What We Do to Survive

Even though she knew what was coming and had accepted it as inevitable, there was still something distinctly off putting about kneeling inside a ritual circle drawn in your own blood. Miranda’s knees ached and a deep chill had sunk into her bones from the floor by the time Orion drew the last of the runes, carefully cleaning up the edges of the meticulously drawn symbols.

Despite her discomfort, Miranda had to admit that watching Orion work was very impressive. He’d prepared the ‘paint’ in a matter of minutes, drawing the needed blood and mixing it with a host of other ingredients with practiced ease. He worked quickly and smoothly, a half dozen spell matrices forming around him in rapid succession as he activated and stabilized the mana-charged fluid.

Making the circle itself had also gone much faster than she had expected, which, considering the rising discomfort of kneeling on cold stone, she was rather thankful for. He was using a relatively standard design that even she was familiar with despite her rather lacking background with ritual magic. There was a small circle around her, then a larger circle divided into five even segments around that with each segment containing twenty-five evenly spaced runes.

The only unusual thing she’d noticed, though she didn’t really know how unusual it might be, was that each segment was done in a different runic ‘language’. She only recognized two of the sets, the first was clearly done in elven pictograms, though she didn’t recognize most of the specific symbols. They were easily distinguished by the almost artistic nature of the flowing lines and shapes. The others were Orion’s preferred dwarven runes, each symbol squared off and blocky. It was the set she was most familiar with as well, mostly on Orion’s insistence that she needed at least some familiarity.

She didn’t like runes very much. The study had never come easily to her and it wasn’t an ability that she could steal from someone with her innate magic. Enchanting and other craft-based magics in general were something she tended to stay away from, even if there was no denying their usefulness. Something about magic that could make use of her as an ingredient made her uneasy.

It didn’t help that runes were weird and complicated. Two symbols could look completely different yet have nearly identical meanings and effects, while two runes that were almost impossible to distinguish could have wildly different uses. She understood why that was, runes were just two dimensional projects of spellforms, which themselves were complicated, multi-dimensional things. A singular spellform could be used to make a near infinite number of different runes, even if most people defaulted to the well understood ‘languages’ that existed already. Unfortunately, knowing that wasn’t particularly helpful when a tiny mistake might cause the protective amulet you were making set its user on fire instead.

“There, that should be good,” Orion said in satisfaction. He turned to look at her, “How are you feeling? Good job on not smudging anything.”

“I’m fine. Are we ready to go then?”

“Almost. Would you like some water before we start? You have a lot of talking to do.”

“That would be helpful. Thank you.”

Orion stepped away and returned a minute later with two glasses of water. With a flick of his fingers, one of them levitated towards her, sliding smoothly through the air and right into her waiting hands. She drank carefully, making sure that not a single drop dripped down onto the floor around her. When she was done, the glass was pulled out of her hands and Orion passed both empty cups off to his waiting slave.

They began a few minutes later. Orion stood directly in front of her at the edge of the circle, hands extended out to either side. Mana poured out of him in an endless tide, flowing along the outside of the ritual circle and slowly moving inward. Runes lit up one after another, casting dim shadows across the walls of the otherwise dark room. Orion had cleared out a large space at the center for the ritual and put out the lights when they were ready to start. In the corner, Miranda could just barely make out Rea, standing with her hands folded at her waist and her back pressed against the wall.

Miranda watched patiently as Orion charged the ritual, suppressing the urge to fidget with nervous energy. She had to stay perfectly still during this stage so that her body’s natural magic wouldn’t interfere with the rune-directed mana flows. Some small movement, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, was fine, but anything more might cause irreparable damage to the spell’s structure. She’d dealt with the spell backlash of a second circle spell once. She didn’t want to know what the backlash from something exponentially more complex would feel like.

After several long, stressful minutes, Orion gave her a small nod. The runes around her were glowing with an even red light, pulsing slowly in time with her heartbeat. Orion had done his part, now it was her turn.

She took a deep breath, then sank into a kneeling bow, her palms and forehead pressed against the floor. “I am my master’s loyal servant,” she began, her voice slow and steady. Barely visible threads of mana floated through the air around her, circling. “My purpose is servitude, my life a gift freely given. I give you my body, to use and shape as you will. I give you my mind, to alter and sculpt. I give you my soul, may it bind me to you until oblivion takes me.”

