Opalina (prime)/The Silence Between the Prayers

The Silence Between the Prayers

This is a creative work set in the world of Elanthia, attributed to its original author(s). It does not necessarily represent the official lore of GemStone IV.

Title: The Silence Between the Prayers

Author: Opalina Jalcon

From the journals of Opalina Jalcon- 2002

The voices rose around me, steady and unwavering.

"Keep not your silence, O Koar..."

I mouthed the words because everyone else did, but somewhere between the first plea and the last, I realized I was no longer speaking to the altar.

I was speaking to myself.

Or perhaps... to whatever still remained of me.

The chamber smelled of cold stone, incense, and fear. No one dared name that final scent aloud, yet it lingered beneath every prayer. Fear that the bodies standing shoulder to shoulder were no longer entirely their own.

Mine included.

When my name echoed from the lips of the officiant—

"Opalina..."

—it struck me harder than any blade ever had.

Not because I had forgotten who I was.

Because I was terrified I might.

There was a strange comfort in hearing the others named beside me. Iscikella. Vonka. Blizzardd. Atoyoz. Arliquin. Elandr. Xeldria. Tianni.

We were bound together now, not by friendship or circumstance, but by violation. Our own flesh had become contested ground.

I had fought monsters before.

Bandits.

Demons.

Creatures that lurked beneath mountains or within forgotten tombs.

None of them had ever worn my own skin.

The prayer asked Koar to raise His head.

To awaken.

To release us.

I closed my eyes.

If He truly looked upon us...

What would He see?

A rogue who had always trusted nimble hands more than divine miracles.

A woman who solved problems with wit before prayer.

A gypsy who wandered because standing still meant remembering too much.

Would He see me...

or merely another shell occupied by something unwelcome?

"Make them like the stubble before the wind..."

The words became thunder.

Not because they were loud.

Because everyone believed them.

I wanted to believe them too.

I wanted to believe there would come a moment when whatever hid inside me would be torn free like autumn leaves caught in a northern gale.

But faith has always asked something difficult.

Patience.

And patience has never been one of my virtues.

My fingers twitched instinctively toward the place where my blades should have rested. Empty.

For once there was nothing to cut.

Nothing to stab.

Nothing I could outmaneuver.

Only stillness.

Only waiting.

The prayer spoke of shame falling upon those who sought to defile Koar's name.

I found myself wondering if shame belonged instead to those of us who survived.

Why us?

Why had our bodies become the battlefield?

Why were we expected simply to endure until someone stronger intervened?

No answer came.

Only the continued rhythm of voices surrounding me.

"Make haste, O Koar..."

That plea settled deepest.

Not because it was eloquent.

Because it was honest.

We were tired.

Tired of resisting.

Tired of wondering whose thoughts belonged to whom.

Tired of questioning every stray whisper inside our own minds.

I bowed my head.

Not in surrender.

Never that.

In resolve.

If Koar came, I would welcome Him.

If He did not...

Then whatever had claimed me would discover something it had gravely underestimated.

It had stolen my body.

It had not stolen my will.

And if I had to claw my own soul free with bloodied hands before dawn...

Then so be it.

The final words faded into silence.

For a heartbeat, nothing stirred.

Then I inhaled.

The breath was mine.

Just mine.

For now.

And that, I decided, was enough to keep fighting.