"LQCT DT—" The demon cloaked in darkness groaned. It bore no resemblance to anything human; it was amorphous, always rearranging its—what could only be compared to—tentacles.
What is it saying? Was it even black? Its color was so incomprehensible that he could not identify it.
There was some sort of mental block.
I must be dreaming.
Voices spoke in the background. They were slightly muffled by the drawn white curtains that enclosed the entire space. But that was not the reason he could not hear them; the pillow his head was submerged in also contributed partly to this, but the real reason he could not recognize language is because he had just woken up.
"What do you mean you are going to leave the Judicial Board? You are my apprentice. You are to be the next Commissioner, of the highest authority of Law under the High Council after I retire. You are mine."
"I don't give a damn about your conscience. The agency will pay for the damages to the Academy property, and if you want to be punished, I'll withhold your pay for a month. Do you even understand the gravity of your actions? If you really wanted to repent, you should dedicate the rest of your life to catching and punishing offenders, not acting as the caretaker of children, whom you've failed to protect."
"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?" The same voice exasperated.
"It was my greatest fallacy to take you in. You are a disgrace."
The curtain was pulled open, and just as quickly shut.
Slow, heavy steps sent vibrations coursing through the floorboards, into the bedframe. They got somewhat closer to the feet of the bed but remained the same distance from the head, from start to finish. The footsteps ended but were followed by a creaking sound across from him that an old wooden chair makes when weight is placed onto it.
"Who are you?" Arthur asked in a dry voice, looking upon the man sitting in the chair in front of his bed: wearing a white tunic and dark-red robes, leaning forward into his knees, through his forearms.
His head jolted up first, then his upper body straightened, and finally he stood up.
"My name is Alaric Ordain. I was the one who brought you to the Treatment Center after the Ash Mage intruders left," he said in a detached and composed tone.
"Ash mage? Intruders? What [Intruders?]"
… Cedric–
"Are you alright?" His stoic face showed a hint of worry.
"I'm… fine. May I get a glass of water?" He smiled, never having been able to raise his mouth so high before without strain.
"Oh, of course. You must be thirsty. You have not drunk water for almost ten hours after all. I'll get that for you."
"Is he… Is he dead?"
The man halted his task, eyes surged, and he felt his heart sink deep into his core.
"The person next to you when I got there, your brother, had already been deceased."
Starting from his head, he felt an immobilizing shiver travel down his spine, stopping for a bit to pool into his gut, before continuing down, the rest welling up in his legs.
"The spirits had already left him, and his major organs were separated. There was nothing any of the priests or doctors could do to save him."
His eyes were low and pointed toward the floor.
It wasn't a dream.
He imagined himself pulling at his hair, ripping chunks of it out at once. The phalanx of his fingers tensed at the thought, but no other movement was made. His thoughts ran too fast and inconsistently to be deciphered, but the emotion of remorse could be felt in all of them.
The curtain on his right side was yanked open by a bedridden mummy, wrapped in bandages from head to toe.
"Yeah, it was a very grotesque corpse. I can't believe that the so-called chosen one not only failed to beat your opponent, but couldn't even protect his own brother."
Arthur had no space in his head for anything but Cedric. Vicktor Vulivar is an idiot. Nothing that came out of his mouth was worth expending any energy to decipher.
"I bet you weren't even trying to protect him, and just hid behind your Magic Shield. You don't even have a single injury after all."
Cedric? He thinks I'm Cedric?