A closed door might hide a world of possibilities—or just a broom closet. You won't know until you dare to open it.
Door
Three days after my meeting with Olie and Eddie, I found myself in an unusually leisurely mood. The sun streamed through the large windows of my living room, casting warm, golden patches on the wooden floor. I was sprawled comfortably on the plush sofa, wearing nothing more than a pair of loose sweatpants and a simple t-shirt. My feet were propped up on a coffee table, a book open but barely read in my lap. The soft hum of music drifted through the room, blending with the occasional chirping of birds outside.
A half-finished mug of cocoa sat on the table beside me, its steam long since vanished, replaced by the gentle aroma of sweetness. I had spent the morning idly flipping through channels, occasionally glancing at the book, and generally enjoying the rare, unhurried pace of the day. It was a welcome break from the constant whirlwind of planning and strategizing.
The tranquility of the moment was abruptly interrupted when the front door creaked open, and I heard the familiar sound of Alex's footsteps. I turned my head.
When Alex stepped into the room and set down the grocery bags, I shouldn't have been surprised. His entrance was marked by that familiar, everyday routine—no hint of the unusual. Yet, when I looked up at him, those golden eyes of his seemed to hold something more, something that made me uneasy. The moment our gazes met, I sensed something was off.
"What have you done to him?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He chuckled softly. "I didn't think you would see through me so soon. What gave me away?"
The question lingered in the air, charged with tension. I tried to pinpoint exactly what it was that tipped me off. Sure, he looked like Alex—same build, same familiar scent, and his movements were uncannily precise. His heart beat with the same rhythm I had come to recognize.
But something was wrong. The monster in me wasn't purring when I looked at him.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "What have you done to him?"
He sat down in one of the armchairs with a homely comfort that made me want to punch him in the face. Alex would have forgiven me for it for sure.
"Oh, he's quite unharmed, for now. I've merely... borrowed his body." He leaned closer, his gaze cold. "I possess him. His mind is trapped, his body is mine."
He paused, then continued with a smirk. "You know, Alex's memories are quite revealing. He's seen quite a lot—your habits, your fears, and your peculiarities. He's even witnessed how you handle your duties as a king. You're a strange king, Shay."
I held his stare, unblinking. "You're a strange mage yourself, aren't you? Jelal."
For a split second, his smile faltered, the amusement in his eyes flickering like a candle threatened by the wind. It was subtle, but I saw it—the surprise that I'd called him by his name.
He moved with Alex's familiar clumsiness, every detail of his posture meticulously borrowed, yet I could see the sharpness in his gaze, the calculating mind behind those golden eyes that didn't belong.
"What do you think they would do if I had invaded one of Titania's, Crimson's, or Livius's servants?" he asked, voice smooth.
Did he really expect an answer to his question? The answer was so obvious that there was no need to say it.
"You're wrong, Jelal," I said, my voice steady as I met his gaze head-on. His expression shifted slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face. "Alex is not my servant."
He laughed, and though Alex's voice rang in my ears, it didn't even resemble his laughter.
"Then what is he to you, Hueless King?" he asked sweetly, his tone dripping with a mock curiosity that made the question feel like a trap. "A loyal dog? A cherished pawn? Or something even more amusing?"
He was trying to unnerve me.
"Alex is none of those things," I said firmly, my gaze unwavering. "He's my friend. My confidant. He's someone I trust with my life."
Jelal's expression flickered. "Ah, friendship," he mused, the word rolling off his tongue like it was some foreign concept, "such a quaint notion for a king. But tell me, Shay—what is trust in a world of power and fear?"
"Everything," I replied.
"I heard you fought your first war to save a friend," Jelal said, each word a calculated provocation. "What would you do if this one got hurt?"
His voice was light, almost teasing, but the undercurrent was anything but. I knew he didn't need incantations or elaborate gestures to wreak havoc. This wasn't just a threat; it was a reminder of how easily he could shatter everything.
"Why ask questions you already know the answers to?" I shot back.
I didn't look away. I held his gaze, staring directly into the eyes that weren't Alex's but were trying so hard to pretend. For the first time, I let my guard drop entirely.
And in that instant, the mage's expression shifted. His smile faltered, freezing in place as his eyes widened in disbelief. He hadn't expected me to lower my shields, to face him without the slightest hint of hesitation. But the shock on his face quickly morphed into something else—something darker, more genuine. His lips curled into a grin as if he had just received the most exquisite gift.
