Mist and shadow cling to me like a shroud. I'm aware of what's looming ahead, yet I can't tear my gaze away. My own battle plays out before my eyes, hounds encircling me, their sinister presence tightening around their prey. Their hungry mouths glisten, and one of them latches onto my leg, a silent scream trapped within me. Another seizes my shoulder, and in unison, they attack, tearing into my flesh, shredding my being. The agony courses through me, relived as if I'm trapped in the moment.
But I don't just watch; I fight. My knife is drawn, and I plunge it into the skull of the hound clamped onto my shoulder. I pour all my strength into the blow, simultaneously kicking at the hound gnawing at my legs. It recoils, and the hound impaled by my knife collapses, lifeless, its eyes rolling back. I withdraw the blade, wiping its black blood on my shirt. A brief moment of respite follows, a shallow breath taken in haste. The mist creeps in rapidly, the hounds now barely visible except for their eerie, glowing eyes. They stalk and plot, their intent palpable.
Despite the pulsating pain in my right leg, its muscle severed, I push myself upright. My vision narrows as the remaining four hounds charge, teeth bared, jaws snapping. I parry their assaults with all the skill I can muster, but my balance wavers and one of the hounds seizes the opportunity, its massive jaws enclosing my face. My scream pierces the scene, reverberating through me, a cacophony of agony echoing within. I'm locked in this moment, feeling it all with an intensity that defies reality.
A peculiar calm calls to me from the abyss of pain. A soothing voice, a Deity of Death, hovers above, her form obscured by a dark blue robe, accompanied by a murder of crows. She appears uncertain, hesitant to claim me, and I grasp the reason. Pale green and blue specks emerge from my body, flowing and drifting into the air. They gather and descend, akin to gentle winter snowflakes, landing on my knapsack a few feet away. As these specks depart from me, the knapsack illuminates, a pillar of light ascending from it, a blend of green mist and grey lightning. The Deity avoids the pillar's trajectory, intrigued by whats to come.
The forest trembles, the earth shifting as the pillar recedes. From its midst emerges a figure of a man. I recognize him, it's the demon from the vortex. His demeanor seems bored, nonchalant even, drawing the ire of the hounds pacing nearby. Their growls resonate, a symphony of menace. He stretches as he approaches my prone form, then freezes. Unheard words escape his lips, and he collapses, cradling my lifeless head. His touch is gentle, brushing my bloody hair aside, a display of tenderness amidst the chaos of mangled flesh. His familiarity unsettles me, the way he holds me as if we share a history beyond this moment.
Then, a shift. Uriel's attention shifts to the hounds, his posture altering as if an invisible force grips him. He puts my head on the ground once again, the softness of which also unsettles me. He screams and lightning erupts from his essence, a torrent of power that annihilates the closest hound. It shatters under the assault, a testament to formidable might. He staggers, smoke rising from the fallen hound, he falls, catching himself on his knees.
From above, the soaring Deity descends, her crows settling into the trees around the scene. Elegantly she is holding onto a scythe. As often depicted in images, I did not think it held any truth.
"You've grown weak," the Deity speaks to the demon.
"I have," the demon answers with a low growl.
"She's gone," the Deity continues. "I came to collect her soul for the Harvester, however, it seems that you stole it."
"I cannot control what happens outside my prison." The demon walks toward me, his pace slow and staggard. His movements are soft as he strokes the right side of my face, looking at the damage of the Hounds. "I will not let you take her too," he says, voice as soft as midnight.
"What happened with…" the Deity answers but cuts herself off, shaking her head. "What happens with her soul is not up to you." She nods towards my lifeless body.
"Oh, but it is. The Book chose her, and even you can't deny what it claims, Kara."
"He will not be pleased to hear that you are back. It took a century to repair the damages and chaos that followed… last we saw you."
"How long have I been trapped?" he asks, and I sense chock in his voice, he is calm but a look of anguish sweeps across his face, ever so lightly. She looks at him and then at me.
"How long?" He repeats, voice harder.
"Almost a millennia," Kara answers and something like sympathy specks her gaze. She's keeping her distance, the crows shrieking above her.
"She took too long," the demon says and looks at me, then rises to his feet again. "I am not the demon I used to be… make sure you tell him that." He looks at Kara, an indistinguishable expression on his face. Kara nods and takes a few steps forward, putting her arms around the demon.
"It's good to see you again, brother." He laughs, it doesn't sound genuine.
"You know, I never got used to you calling me that."
"I know," she backs away, the pale glow of the moon catches in her robe and it shines as if made of silver. Her face is still hidden from me. "It's good to see you again, Uriel." Kara launches off into the air, and the crows follow.
A sense of urgency propels Uriel into action. Lightning-like tendrils flow from his hand into my body, transferring the same specks of green and blue that once emanated from me. Footsteps approach, a sound that heralds Uriel's disappearance, leaving me thrust back into the shaman's room.
--
My senses reel as I return to reality. My body pulses with the remnants of the vision, its vividness echoing in my veins. Waves of discomfort surge through me, my blood rushing like lava, burning through my being. I struggle to breathe, gasping for air, hands pressed against the cool surface of a bowl of water. Incense fills the room, a fragrant attempt at solace.
"It can be a very uncomfortable experience," Dan's voice, just as soft and soothing as the incense she is burning. "Not only astral projection, into the depths of oneself, but the sight of one's death. I feel for you."
"You knew?" I ask and my hands clutch into fists. My breath is stabilizing, haggard as it may be, I am able to suck more air down my lungs and my pulse grows steady.
"I did not." I don't know why I take her word for it, but I do. "I can merely see what the Spirits and Deities share. What lies within you is for you to find out."
