In the coldest shadows, the soul finds its deepest wounds and most unexpected solace.
Tears
As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew that day was going to be shittier than the rest. The first warning sign was that my morning stiffness had moved to my back. My throat was dry, and a pungent smell was stinging my nose — and if that wasn't enough, every part of my body ached.
I opened my eyes; my vision was at first disturbingly blurry, but eventually cleared after a few blinks. The smell of my blood reflected off the damp walls of the cold cell. I could have killed for a hot bath at that moment.
Pain exploded in my temple as I clapped my hands over it. I struggled into a sitting position and took a good look around. The cell must have been about ten feet by ten feet, with the walls pulsing with magic that amplified the effects of the spells cast on the dungeon.
This is amazing, I thought, almost in awe. Of course, I would have grunted in recognition of the prison's security had I not been sitting in one of the cells — so I could only grimace.
"You up, Sleeping Beauty?" a voice that was all too familiar interjected.
"Zack?" I was taken aback.
"Personally," the fae prince said mockingly from the cell next to me.
"How did you get here?" I asked.
"Well, as fate would have it, I found myself with two strong prey, I thought it would be worth fighting them," he sighed, "I didn't expect that they would throw a net made of iron wire at me instead of a fight..."
All I could manage was a deep sigh. "How long have you been here?"
"About a week," Zack mused.
"Have you tried to get out?" I asked.
"There are twenty-millimetre diameter iron bars in the walls about three inches apart, and if that wasn't enough, there are powerful spells to protect the place. I haven't figured out what kind yet, probably one of the Ancients' spells," he said, "Besides, this place isn't so bad. Every day they throw someone in front of me and then I can execute them."
Somehow, I sensed that he didn't really mind the situation. He sighed in disappointment.
"I haven't met a really strong opponent yet, so it's about time I was released..."
"Zack," I started hard, "they'll never let you go."
"What?" the fae was shocked. "Are you serious?"
"The most serious possible," I replied.
"And what is your plan?" he asked.
"What plan?" I raised an eyebrow, although he couldn't see it.
"Well, to get out," he said.
"What makes you think I have a plan?"
"You're Alistair's direct descendant," he said, "If you've inherited half of his wit, then you have a plan."
"In fact," I began with a slight smile on my lips, "for the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do."
"Heh," he groaned, "You're boring. And a liar."
I laughed. I leaned my head against the icy wall, then looked at the ceiling with half-closed eyes. I'd known for some time that Willingham wanted me, just as he knew it was true the other way around as well.
I didn't turn my head to the side to look at Simon. For a moment, I merely basked in his cold presence, which now seemed even colder than usual. He held me ruthlessly by the wrist, and I didn't resist as his consciousness almost burrowed into mine.
Rolo continued to shake, eyes narrowed. He was no longer thinking. Perhaps he only really realized what he was doing when he was standing in front of the paladins, arms outstretched, unwavering.
Willingham raised one eyebrow mockingly.
"I won't let you take him," the kid hissed.
"Do you think you stand a chance against us?" Willingham sneered. "Alone?"
"He's not alone," Alex declared from beside him.
They looked at each other and nodded slowly. It was an unspoken agreement that whatever happened, they would fight. They knew immediately what they had to do.
Rolo ran swiftly through the crowd, while most of the men got a little of his homemade fast-burning elixir. When he stopped and faced his opponents again, many looked at their wet clothes in bewilderment, others simply groaned at what sort of attack this was.
Rolo smiled too, then snapped his fingers. The tiny sparks turned into huge tongues of flame in a second.
"Aboslutio," he hissed sounding almost hateful.
The air around him seemed to blur, a shimmering haze of raw magic distorting his outline. His eyes glowed a vivid green, an eerie, otherworldly light that pierced the gloom. His hair was ruffled by an invisible wind, the strands whipping around his face as if caught in a storm.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence, the flames crackling loudly in the void.
"Accende!" he cried out, his voice echoing with a commanding edge.
The flames roared, growing larger and more ferocious, their hungry tongues licking at the paladins with a fierce intensity. The heat became unbearable, forcing the men to shield their faces and retreat. Although it took the paladins by surprise, no one was seriously hurt. He certainly didn't think he'd succeed in wounding them — Rolo was merely the diversion.
