[Re:Cursed] Chapter 3&4

patreon kinda stuffs up the formatting a little on this chap. No way to transfer align middle or such. Anyway, please enjoy. :D

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The hallway was as clean as it was quiet. Nix’s room was at the far end, separated from the other occupied rooms of her age-group.

It wasn’t unreasonable of the other kids; there had been plenty of tales with contagious curses. None of Nix’s were, as far as she knew. They were blood-curses. The type that one inherited from their parents. Nix often wondered if her parents were criminals, exceedingly unlucky with rituals, or simply made themselves the enemy of the wrong cultist. She could only speculate. Nix, like every other child on Coral, was raised without any knowledge of who her parents were.

Of course, whatever had inflicted the blood-curses upon her parents had been insistent. The whole point of separating a child from their life-giver was to weaken their inherited curses by removing familial connection — at least that’s what she’d been told — but that had never helped Nix.

So, as hers were blood-curses, they shouldn’t be contagious, but that didn’t stop the isolation she’d experienced.

When Nix was younger — younger than her current body — there had been many more kids to share the dorms. They’d all done whatever they could to keep an entire empty room between themselves and her, going so far as to share rooms between three.

Over time — for better or worse — some of those kids had disappeared. It meant there was no fighting over who had to bunk on Nix’s side of the hallway.

She strode down the dorm, fingering that feather through her robe. Nix would need to plan ahead for some of her future changes. The thin cloth was decent enough for now, but what would she do once she started sprouting new limbs? What of her hair, hands, or any of the other mutations that would become impossible to hide. She had a long while before those began, but not forever.

As much as she despised these mutations, she didn’t want to mutilate herself to hide them. Her captors severed any unnatural limbs. She couldn’t do the same, no matter if they’d been the origin of her problems.

But there was much she needed to accomplish if she wanted to avoid that.

Nix quickened her pace as she passed the empty — quiet — rooms and out of the dorms. The kitchen and living areas were equally empty. It was only as she passed through the metal subdivisions and arrived in the foyer did she find her seventy-odd neighbours chatting excitedly besides the thick shutters that led outside.

A few of the other fifteen-year-olds cast wary glances her way, but ignored her for the most part. It was K’tan’s relieved sigh that surprised her the most. She’d forgotten just how kind he once was. The man had been a source of comfort for the young Nix amongst the other kids that had always avoided her.

She had always steered towards the adults back when she was a true teenager, as their pity was easier to deal with than the avoidance of those who were supposed to be her fellows. At least until K’tan’s fellow carers began avoiding her, too.

I still don’t know why, Nix thought. Surely I hadn’t been that unlikable back then?

One of the women was looking her way, but as soon as Nix turned to her, she pretended like she was looking at the ceiling.

At this point in her life, K’tan had been the only one she spoke to.

But today, she wouldn’t stick by his side as she had last time. She hadn’t forgotten the declaration she’d made to herself on the night of her death. It had been moments ago in her mind, after all. But for the fist time in so long, she was free of her chains and had the chance to step out under the Great Iris.

It wasn’t for the same reasons, but she was just as excited to leave the confines of Rearing Ward as any of the other teenagers.

They looked forward to the ceremony. Nix looked forward to what was after. Leaving early, or skipping it entirely were temptations for her, but the naming ceremony was something everyone remembered. As overwhelmed by despair as she’d been, it wasn’t a surprise she’d acted in such a way, but she still regret it. She didn’t want anyone to remember her as the girl who broke down on her naming day.

Nix only stood around for a moment before heavy screeching of thick metal sheets unlocked from each other and lifted over their heads. It was clearly in less than perfect condition. The entire Ward was pure tech and machine — no corruptive influence at all — so it was a shame the Technocult had been eradicated. At least they never forced you to worship the machine god when they offered repairs.

Wait… it is now seven years in the past. They will still be alive.

Thoughts of the cult fated to die in the next few years fled Nix’s mind as she followed the cheers and chatter of the dozen teenagers on their way to receive their names. K’tan, along with his helpers, tried to keep them in check, and away from the dangerous, corrupted sections of Coral.

Nix fell behind. The bright light raining down from above was glorious. She’d spent the past few years of her confinement within the Under-Coral, so the intensity was almost too much, but she enjoyed the warmth as it  burnt her skin.

