"I'll try to come earlier next time—if nothing unexpected comes up."
"Wait, take this." Kaecilius stopped Solomon, who was already wearing his shoes. "I think you and the Ancient One might need it."
Solomon gave the black leather notebook a rough flip-through. Inside were scribbled dreams and mutterings. He looked up at Kaecilius with a questioning glance, but the elder sorcerer just shook his head. "These are my dreams. You know we don't dream without reason," he said. "Dreams are blurred reflections of the Mirror Dimension—I'm sure you remember that. Lately, my dreams have become increasingly frequent. It has to be a sign. I've already interpreted several images related to Ragnarök. I'm no professional dream interpreter, but I believe you and the Ancient One will see much more in them. This foretold disaster is significant for the entire universe—we have to approach it carefully."
"I understand." Solomon asked, "Do you think it's because you've been spending time around the All-Father?"
"Possibly," Kaecilius said, "but that doesn't explain everything in those dreams. Still, I believe you play a major role in Ragnarök, kid."
Solomon curled his lip.
If his plan succeeded, he would successfully usurp the foundations of Asgard and repurpose them for the human race. But he couldn't tell anyone—not even the Ancient One, who at most could only acknowledge it in silence. Every action leaves a trace. As the most powerful spellcaster of the Vanir gods, Frigga might foresee the scene and inform the palace, resulting in the exposure of the spy Solomon had embedded there. Lorelei, daughter of the Rhine and sister of the Enchantress, was step one in this plan. Though placing all his hopes on someone else felt unstable, she was the only person he had who could infiltrate the Golden Palace of the Æsir. Her sister, the Enchantress, would never agree to cooperate, so he had to use all means necessary to coerce Lorelei into helping. Their communication was limited to letters—routed through the Kamar-Taj embassy. It made it easy for someone to follow the trail back to him, but he had no other choice.
"Hey, kid." Kaecilius patted him on the shoulder. They had downed a full dozen bottles of vodka. Solomon drank most of it early on, but after taking an Elixir of All Life, Kaecilius—seasoned by years of Nordic drinking habits—caught up fast. The alcohol didn't dull their minds, but the roast pork had them both feeling stuffed. "I don't know what your agent in Asgard is doing, but be careful. I haven't studied prophecy, but I know every one of your calculations might have a hidden predator lying in wait. You've done well so far, but the All-Father is not someone to be trifled with. Asgard isn't as simple as you think. Unless you have the power to face the Goddess of Death directly… I know you rejected a marriage alliance. You turned down the All-Father's invitation. I'm sure you know what that means. So be careful, okay?"
"Don't worry, I've got a plan."
"That makes me feel a bit better. Now get out of here, you little punk. And practice your guitar. Next time, I'll introduce you to a guest."
"When did you pick the guitar back up, darling?" Bayonetta arched an elegant brow.
She shook her head slightly, and her inverted-triangle sapphire earrings sparkled brilliantly in the air.
The apartment did have a room for musical instruments. The Oxfordshire estate even had a recording studio specially renovated for that purpose. Thanks to Athena's education policies, she knew Solomon could play many instruments fluently, even rare and ancient ones. But the sorcerer always said music was a luxurious leisure activity—he couldn't afford to waste time on playing in a band. That's why scenes of Solomon half-reclining on the sofa with a guitar were rare. Funny how he never said the same when wasting time on virtual streamers and girl idols. According to him, that was a precious hobby—and the hope of saving the world. He'd often grumble things like "tsundere and flat-chested are now endangered qualities" and "the industry's going downhill."
Bayonetta was well aware of his little guilty pleasures. She never brought them up, to spare him the embarrassment—but she had flipped through his hidden DVD collection. She and Jeanne even found time to watch one together. Diana watched too but didn't join in when the witches joked about Solomon's private tastes.
Truth be told, now that they lived together and had established the Undying City, Solomon had less and less private time. Otherwise, he probably would've noticed the DVDs were out of order. If not for Diana's diligent cleaning, the console would've had a layer of dust. He only played digital versions now. "Because today," Solomon said, "I think it's time to sing to you."
Bayonetta sat down beside him, her fingers lightly plucking at the strings before tangling with his. The witch kissed the sorcerer on the lips. She could feel the heat surging from his body—the kind of heat a man his age should have.
"What do you want to hear? Today's set is lo-fi."
"Oh? Judging by the way you look right now, I thought you were going for Hamlet. Act 3, Scene 2."
"My black-haired beauty with deep gray eyes who drives me crazy likes double entendres and metaphors?" Solomon laughed. These days, many people treated Shakespeare's plays as something noble—some idiots hadn't even read the scripts and treated them like a religion, loudly reciting monologues under a spotlight. In truth, Shakespeare had, in a sense, invented modern English. Aside from his creative plots, deep insights, and rich vocabulary, his plays were aimed at the uneducated masses. Even the great Hamlet was full of bawdy puns. Some people thought Shakespearean verse required classical music as accompaniment, but even his sonnets—meant for elite audiences—were packed with raunchy innuendo. Without deep study, a solid grasp of etymology, and classical literary training, most people couldn't understand the filth hidden in those lines—and would just fall asleep from boredom.
Solomon's literary knowledge matched Bayonetta's. Naturally, he knew exactly which scene she meant—when Hamlet was pretending to be mad and asked, "Lady, shall I lie in your lap?" to which she replied, "Yes, my lord."
Faced with Bayonetta's teasing, Solomon decided to put the guitar aside. Amid the witch's delighted cries, he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom.
"What kind of beast would ravish a lady like this?"
"A beast like me, darling. A beast like me! Do we have to talk like we're in a stage play? That's a bit much, don't you think? Don't look at me like that—I do have some literary taste. The Ancient One once said Christopher Marlowe was probably the historical figure I reincarnated as! Just imagine—when I go on a time-travel mission, I might get to argue with Shakespeare. I'll be a great poet myself!"
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