Change is good if it's not bad.
Mazen leaned against the bar of the deserted restaurant. Spain again, eh? How nostalgic. In his hand, he held the crumpled parchment paper with a single line in that painfully familiar handwriting:
[The usual place.]
When was the last time they had met here? It must have been more than two hundred years. That day, Lilinette turned her back on him forever. He remembered the tears—his own and hers. He remembered the salty sorrow and the pain of betrayal. For the first and last time, he begged someone. The always proud master of darkness begged desperately for her not to leave them.
When she stepped out the door, Mazen fell to his knees, feeling as if the world had turned upside down—she had meant so much to him at the time. He thought he'd managed to put this piece of his past behind him, but he was wrong. His rush to the meeting like a man out of his mind was the best proof of that. He was disgusted even at the thought of it, but part of him still hoped to get her back.
Lilinette entered the dilapidated inn, her mere presence seeming to weaken the other mage. She pulled down her hood, her face emotionless. Her eyes now glittered a slightly distant but calm blue as she surveyed Mazen's red robe with the pointed hood—the sole privilege of the Shadow Circle. He must have come from a meeting.
The pointy hood fell over broad shoulders and Lilinette caught a glimpse of a face she hadn't seen for a long time: sharp features, pointed chin, and gray eyes. Those cold eyes almost glowed against the man's brownish skin and black hair. Mazen's lips curved upwards.
"It's been a long time, Master," he said.
"I never thought I'd hear you call me that again," Lilinette replied.
He shrugged his shoulders in a careless gesture, one he used to reserve only for her.
"Times change, but we remain the same," he mused. "To what do I owe this unexpected meeting?"
"I wish you would stop this madness," said Lilinette. "You should finally admit that we can't win."
Mazen laughed in amusement. "Why do you think like this?"
"Humans are evolving rapidly. What do you think would happen if mages were discovered? During the witch hunts, we got a taste of their hatred. I thought you knew that best," Lilinette argued.
"By the time they realize we exist, it will be too late," Mazen replied confidently.
"They will find a way to distinguish us, and they will develop weapons that match our power," she countered. "We are simply too few, and they are too many. If they find out, they will crush us."
"Why are you afraid of them, Master? What scares you so much about them? They're nothing but worms!" Mazen scoffed.
"You forget that these worms almost wiped us out!" Lilinette snapped.
Mazen stepped closer to her. "Did you forget our dreams?" he asked, his voice full of barely contained emotion. "We shall create a world where we can finally stop hiding and live in peace. Come with me! I know of no greater mage than you. With your power at my side, we could sweep them away in an instant!"
"These are foolish dreams, Mazen," Lilinette said, stepping back. "Dreams created merely to give us a reason to live."
"Then answer me this one question," he began, "What good will it do us to hide?"
"Survival," she said firmly.
For a long moment, they remained silent.
"I think," he smiled softly, yet mournfully, "these two roads will never meet again."
Lilinette sighed deeply and smiled at him as gently as when he was a child. When they still believed in a brighter future. They believed in smiles, tears, and comforting words. When they both believed that nothing could break this bond stronger than blood.
"You're right," she whispered.
Then Mazen hugged her. He held her softly, so gently that he barely touched her—as if he still could hardly believe that Lilinette was really there with him. He inhaled deeply the distinctive scent of her magic that always emanated from her.
He loved that smell—it was like cinnamon mixed with the smell of fire and sparks. It was the same scent that soothed him when he woke up at night from his bloodiest nightmares. At the time, Mazen thought that if home had a smell, it would surely be like this.
Lilinette, this brave, strong yet seemingly fragile woman, was once his master, his lost best friend, and his only family.
She burrowed her face into Mazen's shoulder socket. Maybe she was thinking similar things. And then the moment was gone forever, and they were face to face again, on the edge of two opposing worlds.
"I sincerely wish we never meet again," Mazen began, "or I shall have to kill you."
He turned his back on her, and on his past, and left her alone in the ruined inn. Mazen stepped out into the cool night air, the door of the dilapidated inn creaking shut behind him. His heart was heavy with the weight of their conversation.
The streets of the small Spanish town were empty, the only sounds were the distant murmur of the sea and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. Mazen walked slowly, each step measured, his thoughts a whirlwind of memories and emotions.
He couldn't shake the image of Lilinette from his mind. Her determined eyes, the way she looked at him with a mixture of sadness and resolve. With a final glance back at the town, Mazen pulled his hood up and disappeared into the night, the shadows swallowing him whole.