Jelal's delight was palpable, a twisted satisfaction that spread through him like wildfire. He stood up slowly, each movement deliberate, savoring the moment. Without warning, he closed the distance between us, reaching out with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers down my spine. I didn't move, didn't break eye contact as he leaned in, his forehead touching mine with an almost unsettling intimacy.
The room seemed to fade around us, dissolving into a blur of indistinct colors and sounds. I was pulled abruptly inward, the world around us shifting and collapsing until there was nothing left but the vast expanse of my own consciousness. It was disorienting, a sudden plunge into the depths of my own mind.
"Oh, it's rare to meet such a carefully crafted consciousness," Jelal's voice echoed through the serene landscape of my mind, laced with a mix of admiration and something far more insidious. "Especially if you're not a mage."
I could've attempted to force him out, could've tried to retreat from the space I had shaped within my consciousness, but I knew it would be futile. He had locked my mind from the inside, trapping us within this domain of thoughts and will.
I opened my eyes, and my gaze immediately landed on the figure that didn't belong here: a tall, dark-haired mage. He stood at the edge of my lake, taking in the world I had constructed with a curious gleam in his eyes. As I stood up, the rustle of the tree's branches quieted, and his attention snapped to me, his eyes widening ever so slightly before settling into a familiar grin.
"So, this is your true form?" he asked, amusement coloring his voice.
"Quite attractive, isn't it?" I replied, my smile smug and taunting.
He chuckled a few times. I tried to take control of the spirit world and peer into his mind. His giggles became even more delighted.
"You're a bold one, aren't you?" he teased, watching my attempts with a kind of twisted joy. "Trying to peer into the mind of a soul mage… You must be really curious about what you'll find."
His eyes sparkled with a mischievous light, almost daring me to continue. He knew I was trying to breach his defenses, knew that I was probing the edges of his thoughts as he had done to me. But Jelal's consciousness was like a fortress—shifting walls, hidden passages, traps laid out with a meticulousness that outmatched my own defenses in ways I could barely comprehend. Every attempt to push further was met with barriers, twisting paths that led to nowhere, and a constant sense of being watched.
"I have a proposition," I said, my voice calm and composed, a confident smile playing on my lips.
Jelal laughed, his laughter filled with an air of regal amusement as if I'd just told him the most absurd joke. "What can an imprisoned child offer me?"
"An alliance," I replied simply, meeting his gaze.
Jelal chuckled again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "An alliance from a prisoner," he repeated, mocking the very idea. "Nonsense."
"You're as much a prisoner as I am," I countered. "There are many kinds of prisons."
His expression shifted, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. "Then what is my prison, in your opinion?"
"Your ability," I said plainly.
For the first time, Jelal fell silent. The ever-present smile on his face faded, replaced by something more guarded. He was a man used to seeing into others, not being seen through so easily himself.
"I can help you, Jelal," I continued, seizing the moment. "You don't want my throne—you want the fall of the Syndicate."
He raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Why would I want the fall of the Syndicate? I am a member of it."
"Because you are a member of it," I said, my tone unwavering. "Why else would a mage like you come to me?"
His expression turned serious, the lightness gone from his demeanor as he listened closely.
"You're the Syndicate's mystery—the mage without a coven who vanishes after every meeting," I said, watching his reaction carefully. "You don't truly support the light or the dark, and you don't sympathize with their ideals. But you fear there's no place for someone like you outside of the Syndicate. Isn't that why you're curious about me—the so-called King who's working to create a neutral power?"
As I spoke, I saw the flicker of understanding in his eyes. When he had invaded Alex, I sensed something that felt out of place, something that set him apart from the dark mages who thrived on chaos and malice. Jelal's intrusion into Alex wasn't driven by bloodlust or cruelty. It was something else entirely. He wanted only one thing.
"You didn't come here as a predator, Jelal," I said quietly, my words deliberate. "You came here as a seeker. You want freedom—from the expectations, from the chains of your own power, and most of all, from the Syndicate that binds you."
Jelal remained quiet, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a contemplative silence. I had touched on a truth he had perhaps never fully admitted to himself. His abilities, which had made him feared and revered, were also his greatest prison.
"You see," I continued, my voice softer now, "your power isolates you. You're caught between worlds—neither dark nor light, neither free nor bound. But with me, you can carve out something different. A new path, a new alliance. One that doesn't force you to choose sides but allows you to be who you truly are."
