#heeeelllppppp

If there's one thing he could stand by, without doubt or fleeting conviction, it's the fact that he's seen it all. Pyres and caskets, offerings and tombstones. He's been to small churches in the back of tight-knit towns, made of wood and the faith of believers. And he's been to massive cathedrals in the heart of vast kingdoms, intricately made of limestone and the blood of overworked architects that'll die without an ounce of recognition.

He's seen homes fall and villages rise. He's seen sinners look to him for help, or for the idea that they'll be saved if they begged hard enough. He's seen believers wearing their hearts on their sleeves, a bigger evil looming over their shoulders, their hopeful smiles bright as they greet him.

Sinners disguised as saints. Saints broken down by sinners. People who claim to be neutral, others who don't hold faith in their hearts anymore, some who couldn't find faith no matter how hard they tried or wanted to.

As the High Priest of O'khasis, he's seen just about everything. And after so many years of the light shining in his favor, the line between good and evil blurred in his eyes. Some days, he'll find himself teetering back and forth, trying to figure out if there's meaning to being such a high-standing man in a world where bloodshed is just another means to get by.

Love and hate, sin and faith, matrons and destroyers, what good is any of it when death is not an 'if' but 'when'? He knew life and death like he knew the back of his hand, it surrounded him in all of its glorious forms. He's seen it in his brothers, along with his mother's anguish. In the baptisms and weddings he's been invited to perform, with the death of the past and the birth of better days.

Oh, he's seen it all.

So on rainy days like this, it always came back to the question: Was it worth it? Was it worth the grievances and the anger? The sacrifices and the pain? He's made it this far, something ought to come out of this. Not even his brothers, Irene bless their souls, could reach the heights he's towered over.

Yes, of course, there had to be something at the end of this. It just wasn't time yet— No, the better days he was promised since the dawn of time, since the blessings of his birth, it'll all come soon. Or, one day at least.

It couldn't all be in vain. The lives he reaped couldn't be in vain, the paths he destroyed could not have all been in vain. His name would be remembered forever, a mark in history, he had to be something more. Regret and guilt were things he could overlook for the sake of the man he'll be in the future.

He knew relying on hope wasn't a Ro'meave custom, though. That's why he did what he did — his father taught him that if he wanted something, he had to get it himself. And if someone were to ask, "Zane, what do you want?"

His answer would've been long and descriptive at first. Something that of world peace, or blessings given by Irene herself. But these days, he preferred something much more simple.

"Power."

He's lived and learned.

When the light that shone through carefully colored mosaics kissed his skin, he was sure there had to be a God out there to gift the world such beauty. But when whispers passed around of a greater power lurked in the dimension of a long gone warrior, the idea of being a Godlike man himself tasted sweeter than whatever else he was promised in this lifetime.

The line between good and evil was nonexistent to him—he took advantage of both just to get what he desired. What he deserved. He was a self-proclaimed epiphany, and amongst normal men, Zane Ro'meave was both life and death.

Was it worth it?

After all of this effort, he made sure it was.

— ★

ps. would u guys be interested in both art & writing of mine,,,, i do snippets like these in my free time (when i procrastinate) so like i'd be down to show 'em off if u guys are cool with it...

also one of the paragraphs is like weird in here idk it kept getting deleted so i kept having to rewrite it bc it was too good to scrap and i. just gave up. the text is different for that singular paragraph.