The Mesh of Magic: Zhilin's Heroic Journey

The small boy picked at his wounds as he sat, alone and starving in the dark. The screams of the dying echoed through the dungeon, making it impossible to sleep. He started to feel a familiar soothing sensation. It was like a gentle breeze brushing against the back of his neck. A voice whispered in his ear, telling him what he wanted to hear. It told him that he was special, that he would be spared because he was chosen by the Emperor himself.

He smiled and began to daydream about how grateful the Emperor would be upon seeing his sacrifice. He imagined a lavish feast, tables overflowing with food and wine for him alone. He would be lavished with riches and adored by all. But then, a thought struck him out of nowhere: What if he wasn’t chosen? What if his sacrifice had been nothing more than meaningless? If that were true, everyone would know he was a coward. A failure. That fear overtook him again and he began to cry in agony while rocking back and forth in his cell. He heard footsteps and looked up from his bloodied hands to see an elderly man with a long beard standing before him with the most sorrowful expression on his face.

“My son… My dear son… I am so sorry for you… But your suffering is over now…”

The boy wrapped his arms around the old man’s legs and wept into them for what felt like hours. The aged priest could feel every bone in the boy’s body as they pressed against his skin. When the boy finally stopped crying, the priest helped him stand up and led him out of his cell towards the center of the dungeon where there was light shining down from above them onto what appeared to be a large wooden stage. The priest helped the boy lie down on top of the stage, then walked over to a small platform at one end of it where another priest stood watching them intently with a blank stare on his face. The old priest gently put one hand under each side of the boy's head while putting a white cloth over his eyes with the other hand. The boy began crying again as he felt completely exposed laying there helplessly on a stage surrounded by hundreds of people watching him die after being tortured for weeks on end without any explanation whatsoever.

A third priest approached carrying something that resembled nothing more than a pile of rags in one arm while holding an incense stick in another hand near their face so that it was just barely smoldering away with gray smoke wafting off of it before walking over to stand beside two other priests who stood close together whispering quietly amongst themselves until one of them turned towards where the boy lay dying and raised both hands high into the air as if signaling something important before shouting out loud: “Now!”

The other two priests immediately ran up behind the third priest holding an incense stick in one hand still smoldering away with smoke wafting off of it while raising a dagger high into the air in their other hand as they approached where the boy lay dying on top of that stage surrounded by hundreds of people watching him die after being tortured for weeks on end without any explanation whatsoever while thinking “What if I wasn’t chosen? What if my sacrifice had been nothing more than meaningless? If that were true, everyone would know I was a coward. A failure…”

But then, just before they reached where he lay dying on top of that stage surrounded by hundreds of people watching him die after being tortured for weeks on end without any explanation whatsoever, all three priests suddenly froze in place when they heard someone shout out loud: “Stop!” And then everything went black…