Ayil woke to an ache in his throat, he sat up, glancing around to orientate himself. It was inadequately lit, but he could tell he was in his designated living quarters.
Crouched beside his bed was Eira, silently peeling the nails off her toes with a chilling expression. She noticed his semi-conscious state, and it was melted by a warm smile.
"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" she asked, pulling off the toenail pinched between the last two fingers of her right hand.
"...Water," Ayil said in a hoarse voice, his mouth bitter with a rotting aftertaste.
Eira disappeared into the bathroom for a brief moment, returning with a tall cup of water. Ayil downed its contents, quenching his painful thirst. It felt as though he was drinking molten silver.
He gagged, almost throwing up. He felt satiated—so much so, it hurt. And when the water filled his stomach, there was an unbearable burning sensation.
Eira placed her bloody hands on his chest and head, gently laying him down. "Relax," she said. "Breath. It's just the after-effects. Nothing too terrible, right?"
"Yes, quite. I'm just brimming with vitality," Ayil said through clenched teeth, flexing his core to try and relieve the pain. "So why did you help me? What is it you want?"
"No, 'thank you for saving my life'?" Eira asked, leaning away from the bedframe. "I'm not sure I appreciate that..." A frown creased her smooth forehead. "No. I am certain I do not appreciate that."
"I apologize," Ayil said carefully. His next words came out a little rough, "I forgot myself... Thank you for saving my life."
"It was my pleasure," Eira said, a soft note of mirth in her voice. She sat on the bed, splaying her mutilated fingers. "As for what I want... Meat. Lots of it."
That definitely wasn't the sole reason. But he could tell she wasn't going to reveal her true intentions, so he decided to pin this conversation for another date.
"...I see. Then, tell me, how am I still alive?" he asked, feeling the tender spot on his stomach where the spear passed through.
"That should be quite obvious by now, no?" Eira said. "It's not as if this is the first time something like this has happened to you."
Ayil frowned deeply.
"Don't give me that face. It's unsightly to be this ignorant about your own well-being," she said, sighing. "Unless you have been living a wish-filled life—which I doubt since God's malevolence is especially concentrated on your soul—you've had at least a dozen near-death experiences."
Suddenly, the conversation sounded familiar to him. However, dozens of near-death experiences? That wasn't particularly true. He was good at staying out of trouble, but there were times when he woke up the next morning; starving, aching with disease, freezing, and wondered how he survived the night.
"It seems I hit the bullseye," Eira continued. "Every time you were close to death, KalloSyth kept you alive. Sadly, each time they did this, they broke the restrictions TaraLoth set on them, giving him even more reason to hate you.
Might I add, since you willfully accepted their help... TaraLoth's anger has probably reached a tipping point."
"...Why me?" Ayil asked, not sure whether to be relieved or distraught.
Eira looked at him as though he asked something ridiculous.
"I don't know," she finally said. Lying next to him, eyes closed. Her expression serene. "...Perhaps it's the same reason as to why I had to suffer since birth. Simply because we have the potential to become Arlaths; as that woman mentioned. But I suppose when you're hated by God, it could be for a more profound reason. Find solace in that..."
'...Or a profane one,' Ayil added mentally. He didn't dare to wake Eira's sleep just for that retort, of course. Instead, he waited for her breathing to become fainter, more rhythmic. Then he slowly rose from the sheets, his joints popping blissfully as he did.
He searched the pockets of his tethered, dirt and blood-stained clothes. Luckily, Pae was still with him, though it was in its plain cube form.
It folded open. Countless metallic sheets shaved off, the sheddings gyred in an in fixed state around the cube, but—miraculously—didn't damage his hand. 'Glad to see you alive, Master Ayil.'
"How long have I been unconscious?"
The swarm of thin metallic, blades sped up. 'About seventeen hours. You were absent for your last appointment.'
Ayil did a few simple mental calculations, and arrived at the conclusion that his first class today—should it follow the starting time of the previous day—would start roughly in two to three hours. He washed up, changing garments. Something simpler, more breathable, less elegant, this time.
The bath was uncomfortable but left him feeling refreshed when he was done. He stared at Eira from the sofa, weary. It didn't feel pleasant to be in her debt. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say she owned him. Especially accounting for the fact she was a Kallomancer... probably.
He sighed. When would his fate finally fall into his own hands? How much longer would he have to keep hating himself?
"I need to be more careful..." Ayil murmured, staring at the complex show of symbols Pae was conducting. "...What is the punishment for missing the last appointment?"
'I can't say. That usually depends on the staff responsible for the class.'