Jelal's eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and guarded hope. For the first time, he seemed to truly consider my words, weighing them against the reality of his life. I had offered him a way out, not just from the Syndicate but from the internal conflict that had driven him for so long.
A superior smile spread across Jelal's lips, his posture casual yet brimming with restrained arrogance. "And what if I refuse your offer?"
I let my own smile curve into something sharper, more dangerous—a real predatory grin. "Tell me, Jelal," I said, leaning in slightly, "what do you think would happen if word got out that you were scheming with the Hueless King for dominance?"
The smile faded from his face, replaced by a flicker of recognition and unease. The implication hung heavily between us—without my protection, the Syndicate would hunt him down and destroy him.
"You can't," he stammered, a mix of disbelief and frustration flashing in his eyes. "You wouldn't dare…"
"I wouldn't be able to spread a few rumors among the mages?" I raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, the very picture of casual menace.
Jelal knew better than anyone that even the slightest hint of alliance with me would be enough to turn the entire Syndicate against him. It would only take a few whispers, a few carefully placed doubts, and his carefully constructed façade would crumble, leaving him vulnerable.
"You could simply kill me, Jelal," I continued, adopting a disarmingly innocent expression. "But that wouldn't stop the rumors, would it? And without me, you'd have even less of a chance of facing the Syndicate on your own."
I locked eyes with him, letting the gravity of my words sink in. "Don't you think my offer is generous enough?"
For a moment, Jelal just stared at me, his expression unreadable, before he broke into a good-natured laugh. "You truly are as calculating and vile a creature as they say, Hueless King."
But beneath his bravado, I sensed a flicker of something deeper, a hint of intangible pain that radiated from him and brushed against my consciousness. It took me a moment to realize that this pain didn't belong to me—it was Jelal's.
"Mazen has not betrayed you," I said firmly, watching the flicker of hurt and suspicion in his eyes. The pain seemed to dull, but the tension remained, like a shadow lurking at the edges of his resolve.
"He didn't tell me anything about you," I explained, my tone measured and sincere. "Everything I know, I learned from other mages. Mazen didn't betray you for me."
Jelal's eyes narrowed, skepticism laced with a touch of defensiveness. "If you had asked him, he would surely have told you. You could have forced him—he would have had no choice."
I let out a soft, knowing chuckle. "Why would I risk exposing a valued member of my court to your wrath when I could uncover the information myself?"
For the first time, a glimmer of relief passed over Jelal's features. He relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as the reality of my words settled in. Despite his formidable presence, he was still bound by the same fears and doubts as any other mage, still tethered to the vulnerability of his own humanity.
Jelal's relief was fleeting, his expression morphing back to guarded neutrality, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a crack in the unshakable confidence he wore like armor. He wasn't used to having his own vulnerabilities laid bare, not by anyone.
"I never expected you to understand, Hueless King," he said, his tone softened but still laced with defiance. "You're no ordinary king. You play a different game altogether. A dangerous one."
"Every game is dangerous when you're playing for survival," I replied, voice steady. "And I think you know that better than most."
Jelal's eyes darkened, and for a moment, the weight of countless memories seemed to pass through his gaze—moments of triumph and betrayal, power and loss. It was the burden of a man who had spent too long living on the knife's edge, constantly shifting between alliances, trapped in the labyrinth of his own making.
"You think you can change the game," he said slowly as if testing the words. "You think you can build something outside of the light and the dark, something where you make the rules."
"I don't think, Jelal. I know." I leaned back, the confidence in my words unwavering. "The Syndicate, the Courts, the Covens—they're all built on fear, on outdated traditions that force people into boxes. But magic doesn't care for their petty lines and rules. And neither do I."
He studied me, and I could feel him weighing the truth of my words, sensing the conviction that ran deeper than any alliance or title. "What are you building, Shaytan?" he asked, the question laced with genuine curiosity. "What do you want?"
I hesitated if only for a second. "A world where power doesn't come at the cost of freedom. A place where you don't have to pick a side just to survive."
Jelal's expression flickered between skepticism and something akin to understanding. "And you think you can just will that into existence?"
"No," I admitted. "But I can start it. And with the right allies, I can see it through."
He laughed softly, a sound more thoughtful than mocking. "You're a strange king indeed, Shaytan."
I didn't push him for an answer. We both knew Jelal wasn't the kind of man to be swayed by promises alone. He would need to see it for himself.
