Addressing the elephant in the room is the first step towards breaking down barriers, one mighty stomp at a time.
I thought it was finally time to visit Ábel, yet I couldn't bring myself to do it. I stood in front of the closed door for what felt like an eternity, staring at the damned handle as if I feared closing my eyes would make it disappear. But in reality, it may have only been a minute.
Time is relative, and it was only then that I truly understood the weight of that statement. Somewhere along the way, I lost touch with the moment. All I could feel with certainty was that my eyes were dry from not blinking, my feet were numb, and a thousand sharp needles seemed to prick at the soles of my feet as I curled my toes in discomfort.
Finally, with a deep sigh, I pushed the doorknob and stepped inside. I didn't spend much time with him; it felt like mere minutes. I cut my hand again, letting the blood drip into his mouth. He didn't react. His body was fully healed, yet he remained unconscious, untouched by any sign of life. I pressed my lips into a thin, tight line before suddenly leaping to my feet and running out of the ward. I couldn't bear to see him like that.
Luna was waiting outside, as she always was when I needed her. Without a word or question, she enveloped me in her fragile embrace. I buried my face in her hair, inhaling the soothing scent of lilies, a scent that seemed to wrap around me like a quiet promise. One tender look from her eyes told me everything — that she would always be there for me, and for the first time in ages, I believed it. I wanted to believe it.
"Everything's going to be okay," she whispered, her fingers gently brushing the back of my neck.
I pulled away, and she gave me a reassuring smile.
Then, as if speaking more to myself than to Luna, I said softly, "I know he'll wake up. I don't know when, but I know he will." The certainty in my voice surprised even me, but it was there, unshakable.
Luna didn't respond right away. She just looked at me, her eyes searching, perhaps trying to understand where this conviction was coming from.
"Come," she said, gently pulling me along.
We stepped away from the sterile scent of medicine and, after walking for a few blocks, I spotted the familiar car and trailer.
Inside, the warmth enveloped me, the soothing scent of incense filling the air. I settled into one of the chairs while Luna moved about, preparing tea. She poured the hot liquid into two cups, handing one to me. The warmth of the cup in my hands was comforting, and I savored the heat spreading through my palms.
Luna sat down beside me, sipping her tea in silence for a moment before speaking.
"You're upset, but it's not just about Ábel," she said quietly, her gaze steady. "What happened?"
Being near Luna had taught me that I couldn't keep secrets from her—not without feeling exposed, anyway. At first, it had been terrifying, then it became a bit frustrating. But, sometimes, it made things easier. As much as I hated being an open book, sharing my thoughts with her lightened the load, if only a little.
"During the war, I made a deal with a necromancer," I said, watching her stiffen slightly.
Her body tensed for just a moment before she relaxed, her expression unreadable. I wondered if she'd ask the question I dreaded most. The one that had haunted my thoughts more than I cared to admit—whether I'd tried to bring Jo back from the dead. It was a thought I had wrestled with endlessly.
"What happened?" she asked again, her voice soft and velvety.
We hadn't spoken much about the war until now—it had always been a silent taboo. I could feel her curiosity, her concern, but I wasn't sure I was ready to talk about it. In truth, I didn't feel strong enough then, either.
"I was haunted by vengeful spirits," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I thought I was losing my mind. I needed the necromancer's help to get rid of them."
"What was the price?" Luna's voice was quieter now, but it held an edge of seriousness I hadn't heard before. Yet, even in her concern, it retained its softness.
"He did me a favor, and now I owe him," I replied. "He asked me to find someone, but I can't. He's like a ghost—nobody knows anything about him."
Luna's expression softened, but her eyes remained steady. "Shay, necromancers are clever creatures," she said gently, her voice calming. "The fact that he's asked you to find this person means you're the only one who can."
I met her gaze. The certainty in her eyes was unwavering, a certainty I had always admired in her. She trusted me in ways I didn't even trust myself. She saw my weaknesses, stood by me when I teetered on the edge of breaking, and accepted them without hesitation. She knew that I wasn't the powerful king others imagined me to be, yet she remained by my side. I wasn't sure if I deserved that kind of unwavering faith, or if I even knew how to handle it.
Without another word, she climbed into my lap, her face hovering over mine. She leaned down, brushing her lips against mine in a soft, inviting kiss. It was sweet, gentle, and yet undeniably seductive. Her smile lingered as we kissed, a playful glint in her eyes. She knew I wanted her, and that knowledge seemed to bring her happiness.
