The quietest sacrifices often bear the heaviest weight.
Blood
I made my way to Mazen's room, eager to check on any developments regarding potential alliances. As I knocked on the door, it swung open to reveal Mazen, frozen in place, his eyes wide as he took in my presence.
"Shay," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Have you… fought with Lil?"
"Nope," I replied casually, leaning against the doorframe. "But I did manage to take down about fifty mages yesterday."
Mazen's expression shifted, though he wisely chose not to comment on my rather impressive kill count. Instead, he pressed on, his brow furrowing. "You're surrounded by Flamma's magic."
I glanced up, realizing the flickering warmth radiating around me. "Oh, Flamma has been hovering around me all morning," I said with a light chuckle.
Mazen looked utterly stunned, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process my nonchalance. "Flamma? The fire elemental? You mean to say he's taken a liking to you?"
I shrugged, a grin spreading across my face. "Well, I am a quarter fae, so I guess that must be it. Maybe he's drawn to my lineage."
Mazen stared at me, speechless for a moment, clearly struggling to comprehend the situation. "You do realize that fire elementals are typically aggressive and destructive, right?"
I chuckled again, feeling the warmth of Flamma's magic swirling around me like a protective embrace. "Guess I'm just lucky, then. Or maybe I'm just that charming."
With a shake of his head, Mazen finally broke free from his stupor.
Then he took a deep breath and launched into a rather tedious presentation about the dark mages he'd managed to gather. His voice droned on like a distant hum, and I fought the urge to nod off.
"…and this one is particularly notorious for his ability to manipulate perception. He could be a valuable asset, but you have to watch out for his unpredictability," Mazen droned, flipping through his notes with the enthusiasm of a librarian at closing time.
I stifled a yawn, half-listening as he detailed each mage's abilities and past exploits. It felt like I was drowning in a sea of dark magic and grim histories, and I was just about to succumb to the pull of sleep when Mazen dropped a bombshell that jolted me awake.
"Eden wants to meet you."
The name hit me like a splash of cold water. I sat up straight, my fatigue vanishing in an instant. "Eden? That Eden?"
I couldn't deny the thrill of excitement mixed with trepidation. Eden was known for his cunning and ruthlessness, and his attention was a double-edged sword. "When is this meeting supposed to happen?"
"Tomorrow night," Mazen replied, his brows knitted together. "We need to prepare. Eden is not someone you want to underestimate."
"Trust me, I won't," I said grinning.
Mazen nodded. "I knew this would get your attention."
"Just try not to bore me to sleep next time," I shot back with a smirk.
After our conversation, I headed back home.
Berti was in the living room, his eyes darting across the pages of a book, brow furrowed in deep concentration. The moment I walked in, he jumped slightly, the book slamming shut as if he'd been caught doing something illicit.
"Hey, what were you reading?" I asked, a smirk creeping onto my face as I noted his guilty demeanor.
"Uh, just… some stuff," he stammered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding my gaze.
"Stuff, huh?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a book, tossing it onto the table in front of him. "It's about bartending and some recipes I think you might find interesting."
Berti's eyes widened, and he opened the book slowly, the pages flipping eagerly as he scanned the contents. "You really think I'd be good at this?"
"Why not?" I shrugged.
He looked back at me, skepticism flickering in his eyes. "But I don't have any experience."
"Experience comes with practice," I replied, crossing my arms. "Just give it a shot. Besides, you might surprise yourself."
He nodded slowly.
"Good," I said, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "I expect to see some amazing concoctions soon."
I stepped into the kitchen, the delicious aroma of something simmering wafting through the air. Alex was at the stove, stirring a pot with the kind of concentration that could only come from a chef in the zone. Rolo sat at the table, papers strewn around him like he'd been caught in a whirlwind of ideas, flipping through a book as if searching for answers in the chaos.
"Ah, look who decided to bring home another unlucky fellow," Rolo teased, his eyes glinting with mischief as he glanced up at me.