(...)
The fae doctor was stirring the contents of the pot, then walked to the fridge and opened the door wide. He searched for a while, then sighed in frustration and shot a glance toward the kid sitting at the table, nose buried in a book. The doctor's eyes narrowed, and a brilliant—or rather catastrophic—idea struck him.
"Would you mind running down to the store for some milk?" he asked, like he was offering a free vacation.
Ábel's eyes shot up, the corners of his mouth curving into a disgustingly blissful smile. "Sure!"
The doctor reached into his wallet with a flourish, pulling out a note, and then scribbled a crude map on a small scrap of paper with the precision of someone who'd never heard of cartography. He handed both items to Ábel, who took them with all the excitement of a kid at a theme park.
Ábel skipped out of the apartment, humming like a maniac. The door clicked shut, and the fae doctor leaned against the counter with a sigh that could have filled an ocean.
He'd learned a lot in the two days Ábel had been his guest. For example, the kid was completely harmless as long as you kept him far away from any kind of sink or washing machine. Ábel was no expert in strength control, a fact made painfully clear by him ruining the doctor's most expensive dishes on the first day.
It was kinda normal for his condition. Ábel was roughly twenty percent human—almost a vampire. As expected, there were a few complications—like his venom affecting him or his issues with controlling his strength. But the kid also had the capacity to appreciate normal human food, a small mercy, considering his mixed heritage.
So the doctor must have expected trouble—he just didn't expect it to come in the form of laundry disasters. Yes, Ábel had "accidentally" turned all of the doctor's white lab coats a delightful shade of pink.
That day, the fae doctor learned about Ábel to keep him as far away from the washing machine as possible. This step was necessary if he didn't want his white shirts to end up pink too. So, the fae doctor quickly realized that despite the boy's eagerness to help, he would still be doing all the housework alone. The kid had a knack for causing chaos in the least expected ways.
However, he had already shown a remarkable side of him, too. Ábel had a passion for reading that bordered on obsession. In fact, the doctor had quickly learned that if he handed Ábel a book—any book, from a lexicon to a fairy tale—the kid would devour it like he was starving for knowledge. Even better, Ábel didn't just read mindlessly; he absorbed everything with the kind of focus that made the fae doctor wonder if the boy had been born in a library.
When Ábel had picked up a book on genetic engineering and started asking questions so advanced that the doctor seemed to briefly wonder if he'd missed a few chapters of his own medical education. The kid was a sponge for information and intelligent.
Sure, Ábel had his moments of childishness—like the time he nearly flooded the sink because he had no concept of water pressure—but there was no denying the kid's sharp mind. And while he was prone to getting overly excited about the oddest things, his curiosity could lead him to some pretty insightful observations.
The door opened again, and in bounced Ábel, face lit up, proudly holding up a bag. The doctor blinked, eyes widening as the kid unceremoniously dumped a handful of brightly colored candies onto the counter.
"I didn't know which one you liked, so I got a little bit of everything!" Ábel declared, grinning like he'd just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. "I've only tried the cherry one so far, it's Shay's favorite, and I thought, you know, maybe you'd like it too! It's really good!"
The fae doctor stared at the candies for a moment, then deadpanned, "The milk?"
Ábel's face fell like a balloon losing air. "Oh… right, the milk…"
"No worries," the doctor sighed, pushing the bag of candy aside. "Could you keep an eye on the pot while I go grab the milk?"
Ábel nodded vigorously, his enthusiasm completely undeterred. "I got it!"
As the fae doctor grabbed his coat and headed for the door, he muttered to himself, "I never asked for this much chaos…"
The doctor walked down to the store with his usual calm and leisurely pace. He wasn't in any hurry, and certainly didn't need anything else. Just the milk. A liter. Ten minutes later, he was back. As he entered the hallway, he casually slipped off his shoes, threw his coat on the hanger, and made his way to the kitchen, clearly expecting some form of chaos to be waiting for him.
And of course, there it was.
Ábel looked up at the doctor with that infectious, too-bright smile that could rival the sun itself. He stood from the counter with a level of excitement that only a child, or someone with an overabundance of energy, could muster.
"Welcome home!" he said, practically glowing. "I watched the pot with all my might, just like you said!" His grin was so wide it seemed to stretch across his entire face.