"Command me, My King," she whispered against my lips, her voice low and teasing.
A low growl rumbled in my chest, half warning, half frustration, and she chuckled softly in response.
(...)
I walked through the door. Alex was waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed, his eyes locked on me. Rolo was at the table, absorbed in a book.
I frowned as I entered, but I should have known better. Alex's gaze cut through me, reading the disappointment and desperation I had managed to bury until now. But who could have predicted that when I was about to sneak a snack from the fridge, he'd be standing guard?
Now he knows, and once Alex gets a whiff of something, there's no shaking him off. He won't stop until he gets the answers he wants. And he really shouldn't find out. He really, really shouldn't.
I sighed dramatically and flopped into a chair.
"Where've you been?" Alex asked, his voice calm but searching. Rolo closed his book with a careful movement, putting it away without a word.
Now I was facing two pairs of eyes, both intent on me. Seriously? Are they teaming up?
"I was in town," I replied, trying to sound casual. "Had a hot chocolate at a café."
A cruel, devilish chuckle bubbled up in my chest, but I stifled it. I wasn't lying—not exactly.
I knew Alex would have sniffed out my lies, if I told the truth, there was nothing to sniff out, was there? I almost felt triumphant... but then Alex's eyes narrowed.
"You're hiding something."
Damn, he got me now. I couldn't deny it,, because then he would know that I was lying.
"What do you mean?" I deflected, but I already knew it was useless.
"I can tell you're not telling me everything," Alex said, his gaze unwavering. It was like being under a spotlight, and I suddenly felt like I was being interrogated by some evil cop, the kind who'd burn your retinas with a lamp until you cracked. Not that I'd ever been in an interrogation... but this? This felt just like it.
"Come on, you're imagining things..." I said, trying to brush it off.
"So, you're saying there's absolutely nothing you're not telling us?" Rolo chimed in, his voice deadpan. "Yes or no?"
I really wanted to slap the little traitor. Rolo was sneaky, a master at twisting the knife. It was a question I couldn't avoid, no matter how hard I tried.
"Damn it, are you really going to interrogate me now?" I snapped. "I'm starting to feel like the villain in a crime thriller, you know, the kind who kills people."
I wasn't lying. I could feel the strange, almost primal urge to hurt someone. Maybe start with the annoying brat.
"Exactly," Rolo agreed with a grin that made my blood boil.
You'll pay for this one day—with interest! But for now, I realized there was no escaping this conversation.
"Okay, there's something I haven't told you," I shrugged, my tone casual, though my mind was anything but. "And I don't plan to change my mind..."
Alex's gaze locked onto mine, unwavering. His golden-brown eyes shot lightning bolts of barely contained anger, a vein bulging dangerously on his forehead. So much so that I didn't dare tell him that he was in no position to demand anything—no one orders me! I knew one of two things would happen: either he'd have a stroke, or I'd end up in a body bag. Neither seemed like a good outcome.
I managed to withstand his smoldering glare for what felt like an eternity, but it was less than a minute before I cracked.
"Alright, damn it, I'll tell you," I blurted, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
He relaxed just a little, enough to pull out the chair across from me and settle in, waiting.
"It's not that I don't trust you or anything," I added, trying to downplay it. "It's just that, well, informants make the best secret keepers, and I'm kind of a big deal in that department. So, don't be mad at me—it's just in my nature..."
"Get to the point," Alex growled, his patience thinning.
At this stage, stalling was useless. There was no time to spin a story that made sense or was even remotely believable. I sighed, feeling the weight of the moment and sat down.
"Remember the Necromancer?" I asked. "The one who helped me with the vengeful spirits..."
They both nodded, Alex's frown deepening with the memory.
"Well, he didn't work for free," I said, noticing the faint tremor in Rolo's hand as he tried to hide it.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs, settling into the uncomfortable weight of confession.
"So, I owe him a favor, and now he's calling it in."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "What did he ask for?"
"Don't worry, nothing serious," I shrugged. "I just need to find out where someone is in town. His name's Dorian Vincze."
Rolo's eyes widened for a brief moment, then he masked it with his usual blank expression.
Alex exhaled, a mix of relief and concern. "Then this isn't that serious..."
