"Pay your dues in time."
Just that, a simple and horrific message. The note glistened with blood. The horror of the scene caused Mihel's knees to buckle.
There was no doubt in Mihel's mind. This was the work of madmen, or something worse. The message was clear, crude, and unmistakable. This was about money.
But something else unsettled him far more. There was a larger detail that he was unable to explain.
'How had the killer managed to bite off an entire shoulder?'
Mihel crouched closer. The victim's eyes bulged grotesquely, frozen wide with terror. His mouth was stretched open, jaw strained as if he had tried to scream but never finished.
Shock.
Whatever attacked him, the man had seen it coming. And what he saw was something far scarier than a normal man.
"Poor guy," Riche muttered.
Mihel scanned the surroundings, eyes darting between the trees, the ground, the shadows. Nothing felt right. The forest was too still. No wind, a strange silence that didn't match the norm.
Footsteps pounded behind them.
Velis arrived first, one hand flying to her mouth as she saw what lay in front of her. Meria and Nathene followed close behind.
"O Lady of Life," Nathene whispered, bowing his head. "Grant this poor soul passage into thy habitations."
"When we came to call you, Mihel," Meria said, already reaching into her pouch, "We saw the knife pointing toward the forest. We rushed immediately."
In the rush of the events, Mihel had quickly placed a knife just in front of the door, to inform the adults where they were.
She knelt beside the body and drew a triangle in white chalk over the man's chest. Within it, she traced three concentric circles, careful and precise.
Nathene knelt beside her, and asked in a quiet hurried tone. "Are you trying the new ritual? Are we skilled enough to perform it?"
'New ritual? Yeah…I haven't seen that symbol so far in father's notes…I wonder what they are trying to do…He's far beyond saving...'
Meria nodded firmly, concentrating on the body. Nathene sighed and then bowed his head, accompanying Meria.
"Destiny," they whispered together, hands in front.
Warmth washed over the clearing. The chill of the night was kept at bay.
A pale green light seeped into the air, flowing gently around them like mist touched by moonlight.
The Destiny swirled for a moment before gathering at their outstretched palms.
Mihel felt it instantly.
His body reacted as if remembering something long forgotten. Every cell seemed to stir, responding to the familiar presence of his parents' Destiny. Memories surfaced.
Childhood illnesses. Gentle hands glowing green. Healing. Good memories.
'This was the power of Destiny.' Mihel stared, eyes wide open at the ritual.
Meria's voice trembled as she prayed. She was nervous, as this was the first time they had tried this ritual in a real-world scenario.
"Oh Lady, who watches her people from your throne of mercy, hear us once more."
"Sanctify this body with thy spirit," Nathene continued, "and open its mysteries to thy humble servants."
"Oh Lady," Meria whispered, "appear once more."
"And bless us again," Nathene finished.
They lowered their palms into the triangle, which represented the body, soul, and mind. Each corner one aspect. One wasn't greater than the other. A human was made of these three equally.
The air snapped. An odd feeling spread through the group. The cold returned, twice as harsh as it was before. Mihel's teeth started chattering when suddenly he felt a gloom around. He couldn't see anything but felt it in him. A sense of dread.
Meria's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed without a sound.
Nathene clutched his head, pulling his hair, screaming.
"NO….FORGIVE ME….AAAGHHH!"
He too collapsed after this. A sudden flash of lightning.
Rain started pouring heavily, thunder was heard in the distance. It had waited long enough, and decided to release its full force.
"Mother!" Mihel shouted, rushing forward.
Riche knelt beside them, fingers pressed to their necks. He looked up, voice tight.
"They're alive. Barely."
Velis was biting her nails, panic flooding her face. "Take them inside. Quickly. Come on."
Mihel lifted his mother into his arms. As he carried her, she coughed violently, blood splattering across his shirt.
Inside the Malant household, Meria and Nathene were laid onto beds, hurriedly set up in the hall. Velis also took some warm cloths and pressed them to their foreheads.
Mihel stood frozen, guilt clawing at his chest.
'What did that ritual do to them?' he thought. 'I've never seen anything like this before.'
Velis returned with a steaming cup, hands shaking. "I'm not a Healer," she said quickly, "but my grandmother kept recipe books. This one's for headaches. It might help."
Mihel accepted it with a faint smile. "Thank you."
Riche turned to his mother. "They should stay here tonight. Tomorrow, Mihel and I can go with Mentor Cilluh to the Exousia branch."
Velis nodded without hesitation. "Yes. That's good." Her mind wasn't completely in the reply.
She glanced at Mihel. "You can stay in Riche's room tonight."