She could feel it now, phantom ropes wrapping slowly around her being, tightening gradually with every word. She didn’t fight it, letting them pass through her magic resistance with resigned acceptance. She could have stopped it at any moment, pushed these bindings of her own creation aside and continued with the ritual as though nothing had changed, but she didn’t. Orion would know the moment they had finished, and she was so very tired. Her current chains weighed on her at every moment of every day, tearing her apart from the inside out with every word and thought. It was so easy to give in, to finally let go. It would… be better this way.

“I make these vows before you now. May they bind me in thought and action till the end of all things. May you know this servant’s devotion in unbreakable truth, spoken as I kneel before you. Thus I vow, this servant shall never raise a hand against its master. Through action or inaction, through word, through thought, through spell, through soul, this servant shall never bring harm to its master.”

More ropes and chains wrapped around her, mana rising both from within her soul and from the ritual around her. They pushed into and through her body, ethereal touches drifting across the edges of her mind and worming their way towards the indestructible core of her soul. Once more, she let them pass freely. This was her choice, her freely given consent. These would not be the barbed chains rattling precariously at the edges of her being. By the end of the ritual, they would be a true part of her. Unbreakable and unending.

She continued, even as more and more bindings wrapped around her, as they sank into her mana and under her skin. Vows, elaborations, promises, and duties rolled off her tongue one by one. The cold and discomfort were pushed aside, washed away by the feeling of Orion’s strong hands holding her tightly against him. She continued to speak, eyes open but seeing nothing but the light of Orion’s mana caressing her skin. Concerns and worries fell away until there was nothing left but duty and purpose.

And then, “... this I swear, and so it shall be. For all time, my purpose is servitude. I am my master’s loyal servant.” Mana surged around her and she felt Orion’s firm grasp twist it into shape, wrapping a single tether of the mana around himself as he completed the ritualistic oath.

She stayed kneeling, knowing both through Orion’s earlier words and an ice cold certainly at the back of her mind that she was not supposed to move yet. The light of the runes twisted and dimmed, symbols burning away and drifting into her. She could almost physically feel the final strands lock into place, gentle touches around her wrists and at the nape of her neck. She imagined that if she looked, she would see manacles much like those worn by Orion’s filthy elven cattle locked around her own wrists. The thought filled her with warmth, to be so clearly marked by her master– she shook her head to clear it. No, that was wrong. Part of her oath said that she could never reveal its existence without the express permission of her master.

A warm, actual hand touched her shoulder and she looked up from the floor to find Orion standing over her. A probe of mana slid easily through her resistance, her soul giving no opposition to her master’s touch, and she didn’t move as he examined her from the inside out.

“Seems to have worked,” he said cheerfully after a minute of silence. “How are you feeling.”

“This serv–” she shook her head again. No, that was wrong. “I’m fine. It feels strange. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. The worst of the confusion should pass quickly, if you feel anything like it past the end of the week, let me know.”

She nodded once, the order sinking easily into her mind. Once, she would have thought little of it, not wanting to concern Orion with something so trivial. Now, she understood that he really did care. He wouldn’t want her to suffer through something like that in silence when he could help her through it.

“Good.” He offered her a hand and pulled her up to her feet. She staggered and he caught her as a mix of mana exhaustion and the strain of kneeling for almost three hours caught up with her. “Careful there.”

“Sorry,” she apologized reflexively. No, wait, this wasn’t something Orion would have seen as an inconvenience. She was fine. He was happy to help. “Thank you,” she said, and this time it was genuine rather than the automatic prayer for mercy it had been for so long.

“You’re good. Take a seat on my bed, lie down if you want to. I’ll get you a dose of milk, it should help you recover faster.”

He led her over to the bed and helped her sink onto the soft mattress. This wasn’t a trap. Her eyes closed, and she knew with certainty that they wouldn’t open to find her chained down as he had his way with her, knives and needles biting into her precious flesh. The new weight of metal resting across her breasts and belly felt almost comforting, a sign of Orion’s appreciation and trust, a tool so that he could save one of the people closest to him.

She reached up and wiped a single tear out of the corner of her eye. He cared. It was a twisted, feeble thing, all that was left after years of abuse, heartbreak, and pain, but she could feel a touch of warmth where she had always seen only cruelty.

The bed shifted and Orion gently pushed her mouth open, placing the opening of a small vial against her lips. “Thank you,” she mumbled, unable to muster the energy to open her leaden eyes.

“Drink, then rest,” he said sternly. “We can deal with the old binding when you wake up.” She didn’t remember much after that, but she knew that she’d fallen asleep with a smile on her face.