[Warning! This solo contains heavy religious references. Viewer discretion is advised.]
Leucite found it far easier to wake on his fourth day. Perhaps he was getting used to the strangeness of the world around him. Perhaps he was finally feeling better about his choices. Perhaps he was getting closer to God. He certainly did not feel as weighed down by the guilt that had saddled him when he had begun his trek into the Rift. It was much easier to get up that morning, to rise to his feet and being the day.
The search that day was very fruitful, and he found the final crystals he needed to complete the beads of his rosary. All that remained, aside from drilling the many, many holes he needed into the crystals, was the cross. This he would have to keep an eye out for as he moved along, but he had a sick feeling that it would be quite difficult to find.
That said, he and Iudicael scoured the surrounding area for any sign that such a formation might be present, but finding none, he ventured further into the Rift. Four days away from the Hall of Shadows now, into territory that he had definitely never walked before. What awaited him out here? He knew not.
To a degree, he did not care what awaited him. Knowing that God would protect him and clothe him in the armor of righteousness. Much as he had done with David in his battle against Goliath. Though, he doubted very much that David would have faired near as well against half the youma that dwelt in the Rift. He laughed at the thought.
Good thing they were on the side of God.
After a decent amount of walking and searching, Leucite decided to declare the day a bust on finding the final piece of the rosary and instead devoted some time to finding a secure place to work on drilling the holes in the final crystals that would make up the beads of his rosary.
Eventually he found a decently lit cave that he and Iudicael could take shelter in. Once he’d settled in, and drunk more of his water, Leucite began work on drilling in earnest. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, and even found himself lapsing in and out of prayer.
“Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.”
He felt more at peace than he had in a long time. He found more and more of his guilt, his anger, his sorrow faded as he worked the crystal. Truly, this pilgrimage and the work he performed were bringing him closer and closer to God.
Truly the realm of St. Metalia, the living saint, was a refuge from the horrors that had been gnawing at his soul. Alien as it was, in a way, would not heaven be alien? He could feel his spirits lifting with each crystal he handled. He felt the weight of his guilt, his sins, wash away with each hole he drilled into each piece.
All but one single dark spot on his soul was washed clean as he threw himself into his work with a fury. He spent hour after hour drilling the crystals, inspecting each piece to ensure that none of them had cracked in his working of them. For no imperfect part could be used in an instrument to commune with God.
But still, for all his work, all his effort, one great sin weighed heavily on his heart and would not leave.
He had killed a man. No, he had done more than that. He had taken the soul of a man, and absorbed it into himself. He had committed the ultimate act of sacrilege. That soul would never find peace in heaven or punishment in hell. Locked away in his body, absorbed to give him the power to keep on living, to save the woman he had come to care for. He had not known it then - but perhaps he should have.
She did not feel the same, and he cared not. Or so he told himself. Content with his lot, he would tell himself. She would decide for herself what her feelings were, and she would act accordingly. It was not his place to make her decide, to expect her to feel the same. He had hurt her - that much was true. He could not fault her wariness. Not with how he had been acting. Not with how crazed and unreliable he had been. It had been hard to focus, feeling the weight of all that sin dragging down upon his soul. No amount of prayer had cleansed it.
But now, four days of fasting and prayer and work. A long trek into the most wild of wilderness and he felt better than he had in years. It was as if the hand of God had come down with a basin and cloth and hand wiped his soul clean. Save for the one, dark, sticky blemish upon it. Still he could not absolve himself of that. Still he felt the roiling pain and anger bubbling in his soul.
He had taken that which was God’s. He knew no way to return it. It was forever lost to the Father. Would he ever be forgiven for this? He knew not, but there was still much work to be done. The rosary was incomplete. It lacked a cross, and it was not properly pieced together. There was still much work to be done. Much he could do to possible atone for this last remaining sin.
Once he finished drilling the final bead of the rosary, he sighed contently. It was done. The beads were ready. All that remained was the cross. With any luck, he would be able to find that final piece, and with it, his rosary would be complete.
Hopefully then, would his pilgrimage also end.
Leucite settled in for some rest, hopeful that the next day would bring him yet more hope and salvation.