Ayil shuffled in his seat uncomfortably, memories flashing through his mind. His skin flared with phantom wounds, the scars of which had been washed away by Taramancy.
He was reaching his utter limits.
"...Not yet. Just a little more," he said softly, eyes lifeless as he stared into the void in his mind. There, naked and afraid, was a slender red-haired boy. He was pinned down by a larger man—equally nude—that scribbled arcane runes on his back with a knife, the tip of the blade a few millimeters too deep. "Endure. Just until you understand enough... Enough to take it all."
Shutting his eyes, he entered a meditative state. Repeating those words internally as though they were the holiest of mantras.
A soft, pained moan filled the room. Ayil cracked open his eyes, staring in Eira's direction. Along her back climbed a... Spider? No. It was a tiny silver bead that was using hundreds of needle-like extensions for movement.
As it maneuvered maladroitly, these 'legs' pierced Eira's skin. It paused on her shoulder, raising a few dozen needles, then dug them into her ears.
She shot up. Eyes wide, she grabbed the metal insect deftly. Blood trickled down from her ear canal. The bead clacked its legs together, creating an esoteric melody. Eira simply glared it down.
Beside him, Pae's surface was animated with runic puzzle pieces. 'Her Tesseract is informing her that it is almost time for her appointment.' The runes locked together, creating a single intricate arcane symbol. 'Speaking of which, it is currently one hour and twenty-nine minutes before your next appointment. You should go for breakfast.'
"I'm off to eat," Ayil said, interrupting Eira's telepathic conversation. "Feel free to wash up in my bathroom."
"No need," she said, messily tying her blonde hair into a loose knot. She yawned, gaze heavy. "I cleaned off while you slept."
Ayil stared at her. She was garbed in a crimson one-piece dress with a bodice that clung tightly around her upper body, then fell loosely to her knees. Bloodstains were visible on the bright outfit—though only if one inspected her with the intent to find the spots. When he did find them, it irritated him to no end. Why would anyone stay untidy by will?
"Then, at the least, wash off your face and hands," Ayil said.
"...I was going to do that without you having to mention it," Eira said, the mildest of annoyances colouring her face. "What do you take me for?"
He combed through his hair with his fingers, turning airily to Pae. It spiraled close, folding in on itself.
'Excellent choice, Master Ayil.'
Eira pursed her lips, waiting for a reply.
"Why are you so exhausted?" Ayil asked, blatantly changing the topic. "I was asleep for a long time. You could have slept without issue."
"It's because you slept so long," she replied, letting out a long breath. She went inside the bathroom. "After you forced all that volatile energy into your body, who do you think prevented it from turning you into a monster?"
"Ah," Ayil said, "something like that is possible from just absorbing a fraction of KalloSyth?"
"To ask such a silly query," Eira said, her voice slightly drowned out by the sound of running water. "Everything has a price. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any balance in this world."
***
After a very meatless—therefore, tasteless—meal, Ayil found himself in his spot within the Arlaths domain. Eira by his right hand.
"Now," Cyrill was saying, "yesterday was but an introduction to what you could be. There was a lot of talk which could be considered optimistic. Today, we will delve into the world of chaos which is anything but pleasant."
The surrounding space distorted, torn asunder by the waves rippling from the Arlath. The pressure pounded against Ayil's senses, invading his consciousness.
"Accept my Will," a depraved voice echoed, "and I will lead you to the First Gate to the All."
'The Gate,' Ayil thought, greed slowly suppressing the urge to resist Cyrill's Will, 'to everything. I want to see It.'
He wanted to make it his. And that was enough to send him spiraling. The world expanded. He held the oceans, countless masses of land, the world he inhabited, the sun, the marbles revolving around that star, and the countless celestial systems similar to that in his mind's eye.
Then it shrunk. His consciousness plummeted down to a world so minuscule, it was once said to be indivisible. But that was false. Beyond that lay an even smaller world, a world so small nothing made sense. A world where he could exist in different places at the same time, but across infinite timelines. Where he could exist in a state of nonexistence and pop back in the past.
Beyond that lay Chaos. The metaphysical particles which added up to the very confines of reality. Ever shifting—spreading in all directions, weaving across space-time.
It was beautiful, the blueprints of God... Even more so when Ayil realized he could see the order in the Chaos, and redraw the blueprints with this knowledge. He reached out and touched that which was sacred—
—Vertigo hit. His normal senses returned. The world wouldn't stop spinning on the tip of his nose.
"How was it?" he heard Cyrill's voice. "To see through my eyes? Addicting, is it not?"
There were breathless murmurs in agreement.