"It's complicated, though," I interjected, "I've been trying to track him for three days, but the guy's like a ghost."
Alex looked surprised, but Rolo remained stoic, his expression unchanging.
"But how could that be?" Alex asked, confused.
"I know he can use dark magic," I explained. "He's probably hiding somewhere, making himself untraceable."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension palpable.
"How will you find him?" Alex asked again, his voice tinged with concern.
"There's no one I can't find in this city," I said, a smirk creeping onto my face. I turned to Rolo, my eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm listening."
Rolo blinked in surprise, but I saw through it. He was faking it—I was aware that if someone looked surprised for more than a few seconds, they were faking it. Alex, on the other hand, looked genuinely puzzled. Typical.
"What do you mean?" Rolo asked, feigning ignorance.
"Don't think you can hide everything, Rolo," I said, my voice low. "Even the best mask doesn't hide every twitch, every reaction. It's my job to notice. So, how do you know this guy?"
Rolo's hands clenched into fists, and I could see him hesitating, weighing his options.
"I..."
"You have a choice," I said, my tone hardening. "You don't have to tell me. But just know this: I will do everything in my power to uncover your secret. And I'm sure you know what that means."
Rolo's gaze shifted, the quiet battle between trust and fear playing out in his eyes. We locked eyes for what felt like an eternity, the tension thick between us. Then, without warning, his gaze dropped to the table.
"I... I've never talked about this," his voice was fragile, wavering with uncertainty and a touch of desperation.
I exhaled deeply, rising from my seat. "Like I said, you don't have to talk about it. I'll find out on my own."
I made my way toward my room, eager to finally collapse after a long day. But just as I reached the door, I felt his fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt. I turned, raising an eyebrow, though I didn't need to; his head was down, hiding most of his face with his messy hair.
He had barely crossed two meters, but he was panting like he'd run a marathon.
"All right, I'll tell you."
I fought to suppress a grin. Reverse psychology—truly a powerful tool.
After ten minutes of heavy silence, we sat at the kitchen table, the quiet stretching on. No one spoke. I didn't have to—Rolo would tell me when he was ready. He just needed time. I watched him swallow hard, the way a person braces before admitting something huge.
"Dorián Vincze is my brother."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had expected anything—anything—but not this. I might have believed it if he'd said they'd been in juvenile prison together, or even shared a cell in an asylum. But no. He said Dorián Vincze was his older brother.
"I didn't know you had a brother," I managed, my voice low, disbelief creeping in.
Rolo shrugged, his expression unreadable. "You never asked."
He didn't seem inclined to say more about the black sheep of his family, so I decided to press for answers. "Was he also raised by the old man?"
Rolo shook his head, his expression distant. "Most people don't even know he exists anymore. He erased all memory of himself with a spell. It's similar to the magic vampires use, only he enhanced it and used it on monsters."
"Then how do you remember him?" I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued.
Rolo's gaze darkened, his voice softening. "I hardly count as a monster anymore."
Alex was speechless, his jaw hanging in disbelief.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice laced with tension.
Rolo fell silent, lost in thought. Neither Alex nor I dared to break the quiet. His eyes seemed to drift away, as though wandering in the labyrinth of his memories. He looked so fragile, so broken, that I feared if I spoke, the moment would shatter him entirely.
"I told you about my parents... how they were killed, and I ran away..." He paused. I glanced at Alex, who looked at me in confusion. I gave him a silent look, signaling I would explain later. Rolo's voice wavered as he continued, "My brother wasn't home that night. He found me later."
He inhaled shakily, gathering himself before going on. "He was never normal. I mean, he didn't really have emotions. At first, he'd just set things on fire. Then I'd see him drown the pet rabbit of a little girl next door, or hang cats laughing like a maniac. When I was younger, he pushed me off the top of the jungle gym and broke my arm. He only stopped hurting me because our parents would get angry with him—our mother was the only one he ever loved."
Rolo fell quiet again, struggling to find the strength to continue. His voice trembled as he spoke, and I could feel the weight of every word.
"When he found me, I lived with him for a while. He was... kinder. I started to think our parents' death had changed him. As I healed, I began to find happiness again, because he was there, always supporting me. But after a year, he asked me something. He asked me if I'd be happy to see our mother again. He was serious. That's when he started telling me about the cursed volumes. He already had a few by then."