Alex, meanwhile, was wrestling with another paladin. He was struggling, and it was clear he did not seem to be winning. His paladin's partner continued to hold my body on his shoulders.
Something in Alex snapped. With a guttural roar, his body began to change. His muscles bulged, tearing through his clothes, and his skin rippled as patches of fur sprouted. His fingers elongated into sharp claws, and his size increased, towering over the paladin. His eyes glowed with a wild, primal fury, and his teeth lengthened into vicious fangs.
"What?" breathed the paladin. "Partial transformation?"
He didn't have much time to wonder, though. Alex's clawed hand swiped across the paladin's chest, rending through armor and flesh with ease. Blood sprayed, and the paladin screamed, staggering back.
Alex did not relent. He moved with the speed and power of a ferocious wolf, his claws tearing into his opponent. The paladin tried to fend him off, but Alex was relentless. He slashed and bit, his jaws closing around the man's shoulder, tearing through muscle and sinew. He did not kill him, though.
Alex turned his feral gaze towards the other paladin, a low growl rumbling from his chest. The primal rage in his eyes was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. He took a step forward, his claws flexing, ready to strike.
But before Alex could pounce, a powerful spell struck him, sending him crashing to the ground. He roared in pain, his body convulsing as he struggled to rise. The remaining paladins closed in, their weapons and spells at the ready.
"Now," growled Alex.
A bitter smile crept onto Rolo's lips, surely they knew from the start that this was a losing battle. Both were aware of this, yet they stood up to the best of the hunters. I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn't.
Rolo took out the last of his bottles, but the next moment he had to jump backward as they shattered in his hand. Some of the lye spray got on his arms, but he didn't hiss. His gaze settled on the tattooed hunter, who held his weapon straight at him.
He drew the dagger I'd given him. He watched his reflection gleam on the cold, sharpened steel, then tightened his grip on the blade and moved toward the hunter holding my body.
A bullet struck him in the shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through his entire frame. He staggered but did not fall, his focus unwavering as he hissed, "Leni!"
The magic worked quickly, easing the throbbing agony in his shoulder and leg. The searing pain dulled to a manageable throb, allowing him to move more fluidly, though the damage was still visible.
His gaze briefly flickered toward the paladin nearest him, a flash of determination mingling with his agony. He moved his dagger to his left hand and ran on, but he had barely made it a few steps, another bullet tore into his left leg. The impact was searing, a fiery lance of pain that nearly made him collapse. With a strained grimace, he stumbled but managed to steady himself.
"Leni!" he screamed.
Limping terribly but in a state quite fast for his condition, he approached his target. The world around him felt distant, distorted by the haze of his suffering. Only one thing seemed clear in his eyes. Another shot was fired — his right leg was ruined too.
Summoning his remaining strength, Rolo screamed the incantation again. "Leni!"
His voice was barely audible over the chaos. Rolo's face was etched with a mixture of resolve and desperation. The shimmering aura around him flickered faintly then gave out.
"Leni!" he screamed again but nothing happened. "Leni!"
He had no magic left to soothe the pain he was feeling.
Desperation clawed at him as he cried out once more, "Leni!"
But the silence that followed was deafening. The void left by the fading magic seemed to echo louder than the battle around him.
Igor watched with pursed lips as the kid crawled in the dust, trying to get closer and closer to the other paladin.
The ground beneath him was a thick, suffocating cloud of dust, which clung to his sweat-soaked skin and bloodied clothes, smearing his already grimy face. Each movement was a struggle; every inch Rolo crawled felt excruciating.
His left leg, now agonizingly twisted and crimson, dragged behind him, leaving a faint trail of smeared blood in the dust. Every time he attempted to push forward, the shards of pain in his limbs flared up, sending waves of nausea through him. His once sharp, determined eyes were now bloodshot, rimmed with fatigue and desperation. He blinked through the haze, his vision blurring with tears and dust, every gasp for breath coming out in ragged, pained bursts.