She ruffled her blond hair and lowered herself into a chair beside Meria, sadness settling into her eyes. She took a deep breath, to calm herself down. Mihel and Riche stood there, unsure whether to leave or stay to help.
"I'm sorry, boys. I panicked," she said softly. "I'm alright now. Go to sleep. I'll try feeding them a little more, then I'll rest as well."
The boys slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Ornate paintings lined the walls, each one heavy with age and meaning. Mihel slowed instinctively.
He had seen them many times before, yet they always pulled at him. He always felt connected to these pieces.
'Riche's father was a historian,' Mihel thought, as he scanned the hanged artworks. 'Obsessed with uncovering the truths buried before the Fourth Period. These were his works. Maybe I feel a connection because I too want to find the hidden history.'
Riche noticed his gaze. He smiled weakly.
"Mi," he said quietly, "I know I tell you this every time, but Mother says these paintings are wrong. My father realized it too." His voice lowered. "That's why he left. To find the real truth."
'And he never came back.'
The gloom thickened, pressing down on the corridor.
Mihel stood transfixed, regardless of what Riche said.
A burning sun crashed down upon a pillar shaped like a hammer, its rays piercing a land of gold below. A black pentagon floated in the heart of a white sea, darkness bleeding outward, staining purity. A man knelt with arms outstretched, wrists bound in chains above him, white light encasing his body. A round, black figure loomed over a castle, spear in hand, watching. And many others.
The images felt… alive.
Riche shook him lightly. "Hey. You good? You always get lost in these."
Mihel blinked, eyelids heavy, and shook his head as if clearing water from his ears.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry." He lied, his mind still wrapped in fog.
'Something in those paintings speaks to me,' he thought. 'Something I don't understand yet.'
The room was modest. Three simple cots kept with their posts against the walls, each covered with thin cloth. There were two windows on each wall, under which there was a normal wooden storage. There was also a lantern hanging from the ceiling, right in the centre.
They lay down without another word. Both lost in their own thoughts.
Riche drifted quickly into peaceful sleep.
Mihel did not.
He was haunted by a nightmare.
***
Mihel was standing quite some distance from a figure with long black hair reaching his chest. With a shock he realised he was seeing himself.
But something was wrong.
The figure looked hollow, emotionally crushed, eyes drained of life. Torn black cloth clung to his body, riddled with holes, hanging loose on a frame that looked starved and broken.
It was Mihel, it was himself, but a version that was stripped of hope.
Then Mihel sensed a change. Mihel was floating. Slowly rising into the air, as the winds blew around him.
His arms were stretched wide, on both sides, as he rose. He stood floating for a moment.
He looked down.
His own dead-like face stared back at him.
Suddenly the wind roared. It howled in his ears.
Without warning, Mihel was hurled downward, plunging toward himself with murderous force. The howling was silent during this. He tried resisting, trying to stop himself.
Just before impact, the world collapsed into black. His senses snuffed out. Smoke curled around him, thick and suffocating. It rolled slowly, swallowing sight and sound alike.
Then it thinned.
The same scene returned.
The same place. The same body.
Only now, the version of himself below was even more exhausted, more wasted.
Once again, Mihel, high in the air, looked down at his frail body.
Once again, he plunged downwards.
The cycle repeated.
Again.
And again.
And again.
***
Riche woke to the sound of loud grunting and wood creaking. It was inconsistent and sharp, rising and dropping randomly.
Still half-asleep, he turned his head. Eyes barely open.
On the other cot, Mihel was twisting violently, body contorting as if fighting invisible restraints. His fingers clawed at the sheets, knuckles white, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Mihel…?" Riche murmured, sitting up quickly. "You alright?"
He swung his legs over the bed and moved closer, eyes still heavy with sleep. Mind still disoriented.
"AAAAGHHHH… I'M SORRY…..SAAAVE MEEEE!"
Riche froze. His blood ran dry. He looked at his forearm. The hair on his arms stood straight up.
That voice.
It wasn't Mihel's. It came from downstairs.
Dread crept into Riche's bones. A thick smoke seemed to fall upon the atmosphere.
"That was my father." A voice croaked from beside him.
Riche turned sharply.
Mihel was awake. Face pale and slightly trembling. Yet he was wide-eyed. Fully alert.
'Was he unaware of what he'd been doing moments before.' Riche wondered.
"Come on," Mihel said urgently. "We need to go downstairs. What time is it?"
Riche forced himself to move, checking the moon dial, on the wooden stand, near the window. "Near 1 eos."
Mihel nodded and jumped from the bed without hesitation.
Another scream ripped through the house.
"TAKE ME…..PLEASE…. NOT HER!"
They ran.