"I didn't know shapeshifters could use magic," Alex murmured, his voice low with surprise.
Rolo nodded slowly. "Isn't it magic, how we change form? Magic isn't something only mages can do."
I leaned forward, sensing the weight of the story still unfolding. "What happened in the end? Did you bring your mother back?"
At the question, Rolo shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. His teeth clenched, his eyes squeezed shut as though fighting against the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm him.
"That night," he whispered, "a terrible thing happened."
Rolo took deep, shaky breaths, trying to steady the frantic pounding of his heart. His gasps were sharp and ragged, and in that moment, it became painfully clear that this kid had endured something no one should ever have to experience.
"We prepared the ceremony, and my brother began casting the spell," he continued, his voice steadying only slightly. "Did you know that any creature can become a necromancer? A necromancer is reborn the moment they complete their first ritual. But to bring someone back to life, they must sacrifice another person. It's the principle of equalization," he explained darkly, his words hanging in the air. He paused for a moment, the weight of his next sentence sinking in. "That night, my brother chose me as the sacrifice."
A heavy silence filled the kitchen. The chill in the air seemed to deepen as the gravity of his words settled over us. We sat in stunned silence, none of us able to break the stillness.
"During the ritual, I realized the true nature of the spell," he continued, his tone flat. "Necromancers, they pretend to play God, but they can't truly give life or bring anyone back from the dead. It's all a cruel illusion."
I blinked, struggling to keep my shock from showing. "What do you mean by that?"
Rolo's eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. "Have you ever heard of the Mirror World?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. I glanced at Alex, but he shook his head in confusion.
"Mirrors are gateways between dimensions," Rolo explained, his voice laced with an eerie calm. "No one knows how many parallel worlds exist, or what lies beyond the doors they open. All I know is that the Wraiths of the Mirror World are desperate to escape, to cross into this world at any cost. The necromancers—they open a gateway for them, and trap the disembodied shadows into a chosen body. That's where their power comes from." His hands clenched into fists beneath the table, the knuckles white with anger. "My brother knew he wouldn't bring our mother back. He knew that... yet he was willing to sacrifice me."
Rolo's voice cracked, a laugh of bitter disbelief escaping him. "But he failed!"
He took another series of ragged breaths, the weight of the story pressing heavily on him, before continuing.
"I could feel the cold sinking into my bones, freezing me in place so I couldn't even fight back. I felt invisible hands—tiny, like a children's fingers—pulling me towards the mirror, dragging me in. Their grip was impossibly strong, and I couldn't escape. The screams, they were worse than anything I've ever heard in this world. They were calling me, screaming my name. I thought my eardrums would burst from the noise. Then, suddenly... something changed. They let me go." Rolo stopped, his eyes distant, as if reliving the moment.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken horrors.
It wasn't until many years later that Rolo finally explained why the Wraiths hadn't taken him that night. What happened was both chilling and strangely reassuring. Rolo had heard the whispers of Death. He'd heard the voice of the Night God himself, the god of passing, who told him that his time had not yet come. The voice was deep and velvety, like the very night itself, and though Rolo couldn't grasp why, he knew with certainty that he would not die that night.
"My brother was so fixated on the miracle of our 'awakened mother' that he didn't even notice I was still there. I just huddled in the corner, shivering where the hands had left me. Then, those same hands grabbed my brother, dragging him toward the mirror. He screamed, begged—he even tried to make them take me instead. But they wouldn't listen. I can still picture his expression: first disbelief, then pure hatred. Before the mirror swallowed him whole, he looked right at me, and with his last breath, he promised he'd come back. And I believed him. I was certain he'd find a way."
Rolo paused, swallowing hard.
"Sometimes," he said in a hoarse voice, "sometimes when I concentrate really hard, I can still see things I shouldn't. Since that ceremony, something inside me changed. I'm no longer just a shapeshifter, but I didn't become a necromancer either. I think… I think I'm stuck somewhere in between."
We sat in silence for a few moments, each of us processing the weight of his words.
"You weren't just running from vampires, were you?" I asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. "Your brother came back to find you."
Rolo nodded slowly, and as the realization hit me, I understood that I was once again tangled in something I shouldn't have been. Lately, I seemed to find myself in these situations more often.
The Necromancer had known this all along—he knew exactly who Dorian Vincze was to Rolo, and he knew that his brother was hunting him. That's why he had given me this job.