He was in the midst of a coiling darkness—a darkness so deep he couldn’t even see where his hand was, reaching out in front of him. It was like this darkness melted away his own form, flooding into everything with a roar.
He could see nothing. Hear nothing. Everything felt distant and numb, like he was sinking into an abyss akin to death, his limbs disintegrating, and even his heart fizzling away. Pain, sorrow, desire; every feeling, every passion swirled inside him, dispersed, then became part of an even greater maelstrom. Within that whirl was every emotion Adonis could imagine, reaching toward a single great impulse at its core, which undulated and spread and drifted.
Hunger…
That was the primal, driving force at the center of this dark whirlpool. It was like a single great will, a heart of darkness made from the souls of countless others blending together, and the lone form of the man called Adonis broke apart into droplets of blood that flowed from his heart.
It’s warm…
Waves of ecstasy too basic to be called thought were breaking Adonis down, transforming him into splashes of blood that burst from his heart. At the end, the sole remaining emotion—hunger—swirled with the other hearts there, and the storm of starvation named Adonis melted into the greater heart made up of countless others, two whirlpools of longing overlapping. The great, ecstatic wave of death gave what remained of Adonis that feeling.
But then, suddenly, that great wave pulled away from Adonis. Or perhaps, the remains of what was once Adonis was pulled away from that great dark heartbeat, the pieces of him regaining their shape.
He heard a voice. Someone was calling for him. Just when he had been on the brink of fading away, someone called his name, pulling him back, keeping his consciousness from fully dispersing.
Who…?
This question, full of both disappointment and relief, echoed in Adonis’s redeveloping heart. And those two echoes became the two sides shaping the form—the gestalt—of Adonis’s heart, which made the question of “who” become a foundation upon which to form his ego.
The darkness washed away. Adonis realized that he was somewhere lying on a cold, blue tourmaline floor. As he got up, he saw his own reflection in the beautiful, polished surface. This made his consciousness even more focused, by affirming that the face he was looking at was his own. The vivid emotion roused his spirit.
“What is this place…?!”
Still half dazed, he managed to get to his feet and look around. He was shocked—the blue, striking stone floor seemed to continue into infinity. It was such a barren sight. He looked up, trying to find the ceiling, but all he saw was a deep, bluish-gray infinity above him, as if he was submerged underwater.
“Welcome to my womb,” someone suddenly said.
He turned around to see that a woman had appeared there. Her cold features didn’t seem to hide a hint of either pity or amusement; she simply smiled at him.
“A Mermaid…,” Adonis whispered, noticing the woman’s triangular ears.
All her other racial features were hidden under an indigo mantle. That mantle, woven of water steel, reminded Adonis of the ones worn by the castle’s priests. Given that Mermaids tended to wear revealing clothes regardless of gender, she was remarkably covered up.
The woman said nothing, walking along the blue floor and settling into a seat.
“The stomach of the Dearth March is made up of countless spaces known as wombs formed by Rest au Rant. This is one such space. This is my castle…,” the woman said sweetly.
Running a hand through her luscious indigo-blue locks, she poured ice-cold golden ale into two glasses on a nearby table. The table and chairs hadn’t been there a moment ago but seemed to have manifested out of the ether.
“I welcome you, Adonis Question. Please, take a seat.”
Adonis settled into the seat offered to him, and a sweet aroma filled his nostrils as the woman offered him a cup. He took it and, while staring at the woman’s glass, smelled the icy ale.
“Welcome to the Dearth March.”
The woman sipped her drink, as if trying to get Adonis to relax. Her hair, eyes, and garb were all indigo, but the difference in their hues produced a beauty that seemed to enchant and calm the heart. Adonis stared at the woman before eventually giving in and sipping on the ale. It felt like the icy liquid flowing into Adonis’s body had a will of its own. The aroma was sweeter and clearer than he’d expected, and as it settled in his stomach, it filled him with a spreading warmth.
“It tastes strange…,” Adonis said, his eyes widening slightly.
“It’s made from squeezing the seeds of a special fruit. A drink meant to ask if one is interested in joining the Dearth March…”
“A drink that asks…?”
“Depending on what flavor and scent one perceives from this Seed of Calamity, a person’s position within the March is decided… And if one tastes nothing, they do not belong here.”
“I…”
“You needn’t say a word, Adonis Question. This means that my appointed role was to serve you this drink. I have no duty to ask you… This flavor, this aroma, they will naturally decide your role within you.”
“Just…who are you? Were you the one who called out to me earlier?”
“Indeed I was. If you had kept descending into the swirl of the Dearth March, only your shadow would have passed through it, and then you would have been spat out into the physical world again. I know not how many years or decades it would have taken, though. So before that happened, I served you the Seed of Calamity, to formally induct you into the March. That was my role…to wait for you.”
“You were…waiting for me…?”
“I was. As was the sword over there.”
“What sword…?”
The woman put down her glass and tapped on its stem with something. It produced a clear chime, and the reflected glint of a dull gray-silvery metal caught his eye. At first sight, Adonis couldn’t tell what kind of steel it was, or what tree it might have been harvested from. It was a beautiful sword, with ripples that ran through its complex gray color, and so well-made that even Adonis, who’d handled hundreds of swords, held his breath in admiration of its beauty.
It was a thin, single-edged sword—a rapier, the kind Mermaids favored. Its long, flexible blade had a vivid white line running along it. The more he looked at it, the more it became clear to him that it was a truly magnificent weapon, but something about it was strange…or perhaps ominous, indicating there was more to it than met the eye. Adonis couldn’t gauge it, though.
The oddest thing of all, however, was the fact that despite being crafted with such skill and attention to detail, it was still an infant sword. Yet it seemed strangely old, on the verge of wilting, as if decades, if not centuries, had passed since it was forged.
“What is this…?” This alarmed response was what eventually came to Adonis after observing the sword long enough.
Before he knew it, his bare fingers reached for the sword’s grip, like it was calling out to him. When he felt the cool touch of the hilt, Adonis jolted with a start. He hesitated to touch it any longer but couldn’t bring himself to let go of the weapon. This was the first time he had ever experienced anything like this. Anxiety filled him, a feeling that if he let go of the sword now, he would lose it forever.
“My hands…” Adonis looked at the woman, intent on explaining his curse.
But the woman just nodded slightly, as if she knew everything. And then it happened—the hairs on his hand gripping the sword stood on end as its claws morphed into the color of rust. At the same time, the sword cried out.
It started off as a murmur, then intensified until eventually it sounded like the clicking, squirming sound of insects, which gradually increased in volume until it became a scream. The air shivered and trembled as the steel screeched.
NNNOOO…!
WWWHHHEEE…!
RRREEE…!
The sword was wailing.
Nngh…!
Adonis let out a visceral scream, but his arms wouldn’t do what he wanted them to, holding on to the sword with all their might, refusing to let go no matter what. His voice grew louder and louder as the red color spread across his claws. Adonis trembled, feeling like the rust was spreading from his fingertips to the core of his body.