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. "It's not my fault you're too picky with your friends."
Alex turned to us, shaking his head with a smile. "You two are always bickering. It would be great having lunch once without all these witty comebacks."
"Just make sure you don't burn anything while you're complaining," I said, glancing at the bubbling pot.
"Trust me, I've got this under control," he replied, his confidence unwavering as he stirred the contents with flair.
"Famous last words," Rolo chimed in, chuckling.
As we settled down for lunch, the kitchen was filled with the comforting sounds of clattering dishes and the rich aromas of Alex's cooking. He glanced up from the stove, wiping his hands on a towel. "Hey, Berti! Come join us!"
Berti hesitated for a moment, glancing around as if searching for an escape route. But after a nudge from Alex, he awkwardly made his way to the table, his shoulders hunched as he took a seat beside me. It was as if he were trying to shrink into the chair itself.
The tension in the air was palpable, but Alex filled the silence with lighthearted banter, effortlessly drawing us all into conversation. We passed around the food, and I noticed Berti's eyes darting around, taking in everything with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.
As we dug into our meals, I felt a sudden urge to engage in a bit of mental training. I casually attempted to break into Rolo's mind, testing his focus. My intention was to nudge his thoughts playfully, but I hit a mental wall. The connection slipped away like water through my fingers, leaving me momentarily surprised.
I shot Rolo an approving look. "Nice defenses you've got there," I said, smirking.
Rolo chuckled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "You'll have to try harder than that!"
"Noted," I replied with a grin, turning my attention back to my plate.
After lunch, I retreated to the living room, seeking a few moments of peace. I sank into the sofa, letting the soft cushions envelop me. A moment later, I felt the weight of Berti settling onto the same sofa, trying to appear as tiny as possible.
Without opening my eyes, I sensed his tension radiating off him like a frayed wire. "You don't have to be so tense around me, you know," I said, my voice low and calming.
Berti stiffened, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he considered my words. "I... I'm just not used to this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
I turned my head slightly, peeking at him. "Trust me, I don't bite. At least not without a good reason," I teased, hoping to coax a smile from him.
He managed a faint grin, but I could still see the nervousness etched on his face. "I'll try to relax," he said, but his body remained tense.
"Good. Just breathe. We're all friends here," I encouraged, hoping to create a little space for him to feel comfortable.
Berti's brow furrowed as he glanced at me, confusion flickering across his features. "But… why did you bring me here?"
I smiled at him, hoping to ease his uncertainty. "I told you before: to make you my bartender."
Disbelief was etched into his expression. "But I don't understand—"
I leaned back against the sofa, crossing my arms as I studied him. Then I smiled as I watched his eyes widen. "You've wanted to get away from there for a long time, right?"
For a moment, his gaze dropped to the floor, lost in thought.
"Yes," he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I wanted to leave… but I never thought I could."
A rush of memories flooded back, unbidden and vivid. I recalled Berti from my past life, an older version of him. His voice echoed in my mind: I have only one regret— I should have left earlier.
You don't have to regret anything anymore. You don't have to fight this time, I promised him without saying it out loud. So...This time live for me, okay?
"Then try to make your new life worth living," I said softly, my tone serious. "This is a fresh start."
Berti slowly nodded. And I thought that this time everything would be alright.
(...)
Des's arrival was as quiet as always, but his presence filled the room in an instant. I was lounging in the living room when the door creaked open, and the familiar sound of heavy boots hit the floor. Without even looking up, I knew who it was.
"Des," I greeted, stretching my legs on the couch. "Back from surveilling?"
Des didn't answer right away. He walked across the room, his long black coat still dusted with ash from his mission, and threw himself into the chair across from me. His intense blue eyes locked onto mine, a tired smirk playing on his lips.
"Well, I killed it," he said, leaning back and crossing his arms, "though it wasn't half as fun as hunting."
I chuckled. "Sounds like you're getting bored, brother."