The fae doctor, eyes drifting to the pot, clearly felt a weight settle on his chest as he surveyed the blackened, charred remains of what had once been… well, something resembling food. He sighed. Well, doc, indeed, not even the Sun Goddess herself could turn this into edible food...
"Did I do something wrong?" Ábel's voice was small, his hopeful face crumbling a little as he looked from the pot to the fae doctor.
The fae doctor couldn't help himself. For the first time in a long time, he laughed. It wasn't a big, belly-shaking laugh, but the kind of soft chuckle that came when you realized you'd just experienced the most absurd moment of the day. He ruffled Ábel's hair affectionately (?).
"It's alright," he said, his voice light. "Let's go out and eat something instead."
Ábel's face immediately brightened. If the doctor had learned anything about the boy that day, it was that he was always ready for food. And it turned out the boy had an additional love—car rides. The moment the car started moving, Ábel was practically bouncing in the passenger seat, his excitement so contagious the fae doctor nearly forgot he'd just had his kitchen turned into a disaster zone.
Lunch turned out to be a McDonald's cheeseburger and fries—simple, but effective. As they ate, Ábel chattered away, oblivious to the fae doctor's inner turmoil over his ruined meal.
"My bro once brought me here!" Ábel said, his mouth full of fries. The fae doctor stiffened, a strange frown tugging at his lips. The boy kept talking, blissfully unaware of his growing unease.
"You really like him, don't you?" the fae doctor suddenly asked, cutting through the chatter. Ábel paused mid-chew, staring at him, then nodded vigorously, his mouth still full of food.
"He's the best bro in the world!" Ábel beamed.
The fae doctor's face, however, looked as though he'd just bitten into a lemon. Oh dear. I might even blush. However, the fae doctor looked like he had bitten into a lemon. He certainly had his doubts. Significant doubts.
The doctor quickly changed the subject. "How about we go look for some books?" he suggested. "There's a store nearby that I love."
Ábel's eyes lit up like someone had handed him a treasure chest. And so, after lunch, they found themselves in search of intellectual nourishment—at least, for Ábel. The boy dragged the doctor to an antique bookstore, his eyes scanning every shelf with a focus so intense the doctor wondered if he was on a treasure hunt for rare knowledge.
After a solid fifteen minutes of intense searching—during which I was half-convinced Ábel was going to single-handedly reorganize the entire store—the boy finally emerged, holding a book aloft as though it were a victory trophy.
"The Little Prince?" the fae doctor asked, slightly bewildered.
"Yes!" Ábel nodded with absolute certainty, like he'd found a goldmine.
"Don't you want to get something else?" the fae doctor asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's a great book, but it's also pretty short. You'd finish it in a few hours."
"I've already read it," Ábel declared, catching the doctor completely off guard.
The fae doctor blinked. "Then… why do you want to buy it?"
Ábel looked at him like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "Because it's the best!"
Ábel held up the book with a look of pure reverence, as though he was presenting the fae doctor with a precious artifact. "This is the book Shay used to teach me how to read," he said, his voice soft with nostalgia. The words hung in the air for a moment, and the fae doctor blinked, momentarily stunned.
The doctor seemed at that moment to have realized something earth-shattering. He was silent for minutes, just looking at that thin little book.
So Ábel continued enthusiastically, undeterred by the doctor's reaction. "He's really good at it! He didn't mind teaching me either. He'd read to me every night, and after a while, I could read the words myself!" The boy's face lit up as if recounting a cherished memory. "When I was in a coma, I dreamt of Shay's voice... It was like he was reading to me even when I wasn't awake. His voice was in my dreams, and I'd hear him reading this book."
I smiled a little. For some reason, I wanted to gift a couple of gold coins to Ábel too.
"I know he didn't make a good impression on you," Ábel said quietly, his eyes steady and certain. The doctor's gaze flickered with surprise, his expression betraying a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
"But he's truly good at heart. I know what you think, but Shay isn't someone who would just discard something when it's no longer needed." He paused for a moment, his gaze softening with understanding. "That night, I could see he was frustrated. Something's wrong, Doctor. And he sent me to you because he trusts you."
The fae doctor's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the boy's words. For the first time, I could tell he was seeing more than just Ábel's innocent demeanor. He was beginning to recognize something more familiar—something unsettlingly similar to me in this boy.
"What do you want from me?" the man asked, his voice calm but direct, cutting through the tension.
