ican presumed was warm water, they began pouring the liquid into the basin, ignoring Bo’s quiet protests and squirming around. One of the attendants, having the form of a tall human man, gently took Bo’s pouches from his hands, opening them and letting the contents fall loose into the now water filled basin.
Ican not wanting to draw attention to him, subtly stood on his tiptoes to get a better view. The basin was slightly too high for him to see clearly.
Bo was practically wiggling in the filled base, obviously not comfortable in the warm water full of ram fur and horn fragments.
Save for Bo’s soft grumblings, the ceremony was eerily quiet. Barely anyone made a sound as they all watched the ritual with a strange respect. Not even any of the village infants or toddlers made a sound, a annoyance Ican knew too well with his own infant cousins. It was so quiet Ican didn’t dare so much as exhale, the lack of noise unnerving him greatly.
Finally, once the contents of Bo’s pouches were emptied and the basin filled so that the water was almost spilling out, Gratan moved forward.
Breaking the silent spell, Grantan began murmuring, more to himself than the audience surrounding him.
Ican couldn’t quite hear what he said, but the words seemed otherworldly to the child, something he couldn’t quite understand even if he had been hearing them clearly.
Grantan, pulling from a sheath attached to his waste pulled out a dagger, as he moved towards the basin. It was long, curved and wicked, zigzagging almost like a bolt of thunder and its edge was cruel and wicked. Ican inaudibly let loose a small gasp, expecting people to react to the village chief suddenly holding a knife, yet looking around, no one seemed to be surprised, as if it was normal for the chief to walk towards a child with a dagger in hand.
Not even his fellow peers, standing beside him watching the ritual seemed to react, their eyes clouded, almost entranced at what was happening.
Ican on the other hand, could only feel anxiety at what was happening. Would the chief approach him, lying vulnerable in the basin, with that knife as well? Ican didn’t want to think about it, but the more he tried to stop the more he did.
Grantan was finally standing over the basin. Bo, laying down horizontally towards him, his body tense and his eyes wide and fearful as the chief loomed over him.
“Stay still Bo. Its alright.” Grantan said, giving the boy a kind smile even as he raised his dagger over the child.
No one made any motion to intervene as Grantan, swiftly, with full force, aimed his dagger directly into the center of Bo’s chest. Ican saw it happen almost in slow motion. The sound of glass rupturing as the dagger rammed through Bo’s chest echoed throughout the area. The sudden ritualistic chanting from the crowd as the dagger pierced the child’s chest. A scream of immense pain, and then, a flash of light, blinding and overwhelming. For a moment Ican could see nothing but white, and could feel nothing but a sickening radiance that made him nauseous enough to buckle onto his knees.
Finally, after a eternity, the light faded and his senses returned. Everything seemed blurry, but soon his vision cleared. Looking around, at first he thought that everything was the same. The sky was still blue and the grass was still green. But then he noticed that the crowd of villagers were recovering as well. Some of the older adults had fallen to their knees, others were on the verge of throwing up, and even the most hardiest stood on unsteady knees that could not stop quivering.
At least Ican wasn’t the only one to collapse, that would’ve been embarrassing.
But wait, what about Bo and the Chief?
After getting up and steadying himself, Ican looked towards the basin. Bo wasn’t in the basin anymore, and the Chief, his body trembling slightly as he tried to compose himself was carrying something in his arms. It looked like a mass of brown fuzz at first, but then Ican noticed the fingered hooves, the small curled horns, and realized what had happened.
Bo had been rebirthed.
Bo now in the form of a ram that stood on two legs and had two arms, laid peacefully asleep in the Chief’s arms. His clothes were torn, ripped, and strangely dry as if he had never been inside the basin.
Ican wanted to see more of Bo’s new form but almost instabtly, two attendants quickly came to Grantan’s side, wrapping the young boy in a soft blanket lest he be exposed to the outside, even with all his fur.