A wide ring of white hung above. It illuminated everything. Within that thick ring was the endless expanse of stars, and outside it, lay the impenetrable darkness of the black hole. Everyone knew the black hole was only beneath their platform, and yet the Darkness of its core spread through the sky.

They lived within the Great Eye. The ring of illumination was the iris, while the pupil was entirely stars. Stars and distant galaxies.

It remained impossible to tell if the Great Eye was constantly looking in on them where they nestled, unmoving on the black hole, or if it were gazing out into the depths of space and what lay beyond their world.

Beneath the Great Iris, a half-shattered dome of glass rose from the edges of The Platform. Once in the long past — Nix had been told — the barrier had separated them from space. She didn’t know why any ancestor would have wanted that; the true dangers of space could ignore glass entirely.

Nix breathed deep of the pressure void, and ran after the others. She loved how her legs didn’t waver beneath her.

Like a cluster of ducklings, Nix and the other teens were led through the unmutilated alleys of the topside. Before she knew it, they had arrived at the ritual chamber. Well, this one wasn’t so much a chamber as an open-aired courtyard with an alter in the centre. There were plenty just like it up here; the chambers cultists used when there was no need for subtlety.

She tried her best not to stare at the alter. It wasn’t the same. Not nearly as ornate, the stone block was covered with a crimson cloth to signify it had no use in our ritual. For that, she was thankful.

As they were marched to the centre of the courtyard — where the dozen cult prospectors and the ritualist that would perform their naming watched from their front — Nix nestled herself at the back of the pack, behind a rather tall boy she had forgotten the name of. She wanted to remain unseen for this ceremony. Yet, as much as she wished for it, she still found K’tan glancing her way with a sickening expression of concern.

The first time she’d experienced this day, she’d stood right by his side. But now, she couldn’t. Nix knew it would be best to act as if nothing had changed — to act how she once had so that K’tan’s suspicions wouldn’t be raised — but she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide her hatred. If she so much as looked at the overseer for too long, Nix feared she would be revealed. She had her whole life ahead of her; she wasn’t about to let fate repeat.

Thankfully, he had a job to do.

“Everyone, I’m sure you are all very excited to be here,” K’tan said after the crowd grew quiet under the gazes of those they needed to impress. “But please do not be disappointed if your name is not exactly what you wanted. The name unveiled to you reflects your soul. If you do not like who you are now, you have time to become more. With effort, you can extend your true name. Maybe some of you will even achieve a Feat if you work hard enough.”

The overseer turned to address the man standing a step before the line of cultists. “Onomastician A̱l'Darvi-Thalnor, I shall leave them in your care.”

“Right,” the cultist droned. The voice of a man who’d done this a thousand times and found the process entirely miserable. “One by one you will approach. I will enact the ritual, and when you see your name, you will announce it for all to hear. With all inflections pronounced clearly. Do not try to mislead. It is obvious, and only makes you look the fool.”

The specialist in name analysis cast his hand back over the dozen cultists behind him. “Some of you may have already begun your journey with your cult of choice, but these men and women will observe the process of your naming. If your additive interests them, they may offer you a position in the higher divisions of their respective cult. Remember to be respectful.”

Nix had heard it all once before, but she didn’t remember the onomastician being this disinterested in the ritual. Maybe she had simply been too excited last time to notice.

Finally, the ceremony began. She wasn’t interested in hearing her name — she knew how horrible it would be — but she would make it through the naming to the end. Nix would prove that she was different from the pitiable girl she’d been last time. Nix would make sure the timeline deviated.

The onomastician gestured for the first of the prospective cultists to approach. The hood stopped Nix from seeing who it was, but they were clearly one of the smaller kids of the group. Despite being the first, he let out a small cheer and jumped into the circle of black symbols etched into the waxed vinyl flooring.

A̱l'Darvi didn’t even waste the time to acknowledge him. Instead, he immediately launched into a short hymn that had the runes glowing white. As the chant came to an abrupt end, the boy gasped; his true name likely appearing before his eyes.

“Dan-yae!”

The name rang in Nix’s mind, unfolding itself before a sense she had never understood. She could see the name reveal itself as more than just a bundle of letters. A name had meaning, and Nix could feel it.