"I want to learn medicine," Ábel replied, his voice soft but resolute. "I want to help others and become skilled enough to save lives, just like you. Shay will need this kind of support."
The doctor raised an eyebrow, his skepticism still evident. "What makes you think that? Do you know what he's planning?"
Ábel shook his head, his expression thoughtful but unwavering. "No. But I know this—Shay will always be in danger. Because of who he is, he can't be ignored. Not by anyone. And that's why I know he'll need me."
The fae doctor studied Ábel for a moment, then ruffled the boy's hair with a soft chuckle. "You're a truly loyal kid."
Ábel had a complexity to him that was difficult to put into words. There was a childlike innocence that made him endearing to others, yet there was also a quiet, almost unsettling awareness beneath the surface.
The fae doctor seemed to be grappling with this very realization. I knew that while he couldn't fully decipher Ábel's duality yet, he was starting to see hints of it. To the boy, the world was still fresh and full of wonder, and he approached it with the kind of openhearted curiosity that was both charming and disarming.
But there was also a quiet strength, a premonition of sorts, that suggested Ábel's innocent foolishness was not as simple as it appeared. This boy had an insight that was worth considering if one didn't want to fatally underestimate him.
The doctor rubbed his chin, a gesture that meant he was lost in thought. I didn't need to be near him to know what was going through his mind. He was wondering if Ábel had already figured him out, if the boy could somehow read his moods, and if the fae doctor might be unknowingly in the presence of someone who saw far more than he let on.
I couldn't help but grin at the irony of it all.
With a soft, almost apologetic smile, Ábel offered the doctor a lollipop. The man sighed deeply—whether from exasperation or amusement, I couldn't tell—but he accepted the offering.
"I'm glad you're getting along," I said, though my voice was not heard by them. I glanced at Ábel once more.
In that moment, Ábel's eyes seemed to shimmer with an almost cosmic light, as though the entire universe had been folded into his gaze. And in that brief second, I was certain that I had made the right decision. I placed my hand on his shoulder, offering a silent reassurance, and watched as the memory dissolved into a swirl of colorful smoke before my eyes.
A deep sigh escaped me, and I lingered for a moment, eyes closed. I felt the cold, ethereal fingers of Simon slip from mine, and when I looked up, there he was—his translucent form standing beside me, as cold as death itself.
"Thanks, Simon," I whispered, a genuine smile tugging at my lips.
The ghost nodded.
The thought of having to cook for myself was already stressful enough, especially with the looming risk of starvation if I didn't get it right. It became even more overwhelming when I had work to attend to. To top it all off, I could hear Alex and Rolo bickering in the kitchen like toddlers fighting over toys. 'Give me the bucket, damn it!' 'But that's my damn bucket!'
I couldn't take it anymore and snapped, turning off the TV. Naturally, Alex immediately retaliated. "I'm watching Deadpool now!" he grumbled. Rolo, not one to back down, threw a pillow at Alex's head while demanding the remote so he could finally watch his painfully boring documentary. I shot them both an exasperated glance before strolling back into the kitchen with the remote in hand.
The latest article of the Kaleidoscope also discussed the mysterious series of murders:
[The latest victim survived!]
The lines on the screen moved, and other articles popped open by themselves—an unmistakable sign that Simon was still around. Even though he never fully left this world, I didn't see him much. He only appeared when I called for him. But today, I knew he was still lingering in the kitchen by the way the news was unfolding on the screen. Sometimes, when I'd get up at night for a glass of water, I'd spot a book casually floating down the hallway, or hear soft, eerie whispers from the bathroom.
I stirred the soup and tried to banish the unwanted memory from my mind. Then I tried to ignore the damn phone.
After dinner, Rolo announced that he was going to rest in his room. Naturally, I knew this was far from the truth, but since it wasn't my business, I decided not to bother with it. Especially since I didn't plan to spend the night at home either.
After successfully getting Alex to take his painkiller and managing to get him to finally go to bed, I decided it was time for me to leave as well.
"Simon," I began, and the spirit appeared before me. "I'm leaving for a while. Would you mind keeping an eye on Alex, at least to keep him alive?"
No, I wasn't exaggerating; when Alex is sick, he's just dangerous to himself and others. For example, he might fall asleep on the toilet or in the bathtub if I didn't check on him. There were also instances where he just fell down the stairs, almost breaking his neck.
"Of course," replied the spirit.
"Thanks," I said. "If anything goes wrong, I'll be at Babel."
He nodded and disappeared again.