Only a fool would rather be betrayed a thousand times than be a traitor once.
When Rolo arrived home, I took my time studying him. After a solid half-minute of staring, he finally raised an eyebrow. There was nothing different about him. What had the ritual really changed?
Livius sipped his tea absently, his gaze fixed on me. I felt it, of course, but had long learned to ignore it—after all, I was so used to his scrutiny by now that acknowledging it seemed pointless. The Sorcerer Lord appeared particularly invested in watching me, though I'd rather he not.
"Shay, can we talk for a moment?" he called, poking his head toward the living room.
I nodded and followed him. He didn't glare at Livius, didn't try to talk me out of working with the mage, and—thankfully—didn't throw any tantrums.
Once the door was closed behind us, I spoke first. "I thought you'd need more convincing."
"This is a golden opportunity," his voice was tight, "We may have the Sorcerer Lord in our debt."
I gave another nod, though I wasn't as convinced.
"I just wanted to tell you to be careful," he added, suddenly serious, "It feels too easy, like someone planned for that button to end up in my family's hands. It could be a trap."
"I know," I replied, my tone calm. "I won't let him out of my sight."
"Don't trust him!" His voice dropped low, intense. "Even if we team up with him... he's not one of us."
Another nod, and we started toward the front door.
"I'll be back in three hours," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to prepare a few things."
A sinking feeling settled in my gut. I didn't like this. I didn't like this one bit.
"Hey," I called as he turned to leave.
He paused and raised an eyebrow.
"Watch your back. And if you're not at that doorstep in three hours, I'm coming after you," I warned, trying to mask the concern in my voice.
He smiled slightly with a quiet acknowledgment and didn't remind me that I had no idea where his hideout was. The kid had more confidence than he should, as if he could hide secrets from someone like me—an informant. With that, he turned and slowly disappeared from view.
"Simon," I murmured, and the ghost materialized beside me in an instant.
"Don't lose him," I instructed, my voice low but firm.
The spirit nodded and vanished without a word. That, at least, eased some of the unease gnawing at me.
Shuffling back into the kitchen, I found the mage still sipping tea, looking disturbingly content.
As soon as he saw me, Alex thrust a mug into my hand. The familiar, soothing scent of tea filled the air. Where's my cocoa, mate?
(...)
Rolo was late.
Of course, Livius just shrugged, muttering that we should give him more time. Alex nodded in agreement, so I stayed put, resisting the urge to go after him. But after four hours, impatience gnawed at me. I stood up abruptly.
"Forget it," I declared. "I'm going after him."
Simon didn't appear, not even a flicker of his presence, perhaps out of caution or simply because he was drained. But then, just as my frustration reached its peak, I felt it—a light, almost jittery touch on my wrist. That single touch had the power to unravel my world once again.
Rolo had emerged from the shadows behind the hidden door, just starting to close. Only to find the shadow of a dark, pointy hooded figure looming over him. If he hadn't been pushed at the last second, he would have been struck down immediately. His eyes widened in shock, but his attention quickly shifted to the dark-robed mages.
"Hm," one mage mused, glancing at the scorched patch where Rolo had stood moments before. The floor was blackened, a mark of his narrow escape. "A lucky one?"
A few of the mages collapsed, and Rolo's eyes flickered with understanding. His gaze hardened with newfound resolve as he pulled a bottle from his pocket and hurled it toward them.
"Flamma maxima," he whispered, and in an instant, flames erupted, consuming the entire house in an inferno.
For a brief moment, everything was bathed in a harsh red light. I could almost feel the heat licking at my skin, the acrid taste of smoke filling my mouth. Without hesitation, Rolo took flight, leaving the fiery chaos behind him. But despite the fierce blaze, I knew he wouldn't make it far.
I bit my lip, my expression tight with frustration. He didn't get far.
Then, he heard it. The sound—it was the final, soul-piercing like the wail of a banshee, shrill and agonizing. Rolo spun around in disbelief, his eyes widening as he caught the pale blue glow of magic flickering in the air. Before he could react, the strike hit him with the force of a thunderclap.
I will never forget that anguished cry. I will never forget the pungent aroma of burnt flesh and skin that made my stomach churn. I'll never forget the way Rolo fell limp, almost crushed to the ground. I swore I would never forgive them.