Dan — Base identity. Indecipherable.

Yae — Stretch of the eye: one who sees far.

Huh, that’s odd. It was less convoluted of a riddle than it was the first time Nix heard it. Was it possible to develop one’s interpretation without focusing on skills that do so for you, like the onomastician before them? With how much time she spent locked away, Nix wasn’t surprised there was things she didn’t know, but she was surprised something that must be common knowledge hadn’t reached her ears before everything happened.

Unless it was one of those secrets that every cultist knew, but weren’t allowed to share. Nix was one of the very few that hadn’t been able to join a cult, after all.

“Dan, a mostly indecipherable aspect. A gifted name which has grown to have meaning unique to you.” It was clear by his tone that A̱l'Darvi had spoken those words countless times through his life. “Now onto the important part. Yae. The additive describes the extension of sight. Double that of normal.”

The boy visibly drooped with disappointment, but as he trudged his way out of the circle for another to take his place, one of the cultists strode up to him. Nix could make out the wide, unblinking eyes of a Cult of the Everseeing Eye member. It wasn’t a surprise they of all groups would jump on those with enhanced sight.

While Dan perked up at the attention of a high division cultist, the ritual began for another.

“Ari-ai.”

Ari — Base identity. Indecipherable.

Ai — Enticed by the craft, and never without the tools to create. The will of one’s art demands they be ready.

The girl — Ari — jumped in excitement. And Nix could understand why; the more convoluted or difficult to parse a name’s meaning was, the higher classification. But that didn’t always mean the name was good.

The onomastician repeated his description of a gifted name almost word for word, before expanding on her additive. “Ai. Create a brush, canvas or other such tool of your art with any material you hold in your hands.”

Ari spun on the crowd of cultists, almost bubbling with excitement. It seemed she got exactly what she wanted. Her gaze snapped to a single cloaked figure to the side. By the sketchbook she held in her arms, it wasn’t a leap to assume she was a part of the Omen Artisans.

With palpable giddiness, Ari waited for the Omen Artisan to call on her.

“Move out of the ritual circle,” A̱l'Darvi said. “I still have dozens of you to get through.”

Her head snapped to the onomastician, before doubling back to the cultists. Energy seemed to sap from her body. Where before, she’d been barely able to stop from bouncing on her feet, they now stood flat. A dawning expression of dejection crawled its way up her face.

“No! My additive’s grade is good. It’s relevant, too.” Ari plead. “Why don’t you choose me!”

Without moving, the Omen Artist responded. “What use is an extra brush when our supply is infinite? We are only looking for talents.”

Hah? Nix inclined an eye, catching sight of the two stripes on their hood. A second creed cultist speaking of talent? How ironic.

Nix wouldn’t be surprised if there was some amount of resentment shifting the artisan’s opinion. It’s not like they had a superior here to overlook things. Not that they would. There were more than a dozen naming ceremonies every week. Blatant bias like this was probably impossible to stamp out.

How many of the teens here actually had a worthwhile name, only to be stamped out of an opportunity because some cultists were scared of future competition?

To A̱l'Darvi’s growing annoyance, that statement did not pull Ari from her slump. It only made it worse. K’tan slid up besides her, whispering words of comfort, but the moment he touched her shoulder, she flinched away from him. She stared at him with fear for only an instant before she was sprinting out of the ritual courtyard with her arms over her eyes.

Does she not trust him either? Nix watched her run, before glancing back to K’tan only to find him frowning as his narrowed eyes followed her.

Nix had never been close to her ward-mates, and now that she was back, she was realising very quickly just how little she’d paid attention to things outside herself. As far as she remembered, everyone liked K’tan. Besides when they made him mad by sneaking out after first fog, there was never a time in her memory where those of her ward didn’t get along with him.

That was clearly not the reaction of someone who liked her overseer. It wasn’t even the reaction of one who disliked him or hated his guts. That was fear.

Having already experienced the future, she knew K’tan was a monster, but had those of her age-group already realised that by now? The idea that Nix was the only one who didn’t know… she decided to put it past her. She was going to punish K’tan anyway, and Nix said herself that she wasn’t close with her ward-mates.

