Zakair felt naked.
His red blazing red gazes was a stark contrast against the azure darkness of the night for it to go unnoticed.
He instinctively looked away, teeth gritted, fingers trembling around the cup. Adding salt to injury, the dark tinge of his blood soiled the bandages, further giving him away. How could he have left himself bare?
Just the hunger... Just the hunger...
Any moment now, the shriek of terror and yelps of accusation will ensue...
Monster.
But it never came.
Zakair risked a glance at her to find that this girl was placid. Undisturbed.
Is she not scared?
Perhaps she was among those shunned from the overexaggerated fairytales of creatures whose eyes glowed in the shadows, claimed to be devourers of mischievous children.
"There's no point hiding peculiarities," she said, then sipped her tea.
He stilled as if he didn't hear her.
If the wounds and headache plowing with the swell of emotions that threatened to writhe its way out of his stomach weren't about to make him recoil, there was also the matter of binding the beast inside the second that its claws poked his flesh.
And when it did, it was a rue to those who had happened to witness the horror.
The horror began succeeding his admission to the opulent academy in Flaurella after a good year and a half in Markham Manor.
In the shadow of a corner, down the deepest alleys, and in the burrows of the thicket, the parasite rampaged. Clawing its way out of his skin like an untamable disease. Starving should it choose to, wherein Zakair could only satiate with wild animal meat and blood.
So far, whenever he was among the common fields or bustling buildings outside of the academy did it only awaken from its slumber.
Unhinged and hungry.
There may have been three that came to Zakair's mind. All of which who had turned into the corner of his retreat only to soon forget their intent of hiding. And the next, it was how their eyes dilated in pure fear and the color drained from their face that he recalled perfectly. Shock stripping them of the ability to comprehend the abomination before them.
Funny. He remembered accounts of those who claimed to have beheld hades itself.
Of a creature with hollow eyes and outrageous layers of fangs for teeth that can devour a whole cattle. While another said it looked like a walking corpse where half of its head was melting skin, and the other sizzled away to expose its charcoal skull.
The last he recounted was that these poor casualties were lost to madness. Some scoffed at them. And some questioned the authenticity behind those frenzied words that could not be farther from the truth.
Yet, Zakair couldn't help but feel a tinge of pity. How one misfortune led them to ostracism. Left with a stalking memory where it must be like the abyss had stared back at them.
Was it empathy they call it? Being able to stand in one's shoes not in the way that taps into scheming minds.
But beyond a depth that ran deeper than the conscious reasoning. Where pain is projected but not inflicted.
Or was it because there is no abolishing an intangible image that already stuck to the mind, relentlessly haunting them for the rest of their meager lives?
Just like the seers of ancient history.
Just like his fellow brothers-in-arms.
Just like Zakair.
At those seconds, it's like the critters were the only sounds he can hear. Behind him, he can perceive she is no longer staring at him, but at the full Moon.
"Who are you?" he began.
The oddity in her interesting reaction narrowed into two possibilities: whether she knew of the existence of Nyrhaeans, or she could be one. He had thought about it should he encounter another of his also walking among the unsuspecting opposing territory.
Those visualizations, however, were far from the ideal greetings kins share.
She wasn't the nymph sort despite her uncanny beauty. Not even close to a siren albeit her sophisticated voice. Neither a fae nor a selkie. It doesn't take a high-breed Nyrhaean to recognize the unblemished poreless skin and layers of scales embedded into their human cover, nor the gills flapped close on their neck.
She lacked any.
But most of all, her eyes were... humane. If there was one thing a shapeshifting Nyrhaean couldn't perfectly mirror, it was the coils of soul-colored emotions that spoke volumes behind the eyes.
"Such a bold question. But perhaps I can't blame you for thinking of me as anything but a simple girl who likes tea and just wants to watch the stars fall." She paused to sip.
Zakair didn't deny the audacity behind his probing. The custom asserted that introducing one's name first was more than a way to promote acquaintances, but it paved a welcoming gateway of trust. Asking the other party to disclose their identity first would be a bit like forcing that gate to open. Unearned, at worst.
He already knew what he was making himself of. As if speculating the drink didn't make it clear enough. But even in the noblest of camaraderie, the world grows crueler by the day.
"Given how I was interrupted by a sleeping figure floating down the river, I could have at least left you to the water's fate."
So that was how. With the demonstration of her light strings, it must've explained how he was brought from the river to the stone. The girl spoke as if she were in a theater, "But to put aside further misgivings, I can at least tell you that I'm a mere wanderer who sought to travel around the globe and discover the unwritten beauty each land has to offer.
"A passion, you might say. But I'd like to believe it to be a calling for a great purpose. The tea makes the experience better." She poured herself another cup from the velvety flowing sound. "And I strongly suggest you drink that before it gets cold."
He did feel his cup lose some of its heat. Zakair gradually turned and looked at her. She was still watching the Moon. He couldn't bring himself to feel the relief that his suppositions were wrong. She may as well be a master of deception, but there was no telling from her body language.
The scent of the tea captivated him from his storm of thoughts. He was left to choose to either wait until he recovers or take her word for it. Rarely, he hoped that his assumptions were wrong.
Zakair attempted a sip. A jolt of pain sent him lolling his head back, inducing images that streaked across his mind in dynamic colors and fragmented sounds.
"That is quite the head injury if even your memories have failed you." He heard her from the deafening screech in his ears. Almost certain her voice carried concern. The pressure was pushing against the back of his head. Zakair was too weak to fight it. "Don't resist." she cooed. A warm hand pressed against his forehead. "Remember whence you came from."
From glass shattering to the cracks of whips. Swords clashing to blood spilling. A horn blaring, red lights washing over his vision, and the rumble of debris raining. The flash of colors swept him over to an image of dawn engulfing the sky with blissful blue on the shoreline horizon.
A young boy. Dead. A crooked house to a magnificent manor.
Too far.
The images twisted into colorful beds of daisies. People gathering and laughing. Screaming and crying. Lights flickering. Cards flying over. An arena. The song of two disparate blades in a duel.
The headache lulled him into a trance. Each beating pain sinking deeper with a memory along.
"Remember." Her voice was the last he heard before one by one, it all came down in a reminiscent sequence of events.