I wanted to look away, to close my eyes and block it out, but I couldn't. My hands clenched into fists, claws digging into my palms as I watched, helpless, as the mage tortured him to the brink. His screams tore through the air and the image of his tortured form seared into my mind. My mouth filled with a bitter taste that did not go away even as the memory faded before my eyes.
The air grew cold, suffocatingly so and the space around me darkened, thick and oppressive. I felt the shift in myself—something ancient, feral, and unstoppable stirring within. The monster clawed at my chest, raging to be released.
The monster inside me roared, its fury a living, writhing thing that wanted nothing but destruction. It screamed for blood—blood for the little shapeshifter who belonged to us. The one who was ours to protect. My heart beat faster, the rage threatening to tear me apart as it burned hotter and hotter in my veins.
My presence filled the room, suffocating and absolute. The tension in the air became tangible, as if even the walls could feel the weight of my wrath. Every fiber of my being screamed for vengeance. The room seemed to pulse with the energy of my fury, the air thick with a quiet, murderous promise. Every instinct I had urged me to lash out, to kill everyone who had dared to touch what was mine.
But I didn't. Not yet. I didn't speak. Without a word, I turned and headed for the door.
"Shay, where are you going?" Alex's grip tightened around my wrist.
"To the Circle," I growled, my voice low and menacing. "If I find them, I'll slaughter every last one of them. All of them."
"Do you even know who you're talking about?" Alex's tone was a mixture of disbelief and anger. "You think you can take them all on alone?!"
"They've got Rolo, Alex," I said, my gaze unwavering.
The words hung between us, thick with meaning. I don't know if it was the icy fury in my eyes or the weight of what I had just said, but it was enough to silence him. His breath caught, and the usual questions died on his lips. The questions about what happened, how I knew—it didn't matter. There was no time for explanations.
I could feel the tension in him, his worry radiating, but I didn't care. He hadn't seen what I had seen. He hadn't felt the helpless rage that burned in my chest.
"Don't go alone," he asked, his voice strained.
"I don't know where you want to go, but I think we can save time if I pinpoint your friend's exact location," Livius said, his voice steady, though his eyes flickered toward me with something unreadable. "Then we can go."
I stared at him for a long second, the air around us thickening, before I gave a slow, deliberate nod.
(...)
Rolo was jolted awake by the cold rush of water splashing over him. The first sensation that hit him was the rope binding his hands. His eyes fluttered open, but the harsh brightness of the light stung, forcing him to squint. Seconds later, his vision cleared, and his gaze locked onto the hooded figure standing before him. Slowly, deliberately, he let his eyes roam around the damp, musty cell.
"Where is the button?" the hooded man rasped, his voice like gravel grinding together. "Who are you, and who are your comrades?"
Rolo remained silent, his defiance clear as he turned his head away in protest. He felt a sudden, painful yank on his hair, forcing his head back toward the masked man.
"Answer me when I ask!" the mage growled, his patience wearing thin.
Before Rolo could respond, a sharp slap landed across his face, so hard it knocked him off balance and sent him flying with his chair. His cheek burned with the sting of the blow, but he held back any sound, unwilling to give them the satisfaction.
His gaze flickered to the other mage, who stood idly in the corner, leaning against the wall. Though the hood obscured his face, Rolo could feel the familiarity in the air—he recognized the magic. It was the same magic that had sent agonizing waves of pain through his body not long ago, searing straight to his bones.
The chair was roughly righted, and Rolo was yanked back into place.
"Speak, boy," the powerful mage thundered, his breath hot against Rolo's face.
Rolo remained silent, stubborn in his defiance. The monstrous mage's roar echoed through the small cell as he kicked the chair, sending Rolo crashing backward once again. His body hit the cold stone floor with a sickening thud. He was hauled up again.
"This is your last chance to speak," the dark mage growled, his eyes flashing with menace.
Rolo's voice was a whisper, but it held a cold edge. "This is your last chance to let me go."
The sound of the monstrosity's cruel, deranged laughter filled the room. It was enough to make Rolo's skin crawl, but he steeled himself against the fear creeping up his spine.
"You think silence will save you?" the mage asked, his tone distracted as he studied Rolo. "Do you really believe that torture is the only way to get what I want?"