Much of this ceremony would be the same as before, and it was what she would do afterwards that she cared for, so Nix struggled to care much for everyone else’s names. Even then, there were some that simply stood out. There was one boy, Grif, who received a name more cryptic than any other, and yet still seemed disappointed — to the combined chagrin of every other fifteen-year-old present.

Rist — Weep upon the gods; foul are the chains which bind and restrain. One who calls more than they are, and receives for a pittance.

Despite having apparently learnt to read names better, this one remained a confusing mess. Well, that was a problem only Nix and her ward-mates held. As soon as he spoke the additive, every cultist was scrambling forth to incite him to join their cults. They swarmed like flies.

“Rist.” A̱l'Darvi thankfully remained uninterested. “Loosener of restraints. Can reduce the requirements for rituals.”

Oh! Nix remembered the additive. Some people truly have all the luck.

It was probably one of the most in-demand names one could get. Even cultists of multiple evolutions wouldn’t be disappointed to receive an additive like that. Every cult revolved around their rituals. Not even the Technocult could avoid them. Anything that reduced material cost, effort and time to perform a ritual was seen as incredibly valuable.

If Grif never received another name, he would live well. Far, far better than everyone else here, unless they somehow proved themselves and worked their way up the creeds of the cults. And yet Nix knew the boy hadn’t settled for that. He’d gone on to become a powerful harbinger; a cultist focused near solely on battle and bloodshed.

Their lives had been completely uninvolved last time. But now, she had to keep an eye on him. Her only option if she wanted to achieve her goals would be the path of a harbinger, and from what she’d heard of the Trials, she would need to be wary of all other participants.

As she looked around, she found most held some expression of discontent. Nix remembered he wasn’t the most liked person — there was a niggling recollection of demanding a room for himself — but even those that were in his group were glaring enviously.

He strode back amongst the group as if it were only natural.

The rituals continued. Most — even those with decent names — showed some level of disappointment. It was simply too easy to raise your hopes for this day. Nix and every other kid on Coral had fifteen years to daydream what might happen on their fateful day.

Realising the ceremonies were proceeding by whoever was closest to the ritual circle, Nix tried to push closer. She knew what was coming, and she didn’t want to be last again. If she was somewhere in the middle, the others might forget her name when they received their own.

Unfortunately, her efforts to push through her once-classmates worked too well.

She accidentally nudged a boy’s shoulder — Roy if she remembered right — who turned with a furrow marring his face, which immediately paled as he saw her. He was the first to step away, but he was certainly not the last.

Like light fled darkness, her entire age-group parted. Before Nix knew it, she was at the front. A̱l'Darvi gestured for her, and Nix couldn’t back down. Breathing deep of the void, she stepped forward.

The man treated her like he did any other; ignoring her clearly sickly appearance and getting on with the ritual. In fact, Nix was sure he’d begun chanting before she’d even stopped walking.

As his chant ended, Nix was momentarily blinded. It was instantaneous, and she wasn’t certain she hadn’t imagined it, but an endless number of intertwining and overlapping scribbles had cross her vision.

Nix-ine-oth

Nix — Curse.

Ine — Curse.

Oth — Curse.

Her name was different. Once she had the wherewithal to actually register the name before her, Nix was left gaping. She had a second additive? When? How? Is this what her name had become before she passed back in time, and she’d simply been incapable of checking for herself?

“Speak your name,” A̱l'Darvi said with impatience.

Nix blinked. She realised she was still standing before a crowd, all eyes on her. The sight was a startling reminder of the sacrificial atrium she’d only recently escaped. So many judging gazes.

So many eyes.

She stifled the growing panic in her throat. She couldn’t speak that name. It was too unnatural. No fifteen-year-old could have a second additive without something strange having occurred. They would investigate. They would find that feather. Her life would repeat.

“Nix-ine.”

The words somehow slipped from her lips. She didn’t know how. Her own voice sounded alien. Still soft and weak, unlike the rough, echoey tone it was before her tongue was chopped off.

“No base identity… just curse?” A̱l'Darvi stared down at her with confusion and suspicion. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t demand she reveal her full name. Thankfully, he continued, to that same horrible speech she never forgot. “Nix; cursed. Ine; cursed. There is no deviations, ambiguity, or room for interpretations. You are cursed. You can never become anything besides cursed.”

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