"The Deities," I scoff. "They sure love to meddle in the lives of simple humans, don't they." I rise to my feet, though the dizziness is making it hard to stand.
"You are no simple human," Dan says, this time I do not believe her. "You will find out, soon enough…" I take note of her words but I have too many questions that need answers.
"And the Demon? Is it really Uriel?" Dan nods.
"If that is what you saw, then so it is."
"He owes Kara my soul."
"She owes him much more." I blink and, in a heartbeat, I am outside again. The house fades away softly and reveals an empty alleyway. I rub my eyes. There is an ache traveling through every muscle in my body. The memories I witnessed, and the feeling from them, are still potent.
I turn to look around and I lock eyes with Mikhael, who awaits me across the road. The sound of the bustling, jovial streets hit me once again as I turn to walk toward the house. I know he is following close behind, the magic emitting from him reaching out like tendrils, hovering just close enough.
I resist the urge to look back at him. The mix of anger and deceit I feel is too much. If I turned to look at him, I am not sure what I would do.
--
We arrive back at the house in the golden light of the afternoon and are greeted by Ai, who is wearing a green dress, a trail of sewn flowers adorns the tulle tow, which falls behind her like ripples on water. I realize the flowers on her dress are real.
"I want us to dine together tonight… Tomorrow is a busy day for all of us, and I want to fill Elyse in on what we discussed earlier," her voice is soft and ethereal, it sounds like the breeze rustling through young leaves. I nod and take my leave to go get changed for dinner. Once again I resist the urge to look at Mikhael.
"You cannot be mad at him, stupid little Murderer." The Book whispers.
"I can be mad at him for not telling me that I died", I whisper back. I am washing my face in a bowl of water that has been put in my room. I am still nauseous from the vision Dan showed me, and my hands are shaking when I try to use them to comb through my hair.
"What difference does it make? You were dead - now you are not."
"Maybe you don't understand because you are not living, but dying is supposedly a pretty big deal."
"Death is not an end", the Book says. I am confused by its sudden softness, the niceness in its words. "You witnessed that yourself, and my Master…" I halt. Looking in the mirror I see my face being caressed by the demon who lives inside that Book. Trapped, as he said.
Uriel.
"I will burn you if you say another word." And the Book laughs.
"Stupid little murderer, I cannot be destroyed…" Back to its normal tone.
"I will find a way."
"If I die, you die", it says. Like it's a living thing. "Master needs you", it continues. "You can help him."
"Why would I help him?" My voice is loud and echoing through the room. The Book grows quiet, and I am baffled at the exchange. It has never been this… I want to say helpful, but it seems too grand a word for how the Book acts. A living thing, I wonder, and my soul is trapped in there – somehow.
I feel at the edges of my face, the left side that was once burning with a hue of ruined flesh is now a soft pink. I am continuing to heal, and I know it's thanks to Mikhael. The electricity of his powers has never left me for too long. As angry as I am at him for being a fucking liar, not once, not twice but t hrice now, I still owe him my life. I sigh and pinch at the bridge of my nose.
"Elyse," a voice purr at me, and I know where it is coming from.
I ignore it and change into my black pants, with a soft emerald-colored robe over it. I wrap my chest with leather and hilt my blade. I will not be walking around here unprepared.
--
Leaning against the doorframe, my hands in my pockets, I'm trying to exude a sense of casual ease. Internally, though, my mind is far from calm. Mikhael is seated at the edge of his bed, his hands clasped together in his lap, and his gaze anchored on me. Why did I come here? Perhaps, I sense the need for a conversation, a prelude to what could be an awkward and potentially disastrous dinner. Despite that, silence reigns between us as I struggle to articulate my thoughts.
I attempt to speak, but before I can utter a word, I notice Mikhael opening his mouth, as if eager to start the dialogue. With a faint gesture, I let him take the lead.
"I am sorry. To be honest, I thought... it was reckless of me. To believe that maybe it'd be better if I never disclosed what really happened," Mikhael clears his throat, his voice weighed down with sincerity. A sigh escapes my lips, and I find myself staring down at the floor.
"You say reckless, but honestly, it was fucking selfish," my words are laced with an unexpected fierceness, and even Mikhael seems taken aback, his eyes widening as I continue. "I died, Mikhael. Dying is a monumental event. What did you think you'd achieve by keeping me in the dark?"
He shakes his head, his lips forming a tight line. Slowly, he stands and begins to close the distance between us. His measured steps send a pulse of tension through the air.
"I can't even claim I was thinking straight," his voice holds a composed calmness. "I saw a fighter, a fierce and unyielding woman who was fighting to the end. Even when death was staring you in the face, you fought."
The intensity in his eyes softens the hard edges of my anger. As he stands there, inches away from me, I feel my own emotions shifting, becoming more malleable.
"You should have told me. I can't really be mad at you for saving my life can I? But I can be mad for you not telling me," my voice grows gentler as I stand on the precipice of the truth. Mikhael's closeness erodes the wall of resentment I've built. "You wield remarkable healing powers, Mikhail. I acknowledge that, but it doesn't absolve you from keeping secrets. I won't be anyone's pawn, subjected to half-truths or manipulation."
At that moment, it dawns on me. Beneath my anger, beneath the surface frustration, there's a gnawing sense of foolishness. I was naive, easily led to believe that chance had saved me, that the Book's bond was happenstance. I had danced to a tune I didn't even hear.
His hand reaches out, almost touching my face, but I instinctively shake my head, his movement faltering. A mixture of resistance and uncertainty passes between us.
"I didn't want you to feel... foolish or used," Mikhael's voice carries a hint of vulnerability, but before he can elaborate, I turn to open the door.
"We're going to be late for dinner," I mutter.