Rolo kept his silence, his defiance unwavering, and the mage's lips twisted into a cruel, satisfied smile. With a deliberate motion, the mage extended his hand toward Rolo, but stopped just short of touching him. Instead, his fingers hesitated before slowly reaching for his own neck.
Rolo's eyes widened in shock as, in an instant, a deep gash appeared on the mage's neck—an incision so fast, so precise, there was no chance to stop it. The mage dropped to his knees, his body jerking with the suddenness of the strike, and collapsed onto the floor. His throat had been slashed, and he thrashed in agony, struggling to breathe as blood poured from the wound, drowning him in his own blood.
Before Rolo could process the horror of the scene, the other mage sprang back, reacting to an unseen threat. He seized at the air, and then the quiet of the cell was shattered by an anguished growl. The illusion surrounding him faltered, and Rolo's gaze snapped to Alex, who now knelt before him.
The mage's laughter echoed through the room as he kicked Alex viciously in the stomach. Alex's body jerked with the force of the blow, and his chest rose and fell in labored breaths, each attempt to move met with a groan of pain.
Rolo's expression darkened. His focus sharpened. In a voice barely above a whisper, he uttered the magic word—so soft it could have been missed, but the mage heard it. The laughter faltered, and disbelief crossed the mage's features as he turned to face the boy, realizing something had shifted.
Rolo's eyes glimmered with a strange, unnatural light, the magic within him swirling in a silent storm. In the blink of an eye, the mage's body slammed into the ground, pinned by an unseen force, his struggle to move now futile.
Alex, still dazed, remained on the ground, struggling to clear the haze from his mind.
"Quickly," Rolo hissed, urgency in his voice. "I can't hold him down for long!"
Alex tightened his grip around the dagger, his movements fluid and decisive. With a single, swift motion, he drove the blade through the dark mage's chest.
Without so much as a glance at the fallen body, Alex moved immediately to free Rolo. The boy's head drooped, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and when the ropes finally loosened, he almost collapsed into Alex's chest. Wordlessly, Alex hoisted him onto his back and began running, urgency in every step.
Simon released my hand, and it was only then that the simmering rage inside me began to calm, the tremor in my body fading.
In a matter of moments, Alex and Rolo burst into the room. Rolo, with the last of his strength, craned his neck to look around. His eyes grew wide with disbelief.
Glass shards littered the floor, remnants of shattered windows. The stench of blood and death hung thick in the air, a vile reminder of the carnage. Twisted, broken bodies lay scattered across the room, their blood staining the ground, each one a testament to the violence that had unfolded.
Only one figure was standing in the vast, desolate space.
I looked down at the tiny, broken body. Rolo didn't seem able to move, yet there was an indescribable calm in his eyes. Only then did he finally allow his consciousness to be swallowed up by the merciful darkness.
I cast one last glance around the room, taking in the sheer destruction, before I started walking towards the exit. First as a hunter, then as a monster, I learned that there are times when killing is necessary. No pity. No sympathy. And sometimes, you even crave it.
(...)
For a few moments, I let myself watch the fire in the hearth—the dance of yellowish-blue flames, the fine, greyish-white ash dusting the charred wood, and the glowing embers pulsing with a rhythmic, reddish glow. If you stare at the embers long enough, they almost seem alive. That subtle, mysterious beat of light and warmth carries something—an essence, a spark—that reminds you of what keeps us going, even when everything else feels distant.
The door clicked shut softly behind me.
"How is he?" I asked, my eyes still fixed on the fire.
The doctor's sigh was heavy. "He'll live."
I nodded, though the weight of the answer didn't make me feel any better.
"What have you gotten yourselves into this time?" he asked, his tone carrying no curiosity, just a weary resignation.
I didn't respond.
"That child was tortured, Shaytan," he continued darkly. "They pumped so much electricity into him, his nervous system's completely scrambled."
I stood, giving the doctor a silent nod of gratitude. "Thank you for taking care of him."
The fae nodded, acknowledging my words, but his disapproval was palpable. Before he stepped out, he threw me one last, lingering look—a silent judgment that I didn't have the energy to respond to.