With each agonizing crawl, Rolo's hands scraped raw and bruised, struggled to push his small, battered frame forward. The dirt clung to his fingers, turning them a deep, grimy brown as he clawed at the ground for traction.
"Enough!" snapped Igor. "Don't waste the chance the mixed-blood gave you!"
Rolo slammed his dagger into the ground and tried to hide his tears from the hunters. "We will find him," he promised, his voice breaking. "Even if you take him now, we will surely rescue him!"
Without a word, the hunters left the child sobbing in the dust and the wolf knocked unconscious.
Rolo's gaze was fixed on the departing figures, his eyes wide with a mix of anguish and helplessness. His heart pounded furiously, a relentless drumbeat of despair and frustration that echoed in his ears. The stinging grit of the dust in his eyes made it nearly impossible to see clearly, the world around him fading into a dim blur of shadows and shapes. The magic that had briefly offered him relief had long since faded, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
His sobs grew more frequent, the sound muffled by the thick dust that filled the air and clung to his clothes. The distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly. Rolo continued to cry, his small body wracked with sobs as he watched them take me away.
His hands clenched into fists. Rolo's small frame trembled with the force of his silent anguish. His hands, caked in dirt and blood, clawed desperately at the earth as if trying to pull himself out of the abyss of his own despair. He then looked at Alex, who was lying motionless, and the guilt weighed heavy on him.
Even though I wished him to stop, Simon showed me another memory.
Rolo clenched his gauze-bound hands into fists. He merely sat quietly in the uncomfortable bed of the ward, watching the landscape beyond the window.
Rolo had always lived in the shadows, and for a long time had known nothing but darkness. He didn't mind it though, the dirt hid him perfectly from his enemies. But after that fateful night, everything changed.
He saw things that others did not. He realized that if he really strained his eyes, he could see the brilliance in a person. Each person was like a tiny star, radiating a kind of intangible light. He remembered that the old man's light was warm and welcoming, though dimmer as he grew older — in any case, the boy loved that warm glow that always surrounded the old man.
And then suddenly that light went out and he found himself in the clutches of darkness again. This darkness was metallic, alien and terrifying — at first he was desperate to get his old life back, and he did his best to do so.
Rolo remembered his first encounter with the King of Cats. He remembered sitting in a bright little office. He sat across from Leo with the knowledge of his influence, his power among the cats, and the idea of certain victory. He folded his hands and rested his chin on them. A confident little smile sat on his lips, his vibrant eyes scanning Rolo. Rolo sat opposite the most influential of cats, under the weight of his inquisitive gaze, yet he wasn't frightened or excited. Rolo remained completely indifferent.
Then Leo asked him if he would like to be part of his famiglia. He was sure of himself, and Rolo watched with amusement the surprise and bewilderment on the other's face when he heard those two words. Leo asked back, probably thinking he had heard wrong. Rolo repeated calmly:
"No, thanks."
Leo was embarrassed but offered to contact him if he changed his mind. Rolo nodded and walked out of the office. He didn't thank him for the opportunity. Leo was inescapable among cats and surrounded by something of a defining atmosphere, yet this air of remarkable influence on others left Rolo indifferent. He would not easily submit to people stronger than him, so even the idea of submitting to someone weaker than him was repulsive.
When Rolo recalled the first moment he met the only person who could command him. He remembered the warmth drawing his eyes to the window — then he saw a monster behind the counter. He was homely and graceful. Then their eyes met. Rolo's heart skipped a beat and he immediately retreated into the cover of the wall. He had no idea at the time what it was about that moment that made him immediately recoil, but an uneasy feeling was undoubtedly there.
In a moment, the monster was beside him, unnoticed, and for a moment Rolo thought it was all over. He looked up at the stranger, and then he saw it. He had long since realized that he was seeing things that an ordinary monster shouldn't — he had the eyes of a necromancer. If he really strained his eyes, he could see the bright glow that surrounded every single lifeform. Then, that night, he encountered a monster who glowed so brightly it made his eyes hurt, yet he couldn't take his eyes off it. He was simply captivated by the noble, powerful and kind glow that the other gave off.