"Watch me then."
The words hung in the air, not as a boast or a threat, but as an invitation.
"You're serious," he finally said, his tone stripped of its usual mockery, tinged instead with a hint of incredulity. "You really think you can change the way things are."
I met his gaze steadily, unflinching. "I don't just think it. I'm going to do it."
For a long moment, Jelal said nothing, his silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he nodded. "We'll see," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "But remember, Shaytan, if you falter—even once—I'll be the first to call you out."
I chuckled, unbothered by the warning. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
With that, Jelal's form began to waver, dissolving into a wisp of dark smoke that faded into the surrounding landscape. I stood alone beneath the willow, feeling the faint pulse of our encounter still lingering in the air. There was no immediate victory, no definitive alliance forged. But a door had been opened.
When I came back to myself, I was greeted by Simon's concerned face hovering over me. His eyes were wide with worry.
"You won?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and unease.
I shook my head slowly. "We didn't really fight," I admitted, my gaze shifting to where Alex lay sprawled on the carpet, snoring softly. The peacefulness of his sleep was in stark contrast to the tension of our earlier encounter.
Simon followed my gaze and his expression softened, though the concern remained. "Is he…"
"He's fine," I said, cutting him off before he could finish. "Just a bit worn out from the strain."
Simon's eyes darted back to me, searching for more answers. "What now?"
"We need to strengthen the protection of their minds," I said firmly. "Mages fight dirty."
Simon nodded in agreement, the concern still evident on his face. I stood up from the sofa, stretching slightly as I shook off the lingering effects of the mental confrontation.
"Shay..."
I turned back to him.
"It's not your fault, Simon," I said firmly, shaking my head. The weight of Jelal's power was a shadow in the room, and I could sense the tension in the air. "Jelal is a formidable mage. If you had tried to confront him, he could have torn your soul apart in an instant. He's the only one who should never see you again, understand?"
Simon's eyes, dark and hollow, seemed to absorb all light around him. They held a depth that spoke of unspoken fears and haunting memories. I could see the anguish in his gaze, a reflection of the turmoil he carried.
"Simon," I said. "Whatever happens, stay away from Jelal."
I watched as Simon pressed his lips together, his face a mask of contemplation and resignation.
"I was wrong," he admitted quietly. "I didn't think it was fair to watch them without their knowledge. I know they'd be angry if they found out, but I realize now you were right. It's the only way to protect them."
The sincerity in his voice was palpable. I nodded slowly.
Rolo and Mose were still finding their wings, still discovering their potential. One day, they'd soar higher than the clouds, but until that day came, it was my duty to safeguard them.
Alex might be clumsy and too kind for his own good, but he had the potential to be stronger than any other shifter. It was my responsibility to look after him until that transformation.
"I'll help you," Simon said softly, breaking through my thoughts. "I'll always be there for them when you're not."
"Thank you," I replied, forcing a smile that I hoped conveyed my appreciation and trust. Simon's presence, though spectral and intangible, was a reassurance in itself.
Simon shook his head, a gesture filled with both resignation and a touch of self-derision. "It's the best I can do."
"Sometimes," he continued, his voice growing softer, "I can't find my place. I feel helpless and powerless. I want to protect others, too. I want to be strong, but I'm just a ghost, unable even to exist on my own."
There was a vulnerability in Simon's admission that struck me deeply. He had never shared so much about himself, his struggles, or his feelings before. It was as if he were revealing a side of himself that even he rarely acknowledged. I could almost feel the weight of his words pressing down on me, the bitterness and frustration lacing every syllable. Even a vengeful spirit, I realized, could grapple with profound feelings of inadequacy and isolation.
"That's not true," I said firmly, my voice steady. "You're not helpless or powerless. You're the only one who can be my eyes, the only one who can watch over my family without being seen. You're in a unique position to alert me if they're in trouble and buy them valuable time until I can get to them."
Simon's expression softened, and a faint smile touched his lips. "Thanks, Shay."
In that moment, I understood the depth of our bond, forged through shared struggles and unspoken promises. Simon's role, though hidden and often thankless, was crucial. He was a silent guardian, watching over those I cared about when I could not. His efforts, though often invisible, were as vital as any overt act of protection.
As Simon's figure began to fade, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Together, we would face the challenges ahead, each in our own way, but united in our commitment to protect those we cared about.
Well, let's get to work.