"I-I don't know what a Seer is," I manage. "I don't know anything."
The sword's tip hovers next to my throat. The blade hums as it breathes with me. I stare at the man whose eyes bear down with intense pressure.
Ikaris the Forsaken. The man who is hugged by white flames.
My heart rushes, unsure if I'm in danger or not. My face is neither filled with confusion nor fear. It's only blank.
The fire on Ikaris's shoulder drips down toward his arm, crawling from the guard to the tip of the blade, flowing as if the flames were alive. It halts just before it reaches me.
It rises upward, growing like a tree sprout, splitting into several arcs of fire, branching off in different directions, all of them encircling me. They're slow. It's like the flames are searching for something. They don't produce light. I don't feel any heat coming from the fire.
The white fire doesn't touch me, it just orbits. In short bursts, they lunge at me. I flinch a little, but the flames don't bite.
I glance at Ikaris. He doesn't breathe as if the air itself would break if he did. He's a statue locked in position, glaring at me with an unnerving gaze.
After a moment, the flames begin to recede, moving like snakes, slithering back onto the blade, shifting back toward the flames' resting place on top of Ikaris's shoulders.
Ikaris pulls his sword from my neck, letting it hang by his side. It begins to glow with a silvery hue. The metal cracks and bends, twisting unnaturally, not as a sword should. It starts to dissipate, the sword crumpling, shifting forms. Something that seems like air, yet is not. Soon, the entirety of the blade transformed into that air, except for the chain wrapped around his wrist.
The air that formed sits and gathers into a small ball of gas. After a moment, the ball of gas ignites into white fire. It seeps into Ikaris's coat, disappearing with the only remnants lingering on his shoulders.
"You don't lie," he finally says. "A Seer who doesn't lie is a Seer who doesn't live long."
He pauses as if he's weighing the information he's gained. I am unsure of what he's talking about. Yet, that word, Seer, resonates with me.
"Where's your mother?"
"My mother? Why are you asking?" My hands shift. I attempt to keep my gaze aligned with his stare, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to hold it. Those eyes of his... that question... It's not asked without reason.
Why are my hands shaking? Why is he asking about Mother?
"Don't answer me with a question. Tell me, child—yes or no—is your mother alive?"
I look past Ikaris, staring at the shutter. I try to settle my breath. Is she alive?
How am I supposed to answer that damned question? He saw me almost die from one of those things! And he asks me whether she's alive or dead.
Of course, she's dead. Can't he see it written on me? He says he hunts those monsters, the Somata, he calls them. That man should know their capabilities better than I.
I clench my jaw, and my grip tightens on the blanket. Lightning illuminates the room once more, followed by thunder far in the distance.
I force myself to stare into his eyes, taking a deep, controlled breath. "No," I say, "Those things killed her."
"How long ago?"
My head shakes, "I-I don't know. How am I supposed to remember that? Why should I even remember? She left me to live in that disgusting place. She was the one who let herself fall for their words. She believed herself to be a canary and leaped, only to find herself splattered across the pavement."
"I understand, but I need the timeframe. What date did she die? How many days ago? Weeks? Months? Years?" Ikaris takes a step closer. He leans in, the lanternlight revealing that ugly scar of his to me. Those bright blue, hollow star-like eyes blazed like a shining kaleidoscope, his expression shifting toward something inquisitive.
I could tell he wanted to know more, but why did he need that information? Why does he need to know?
But I'm in no position to refuse his question. If Ikaris wanted, he could force the answers out of me. It would be better if I gave him what he wants for free, rather than being hurt later.
I lightly sigh, remembering those nights I spent in that disgusting whore house. I counted every single day, every time I slept under that roof, hearing those girls work ever so loudly as I rested in complete darkness.
"She died a year and two months ago," I said, keeping my head. "It was during the winter months, sixteen days into Snowmourn. I heard those beasts laugh, scatter around her corpse like cockroaches. I'm sure they took her soul like all of their victims."
I hear Ikaris's boots step backward, moving toward the shutters. He begins to stare outside as if he's searching for something.
The fire that rested bursts alive, surrounding him almost entirely. Some of the flames reforged themselves into his sword, already wrapped to Ikaris's chain.
"What's going on?"
Ikaris stays silent. He races toward the chair in the corner, carrying a leather bag. He tossed it toward the edge of my bed, already making his way to the door on the other side of the room.
"Take that bag. We have to get going."
I throw the blankets off me, quickly standing up. But I stop halfway, pain burning in my ribs. I'm still hurt from before.
"No wonder they're so active in Bruis. There are Seers here." I hear Ikaris whisper.
I take a few deep breaths, shouldering the pain, getting myself off that bed. I force myself to swallow the hurt, placing a hand on my gut. Something about Ikaris tells me that wounds are secondary. Our lives might be in danger. A man like him doesn't just start packing and leaving after hearing some information.
"What's going on?" I ask.
Ikaris glances at where my hand is. With his free hand, he grasps a wisp of fire and tosses it toward my direction. The little bit of blaze flies toward me and latches onto my arm. It begins to crawl down my body, lingering on my chest.
There's a sudden burning sensation that almost drops me to my knees. But as fast as it came, the burning is gone. So was the pulsating pain in my ribs. What did he do to me?
"That'll keep you from hurting for now. We need to go; I can't afford you slowing us down."
"Wait, what do you mean? Why are we leaving so suddenly?"
"Because of you. You're a Seer—prey to Somata." He turns back to the door, placing a hand on it.
Before Ikaris could open the door, there was a heavy creak above us. Old dust and water fall from the ceiling as heavy footsteps shift across it.
I look toward the shutter and see a thick fog creep in.
The storm is gone.
Everything is silent.
Then laughter echoes from somewhere—a light childish chuckle.
I slowly squat and grab the leather bag that Ikaris threw next to me.
We hear the hallway outside begin to shake, as the walls, floorboards, and ceilings creak, even the walls, with cackling laughter and yells echoing around.
The fog covers most of the floor.
And I hear a whisper, as if it were right next to my ear. "We know where you are, Seer."
I look toward Ikaris, but he's already glancing at me as if he heard it as well. I see him clench his jaw.
"We're too late," he says, "The Somata found us."