Yes, kind. He doesn't show it, but he cares about others — no, he doesn't let anyone get too close, but he certainly cares about his friends. Rolo wondered if this was because he feared that this light would consume them.
Rolo had already learned that the stronger someone is, the brighter they shine — which is why he could tell at a glance who he could mess with and who he couldn't. Then, in that moment, he was terrified, because he knew he wouldn't have even a slim chance of winning, let alone escaping.
This feeling was truly confirmed when Shay fought the goblin. It was the first time Rolo had ever seen a real goblin — not a very pleasant first experience. He was surprised that Shay survived the first time the goblin threw him against a wall. The second time it happened, Rolo was sure he was dead. Then a moment later the goblin fell to the ground. Rolo watched in horror the beast, who seemed invincible and immortal to him.
Rolo himself was a moth, floating aimlessly in the darkness at first, longing for something he could never quite articulate. He was searching, but he didn't even know what he wanted to find. But when he found it, knowing full well that he would surely be burned in the future, he stayed. He simply enjoyed watching that wild glow. He got used to the fact that he no longer had to fear the darkness, used to the security of the other. Perhaps it was this habit that made it unbearable to know that the darkness could take him again, that the light could disappear from his life again.
He thought a lot — which, in his case, was no good if it was out of despair. He had a bad habit of biting his lower lip. He could taste the bitter taste of his own blood on his tongue.
The door opened and a very tired and slightly frustrated Alice entered. Rolo raised his eyes unnervingly slowly to the boy, who plopped down on the chair beside the bed.
"What have you done with your brother?" asked Rolo.
Frankly, he didn't expect Alice to return to him anytime soon. When they entered the room, the other hunter had only one question for him and only one obvious answer. "Did they take him?"
Rolo merely nodded — he felt no sound would come out of his throat. The older hunter then stormed off, and Rolo knew he would immediately rush to his brother's rescue.
"I knocked him out," Alice sighed simply, "I had no other way to stop him."
"Hm," commented Rolo.
He thought this stubbornness might run in the family...
"Will you tell me what happened?" the hunter asked quietly.
"Hm," the kid hummed again.
They were silent for a while. The seer quietly sipped a coffee from a vending machine, which Rolo was convinced had nothing to do with real coffee, and took an aspirin. Now that Rolo had a closer look, his face was terribly tired, and dark circles were under his eyes — he must have taken a lot of energy to keep the crazy hunter's temper in check. Among other things, he concluded that the hunter was completely insane and suffering from some kind of disgusting sibling complex.
Although Rolo's sense of smell wasn't as refined as the werewolf's, he smelled it. When he gave his answer to the hunter, he could smell the unconcealed and unbridled bloodlust that the other felt. He knew full well that if freeing his brother wasn't a top priority in his eyes, the madman would surely slaughter him on the first instinct for letting this happen and still living.
"He was protecting us," Rolo suddenly declared, "When all was lost, even then, to the very end."
Alice looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled softly. "It wasn't your fault."
Rolo clenched his jaw with such force that his teeth gritted loudly.
"You know nothing!" he growled, "I could say I should have been stronger and this wouldn't have happened, but... the truth is, it wouldn't have made any difference at all!"
He shook with rage as he laughed and continued in hysterics. "I think that we shouldn't have been there at all!"
That night he clearly felt the monster in Shaytan awaken from its usual slumber. He thought that everyone could feel it. However, Rolo was the only one who could also see it. He was the only one who knew that Shay could have won. He could have killed all the hunters if he chose to. But he didn't. Why? Because they were there. He chose to surrender because he could not have killed the hunters and protected his friends at the same time.
"You think so?" the seer raised an eyebrow.
Rolo nodded shakily. "That's all I think."
"I think you're wrong," Alice declared, and Rolo looked at him in disbelief.
He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't say anything — the other's serious face made it impossible to argue with him.
"You know, Shay has always been like that," he mused, "Always bickering and acting like he doesn't care at all — I must say, they're very similar with his older brother in this aspect. Anyway, I know that there is nothing more important to him than his friends and his brother. He was simply trying with all his might to protect the place to which he would return. That's why he didn't run away: what would have been the point of losing his home?"
Rolo stared at the hunter.