Bo’s parents rushed forward to collect their child, his mother taking the unconscious boyfrom the Chieftain, who passed him to her without a word. Her body was not yet recovered from the light wave, and Bo now in his new form was slightly too heavy for her to carry by herself, her arms trembling as she lifted the boy by herself. She was almost about to drop Bo until her husband helped lift the unconscious Bo as well, sharing the burden with her, both of them chuckling slightly to themselves as they did.
Both parents carrying their child, they stood beside Grantan, and lifting Bo as high as they possibly could, presented the newly rebirthed child. The crowd cheered, singing their congratulations and wishes of good luck. Several close family members grew closer, to either hug the two parents and congratulate them up closely, or to see Bo in his newly reborn form.
Ican, still anxious looked around into the crowd, looking for his parents faces for support. Yet his head was still fuzzy, the crowd was little more than a blur now. Bo had changed. Even with his clouded mind, Ican could tell that Bo had become… complete. He wasn’t just a solid mass of rock in the shape of a boy, his face had detail, depth, something Ican would gain too...
“Ican.” A strong steady voice said, piercing through the fog of Ican’s mind. Ican turned, and saw that it was Grantan. Bo’s parents and family members had already returned their way back to the crowd, Bo’s mother lovingly stroking and feeling Bo’s new fur.
Everyone else was looking at him now.
“Chief… I don’t want to go anymore…” Ican mumbled.
At that Grantan gave a soft laugh. Kneeling down to meet Ican, he gave him a soft look, not unlike the one he had given to Bo moments before he stabbed him.
“After what you just saw, I can’t say I’m surprised. But come now. Show us what you have brought to be sacrificed.”
“Well… I don’t really want to show people what I brought.” Ican said shyly.
“We’ll all know soon enough Ican, but if you don’t want to show everyone your sacrifice, you can just show it to me if you want.” Grantan said comfortingly.
With a nod, Ican untied the several pouches from his waist, handing them to Grantan, who promptly took a peek inside their contents. Ican saw a brief look of surprise and curiosity in what he saw, but quickly replaced it with a kind smile.
Standing up, Grantan looked to the crowd.
“Bo had been reborned. But now it is Ican’s turn to become something new as well.” He proclaimed confidently, then to Ican he spoke, “Come now Ican, relinquish your ceremonial robes and step into the basin.”
Ican did as told, doing exactly as his predecessor Bo had done during the ceremony. Before he knew it, Ican was lying within the basin once more. Like Bo, there was nearly no trace of water inside the stone tub after the rebirthing had been completed. It was as if it had dried instantly during that flash of light, but Ican had never felt any heat.
Ican’s troubled thoughts were once again interrupted as the feeling of uncomfortably warm water filled the empty space inside the basin once more. He watched as Grantan’s two servants poured the contents of Ican’s sacrificial pouches into the water, Ican’s offerings mixing within the warm water.
It all seemed to be going too quickly for Ican. Everything was too cramped, every sound too loud, every movement of his body almost painful. Why was he so scared all of the sudden? Before he had arrived he was happy, excited even for this special day, yet the only thing he could feel was a gnawing dread.
He wanted to voice his complaints, yet his voice froze in his throat.
His vision blurred further. Did Bo feel the exact same way while he was inside this cramped place? Did Bo also feel like every breath wasn’t enough to keep him conscious?
Then, Grantan almost seemed to apparate in front of him. His body the only thing vivid and clear within the haze of Ican’s turmoil. The village chief’s smile was kind and understanding, his eyes filled with a wisdom that Ican could never comprehend as he was now.
For a moment, Ican felt a moment of calm, as Grantan loomed over him, raising his wicked black dagger high, his aim precise and flawless as the blade pierced through Ican’s.
Ican felt as if his entire had collapsed into a miniature sun, his crystalline form dissipating into blinding light, and then forming into something new, reborn in a flurry of light. But what did Ican offer as his sacrifice? The material substance that would act as the basis and inspiration of his new form?