Bound To The Silent Laborer's Bed

Eve Salazar tilted her head back until her neck screamed in protest. The Holy Stairs of Azure Zenith carved a jagged scar into the sky, a thousand steps of white stone leading up to the Order's sanctuary. At the very top, catching the harsh afternoon sun, her sword "Rebellion" stood upright, embedded in the stone. It looked like a middle finger raised toward her current misery.

She couldn't feel the Aether anymore. The golden thread that used to sing in her veins was cut, leaving behind a hollow, ringing void in her chest. She was just a mortal now, standing at the bottom of a mountain that actively wanted her dead.

"Look, it's the fallen genius," someone whispered to her left.

A cluster of pilgrims and servants had gathered, their eyes darting over her ragged cloak and bruised arms. They didn't see a Paladin. They saw a circus act.

Eve ignored them. She drew in a breath that tasted like dust and failure, and slammed her right foot onto the first step.

An invisible wall of force slammed into her chest. It felt like being hit by a charging horse. The holy pressure repelled her, shoving her backward. Her boots scraped against the dirt, trying to find purchase, but the force was absolute. She stumbled, her knees hitting the gravel hard. A sharp sting bloomed on her skin as tiny rocks bit into her flesh.

A snicker rippled through the crowd. Then another.

Heat rushed up Eve's neck, burning her cheeks. She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. She pushed herself up, her thighs trembling with the effort, and lunged forward again. One step. Two. Three.

The repulsion hit her like a physical blow to the sternum. It lifted her off her feet and tossed her backward. She crashed onto the stone plaza, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Her elbow split open, and warm blood immediately welled up, dripping onto the pristine white stone. The copper smell filled her nostrils.

"Pathetic," a servant murmured.

Eve gasped, trying to pull air back into her spasming lungs. She forced herself onto her hands and knees. The face of Grand Master Bernardo Rowe flashed in her mind-those cold, calculating eyes staring down at her from the judgment seat, declaring her exiled. She had been the youngest Paladin in history. She had channeled the Aether like it was an extension of her own heartbeat.

Now, her heartbeat was just a weak, fleshy thing, pounding in her ears.

She staggered upright. She had to get her sword. If she didn't reclaim it before sunset, she wouldn't even be allowed to sleep in the ditches at the foot of the mountain. She charged again. Five steps. Eight. Ten. Each step felt like she was carrying a boulder on her shoulders. Her spine compressed, her bones groaning under the holy weight.

The runes on the steps flared a violent blue.

A tearing sensation ripped through her soul. It wasn't just physical pressure