"He knew about it, didn't he?" continued Alice, "Shay is an informant, so he must have known."
The kid nodded slowly. The seer sent him a satisfied grin.
"Tell me," Rolo began quietly, and the hunter immediately stopped smiling, "where did they take him? Will he be locked up in the Mirrorworld too?
Alice shook her head. "They will play with him first."
"Play?" the kid asked.
The seer hesitated, then finally sighed deeply.
"Some hunters... develop cruel tendencies over the years," he began quietly, "There's a place few people talk about called Acheron."
"What..." Rolo began, but his voice trailed off. "What is that place?"
"It is a special prison for the most dangerous and hated monsters. Whoever gets in, they say, won't last more than a month," he looked up at the kid. "The prisoners fight each other in tournaments."
Rolo couldn't speak, he just stared at the hunter.
"And how do you get out of there?" he asked when he finally found his voice.
"You can't — no one has ever done it before. That's why I'm sure they'll take him there."
The kid's hand shook, but Alice expected worse.
The sterile hospital room was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the soft shuffle of Alice's footsteps. Rolo's hand trembled as he gripped the edge of the bed, trying to steady himself. His face was pale, a stark contrast to the bruises and cuts that still marred his skin.
"Can you leave me alone?" he whispered, "I need to rest."
His eyes were glazed over, staring at a point on the wall as if seeking solace in its neutrality. The seer nodded and slowly stepped out the door, but before he closed it completely, he heard the muffled sobs of the other inside.
Alice hesitated, his hand hovering over the door handle. The sobs were faint but unmistakable — raw, guttural sounds of anguish that cut through the sterile silence like a knife. The pain in those sobs was palpable, each one a reminder of the suffering Rolo had endured and the crushing weight of what he now faced.
Inside the room, Rolo's face was buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. . The tears flowed freely, staining his cheeks. His breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps, each one a testament to the emotional storm raging inside him.
Rolo's sobs were deep, resonating with the depth of his despair. His small body shook violently as he tried to come to terms with the heart-wrenching news. Each sob seemed to rip through him, an agonizing acknowledgment of the reality that had so ruthlessly shattered his world.
"Rolo."
The whisper was almost imperceptible, a cold breath against his ear that jolted Rolo from his grief. He looked up abruptly, his eyes wide with a mix of hurt and confusion.
The room seemed to grow colder, the very air tinged with an ethereal chill. Simon's ghostly presence was unmistakable, a spectral figure emerging from the shadows, his form barely distinguishable from the dim light that bathed the room.
"Sleep," Simon's voice was a haunting murmur, echoing with an otherworldly calm. "Your mind is a mess."
Before Rolo could react or voice any protest, Simon's cold touch settled gently on his hair. The sensation was like a caress from a forgotten winter, an icy brush that sent shivers through Rolo's already trembling frame.
The ghost's fingers were ghostly pale, and their touch was as cold as death itself. It felt almost like a freezing gust of wind had swept through him, but there was a strange comfort in it, a respite from the overwhelming heat of his tears.
Simon's touch moved slowly, tenderly, as though he was handling something fragile and precious. The coldness seeped through Rolo's scalp and radiated downward, numbing the raw edges of his anguish. It was as if the spectral presence was trying to draw out the agony, layer by layer, with its chilling embrace.
Rolo's breath hitched as the icy fingers threaded through his hair, the cold so intense it felt like it was reaching into his very soul. Despite the shock of the frigid touch, a strange sense of calm began to spread through him, numbing the edge of his pain. His sobs grew quieter, the desperate cries now reduced to shivering breaths. Simon's presence was both unsettling and soothing, a paradox that left Rolo feeling disoriented but oddly comforted.
As Simon continued to soothe him with his ghostly touch, Rolo's eyelids grew heavy. His body, still trembling, gradually relaxed, the tension melting away as exhaustion overtook him.
The room fell into an almost eerie silence, punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic sound of Rolo's breathing as he drifted into slumber. Simon's spectral form lingered near the bed, his presence a watchful guardian in the stillness.
Alice quietly closed the door.
Simon's mind let go of mine, but even moments later I didn't open my eyes.