Chapter Text
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Felix was worried about him, he became different after... The Fire. Of course, he has to admit that after such a shock, it was more than justified. Too much pain and despair swallowed up Dmitry at once and buried him, like the burial ground in which all his relatives now rested. Or at least what's left of them.
When the Blaiddyds disappeared, the whole city quickly learned about it. When the police reported that the son of the family had been found, it even instilled hope in relatives and numerous concerned people. Until, it has not yet been said that the investigation completed, the details of which will not be disclosed to the public.
Dmitry stayed in the hospital for several months, met only with government officials, and refused to see even his closest friends. When he finally returned home, no one was sure anymore that the man in front of them was really Dmitry Blaiddyd they knew.
Felix learned brief snippets of the story that was hidden behind the silence of the police, from the lips of Dmitry himself, when he seemed to forget about where he was and with whom, and began to talk haltingly and distantly about himself, his family, about what happened to them. Each such episode gave Felix goosebumps, and the content of the stories forced a chill down his spine.
Blaiddyds were a very devout family. Everyone knew that the Seiros Orthodox Church occupied an important place in their lives. Rhea, the abbess of the church, always spoke of them as righteous and good people. Maybe they were just too good? Little too good people who received a sad and cruel end for their virtue.
At the funeral, Dmitry did not utter a word; shrouded in a veil of sadness, he spent the entire time in mournful silence. And only once did his face change into a grimace of anger, almost bordering on a desire that was not at all righteous, when the last words to the deceased were spoken by the abbess of the church. Then Felix couldn’t understand such a strange behavior of his friend, who once listened to Rhea's sermons with enthusiasm, sometimes even too zealous.
Religion is never simple, the difference in interpretations and dissimilarity of views always form a multitude of very different paths, which, like the branches of a gigantic tree, begin from one root, but at the end they are phenomenally far away from each other.
The first thing Dmitry said in his strange “trance” was that once a part of the believers broke away from the official Seiros church, which later became a closed and unpopular cult.
They revered the same saints... but also someone else, dominant in the pantheon of figures already known to everyone. Dmitry though no longer believes in saints or the notorious God, the church no longer has anything to do with him.
After this, Felix did not hear a single story for some time, although when he volunteered to stay overnight and look after his friend, he knew that the nightmares that tormented Dmitry almost every night clearly had a connection with an unknown sinister cult.
One day, Dmitry continued his story. He claimed that the cult wanted to bring back their highest god, to bring them as close as possible to believers and admirers. First, unusual instructions to the flock, then strange, eerie rituals that became part of the routine, and finally, preparation for the main, most important event.
The cultists believed that if the most faithful followers of the false and incorrect faith of Seiros became the victims, then their God would be pleased enough to condescend to their humble servants.
The story was taking a creepy turn, and Felix had enough facts and wits in him to start connecting the dots. And what he began to suspect made him uneasy. The messiness of Dmitry narrative only increased further. Interspersed with the odd muttering or cursing, detached thoughts about faith and retribution, until eventually it was time for the final part.
On that day, their home was invaded, and the entire family was taken overnight to a place unknown. Dmitry said he wasn't even sure how much time had passed, when he regained consciousness tied on the bare ground, his whole body ached from the cold and uncomfortable position, breathing was difficult with a gag in his mouth and a kind of dirty, dense bag covering his head. He heard muffled voices, drawn-out, unclear chants... prayers? His family wasn't around… no one was around, only the endless, eerie, multi-voiced murmuring of the crowd. And all he could do was to pray, asking the saints to help him in this terrible moment.
When he was finally dragged out to where voices became louder and light brighter, a new place where seemed to be too many people. The bag was pulled from his head and the first thing he saw after a long time was the disfigured bodies, pliable flesh mutilated and torn, part of the limbs missing or placed in a grotesque aberrant position, revealing the vile bloody work of some mad sculptor. He didn’t immediately understand who he saw, shocked by the picture in front of him. But the realization finally penetrated his mind, clouded by fear and horror. Something... that was once his family.
He didn't feel the tears welling up in his eyes, but when a severe attack of nausea made him choke, suffocating from the gag still remaining in his mouth, everything around him became blurry.
His captors didn't seem to care as they continued to call upon their great god... mistress... goddess? They called saints, whose names Dmitry had learned from a very young age, and quoted lines of church scripture that he listened to during sermons and services, distorted and supplemented with new meanings.
The last stage remains, a living soul fluttering in despair, must be devoured by the flames and then their work will be completed.
The fire was ready, the victim, still trying to remain conscious, was thrown to the altar. And all this time he prayed for salvation, for his family and himself. For all this to be just a terrible dream that has nothing to do with reality. People stood before his eyes, the unhealthy, wet shine of their eyes soon lit up with an orange glow. The fire around him started in a matter of seconds.
Further, Dmitry admitted that he very vaguely remembered the events of that night. He began to struggle, squirm, trying to free himself; the fire had already reached his clothes. What he was bound with could not withstand the temperature and succumbed to his efforts, and having escaped, he rushed around. It seems that part of the fire slid across the “sacred” objects decorated with symbols and texts, began to absorb everything it touched and eventually became a raging blaze, a mess of heat, smoke and people. The cultists ecstatically shouted the name of their goddess, vowing that she was about to descend to them from the sacred flames. Dmitry, through pain, oblivion and human whirlpool, broke free.
When his consciousness cleared, he was in the middle of the forest, his only intact eye watched the huge funeral pyre of the building from which not a single person came out, listening to prayers kneaded with screams and groans until everything died down, leaving behind the crackling and tension of the inferno that had swallowed everything.
Felix exhaled heavily in the ensuing silence, only now did he realize that he managed to hold his breath during the story. Dmitry's face was distorted by pain, his voice ceased to be monotonous, his gaze no longer empty.
"You asked why I was so angry with Rhea's speech during the funeral? Her faith killed them, destroyed me... her saints did not hear my prayers and did not help my family. They turned their backs on us, and for this I despise them."
Ever since in his head Felix called what happened The Fire, and about a year after the death of the Blaiddyd family, he no longer heard Dmitry’s blurry stories who, judging by Felix's observations and the stories of mutual friends, no longer fell into new episodes.
Felix was worried about him even before, but now…
He became a completely different person after The Fire. But it was already the sixth year since the tragedy, and Dmitry seemed to have begun to heal from its consequences. Then, a year later, the moment all stories ended, he began to have less and fewer nightmares and began to show some interest in his surroundings and his previous hobbies. In the second year, he returned to study and even began to communicate again with their circle of close friends.
But now Felix could not shake off the feeling of nervousness that haunted him at every new meeting with Dmitry. His friend was now a less open person, rarely happy with social contacts and general meetings of friends outside of study, preferred to spend time alone, constantly avoiding being at home for a long time, presumably reminding him of his lost family.
At some point, he became interested in esoteric teachings and became clearly interested in the occult, frightening freshmen with his creepy research from the history and mythology of ancient times. All of them, his friends, cast glances full of surprise and bewilderment when, after another weekend, Dmitry came to study covered with intricate patterns of tattoos covering a big part of his body.
In the end, by the sixth year of his life after The Fire, Dmitry, although much changed, seemed to be a man once more on his feet and able to fight his demons on his own.
Or so it appeared to everyone?
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