I returned to Rolo's room, my gaze settling on the boy. His breathing was steady, but the subtle furrow in his brow told a different story. It was a quiet discomfort, a lingering pain even in unconsciousness.
I stepped to his side, wetting a cloth and gently pressing it to his forehead. Just as I did, his hand shot out, gripping mine with a strength I hadn't expected. His eyes fluttered open, confusion flashing briefly across his face before fear settled in, his gaze darting around the room. But then, recognition came, and his eyes finally met mine.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice weak.
"You're safe," I replied instead.
He nodded slowly, then attempted to sit up. The movement was clumsy, hesitant, and I gently pressed him back down onto the pillow.
For a long moment, he stayed quiet, stubbornly clutching the quilt around him, as if it was the only thing holding him together.
"I'm..." He hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" I asked, settling beside him.
Rolo wouldn't meet my eyes. In that dark, damp basement, there was something he was trying to hide. A secret he'd chosen to bear alone, no matter the cost. He'd decided to face it by himself, believing the enemy might never even know he existed. But it didn't matter anymore.
"Don't apologize," I sighed, my words heavy with the weight of knowing.
He glanced up at me, his eyes filled with surprise.
"I know you're smart," I continued softly. "You thought that choice was the best in that given situation. What saddens me is that putting yourself in danger was a better choice than involving me. This is my failure as the packheart."
"Don't say this, Shay," he asked pleading as if my words hurt him.
"However," I continued. "Next time I will ensure that you consider a different choice as the best one."
Rolo's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked away, clearly struggling to keep himself together.
"Ask for my help, dummy" I smiled. "I will always help you out."
I ruffled his hair and for the first time, he didn't complain about it, just nodded slowly under the weight of my hand. This touching moment was shattered by the Sorcerer Lord.
Suddenly, a small pouch landed softly on the quilt. Livius shut the door behind him, and Rolo looked up at the mage with round eyes.
"It's yours, isn't it?" he said with a grin.
The kitten gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Well, where did you hide the button?" asked Livius, no doubt already looking through the contents of the tiny pouch.
Rolo muttered a single magic word under his breath, and for a brief moment, Livius's eyes widened in disbelief. I assumed he was trying to call the button into his hand.
For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to cover my pretty brown blanket with the contents of his stomach, but in the end, only a tiny button shot into the palm of his hand, almost too fast to follow.
"You used magic to make it impossible to trace," the Sorcerer Lord murmured, tiny sparks of wonder blooming in his eyes as he did so.
Rolo simply gave a small, tired nod, before dropping the button into my hand. My face scrunched in distaste as I glanced down at the small object—ew.
"Let's let him rest for now," Livius suggested, his voice softer as he peeked toward the door, already preparing to leave.
I shot Rolo a pointed glare. "Don't you dare get out of bed."
He returned the look with a weak grin. "You don't have to worry about that," he replied, his voice quiet but still carrying that stubborn spark. "I can barely move a finger."
I followed the mage out of the room, closing the door behind us with a quiet, deliberate motion. As I settled back in front of the fire, I let my gaze linger on the flickering flames, the crackling heat almost soothing in contrast to the storm of thoughts in my mind.
"What are you going to do?" Livius asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Instead of answering, I immediately tried to grind the tiny little relic into powder in the palm of my hand. It was a futile effort, of course—I wasn't surprised when nothing happened. Instead, I handed it to Livius.
"I don't know yet," I muttered, my eyes still fixed on the fire. "How do we find the fourth amulet?"
"The fourth is an earring with a ruby inlay," the mage remarked, "But the Master lost it on the way."
As he shared this information with me, he conjured up a picture of the jewel so that I would have a rough idea of what it looked like.
"What?" I snapped, my eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, he lost it?"
Liv shrugged, the action almost dismissive. "The Master's never been known for being organized..."
"Then it could be anywhere in the world!" I felt the words spill out in frustration, but Livius simply nodded, as if expecting that reaction.
"This one will be the hardest to find," he admitted reluctantly, but then he added, with a hint of assurance, "But don't worry about it. I'll handle that."
I nervously tapped my foot as I thought, then suddenly looked up at the tiny mage again.
"I suppose you have your own tools," I said, my voice quieter now.
Livius nodded. "Of course."
"Then I'll try to gather intel on the necromancer," I decided, "See what I can find."