The Primordial Record novel Chapter 235

Chapter 235 Nezrakim

Nezrakim had only one vocation from the time of his birth— He was to bury the dead.

His father did the same, and his father's father, and their fathers before them. He came from a long line of Sacred Undertakers, and now his calling would end with him, as he was the last.

He was blessed with two sons, but Nezrakim lost his wife and youngest son to the beast horde, his eldest wished for nothing else but to become a Dominator, to hold power like those that conquered their world and made them slaves, a foolish dream, but a dream, nonetheless, and now he was burying his son.

He had carried his body to the top of the mountain, it was a long and slow climb, he was old, and he would never let the height of the mountain mock his faith.

He made his prayers at the top of the mountain, shivering despite the sweat that covered his body.

Nezrakim used his hammer and chisel to break his way through the stones to bury his son. It was the way for Sacred Undertakers to bury their own on the top of the mountain, it was the only reward granted to them by the gods. But who would perform it for him when he perished? And so he dug two graves, side by side to the smaller one he dug a week ago.

For someone so familiar with the dead, you would think it would be easy for him to do his assignment, and it was, his hands were steady, as he made his oblations and committed their souls towards Erohim. What stung him however was the wastefulness of it all.

They did not serve their purpose to Erohim before they passed from their mortal coil. Their lives were purposeless. His wife gave him weak children, who fled from their duties, and it was his greatest shame to die without passing his craft to the next generation. What higher calling was there than to serve god?

Nezrakim was ninety-six years old, and he had performed his duty to Erohim for ninety-two. He was thin, with stingy muscles that resembled cable wires, and he was deceptively strong for his age.

Stacking the last rock on his son's grave, Nezrakim entered his grave and knelt inside and sighed, the sky was red like blood, and he felt regret that he could not do the work his sons had failed to do in their stead, but he was too old and weak, how else can I serve? He felt lost, but that was before he saw the golden glow, it rose to the heavens and bathed the world in all its glory, and in that light he saw his answer, and Nezrakim fell down and worshiped.

The words of his heavenly messenger cemented the belief in his mind,

"Nezrakim, you have conducted your purpose to the best of your ability, but your work is not done. The souls due to the Creator are being stolen, and their lives are spent without purpose. The lives of men are wasted in everything but service to his glorious majesty. You have spent your life in service. Now your real task begins. Nezrakim, do you accept the creator's grace."