I leaned back in my chair, casually observing as he tossed his gear aside, dusting off some grime from his coat. His eyes flicked toward me. He grinned, though there was a weariness in his expression that told me his mission had been anything but boring.
"Kept Derel in check, as you asked. But you should know... he's meeting with Mazen right now."
I raised an eyebrow. "Mazen, huh?"
"Yeah. Thought you might want to know."
I leaned back, letting my mind turn over the possibilities. Mazen was smart, strategic. If he was meeting with Derel, it had to be with the intent of either forming an alliance or ensuring Derel stayed neutral.
"I trust Mazen," I said after a beat. "If Derel comes around, it'll be one less thorn to deal with."
Des grunted, still watching me closely. "And if he doesn't?"
I smirked. "Then we make sure he doesn't become a threat."
After Des finished his report, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "And how's Alice?" I asked, the casualness in my tone not fooling either of us.
Des's whole demeanor shifted. The stiffness from his mission melted away, replaced by something much more vulnerable. His eyes flickered briefly before he ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "He's... not great," he admitted. "Still can't look into the future. Keeps saying it's just a temporary thing, but he's been weaker than usual lately."
I frowned but said nothing. Des wasn't fooled by Alice's attempts to act normal, and neither was I. The man was hiding how much he was struggling, and Des, with his sharp instincts, had already seen through the façade.
"He tries to cover it up, but..." Des trailed off, frustration and worry etched in his voice.
I didn't respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between us. I knew why Alice was getting weaker—why every day felt like he was slipping a little further away—but I didn't want to accept it. The words stuck in my throat, refusing to come out.
Finally, I nodded slowly. "Keep an eye on him," I said softly, avoiding Des's gaze. "If anything changes, let me know."
It was the only thing I could offer, even though we both knew it wasn't enough.
Des left shortly, and later that night, I decided to call it a day. I was drained, both physically and mentally, after everything with Des, but as I passed by Rolo's room, something caught my eye. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for me to see the mess inside.
Books and papers were strewn across the floor, scattered in every direction. It looked like a tornado had hit the place—an absolute disaster zone, as usual for Rolo when he got deep into research.
And there he was, lying on the ground, fast asleep with a book as his pillow. His breathing was steady, completely oblivious to the chaos around him.
I couldn't help but shake my head. Typical.
I stepped inside, quietly pushing the door open. For a moment, I just stood there, looking at the mess and at Rolo, who seemed so peaceful in his sleep, sprawled out on the floor like a kid who'd fallen asleep during homework.
"Idiot," I muttered under my breath, amused.
I knelt down beside him, carefully lifting the book. The pages were bent, and I could see faint ink stains on his cheek from where he'd drooled a little. I chuckled softly and set the book aside.
Without waking him, I found a blanket from his bed and draped it over his shoulders. "You really don't know how to take care of yourself," I murmured.
I stood up, giving the room one last glance. Papers filled with notes and half-finished sketches littered the ground, magical symbols I couldn't make heads or tails of. Then I flicked the lights off.
With a quiet sigh, I left the room, closing the door behind me.
When I got to my room, a heaviness settled over me. Des's words lingered in my mind, his concern for Alice unmistakable. I couldn't ignore it anymore.
I called out softly, "Simon."
Within moments, the room's temperature dropped as Simon materialized beside me, his ghostly form half in shadow. His usual cold presence was more comforting than I would admit. Without a word, I motioned for him to reach out his hand.
Simon's ethereal fingers stretched towards me, hesitation flickering in his eyes. "What's going on, Shay?"
Before he could ask anything more, I bit down hard on my own wrist. Not just a small cut—this was brutal. My teeth sank deep, past skin and muscle until I could feel the bone. Pain flared, sharp and relentless, but I didn't stop until the blood began to pour from the wound, splattering onto Simon's pale hands.
His eyes went wide in shock, and he instinctively tried to pull away, but I grabbed his arm. "Stay still," I ordered through gritted teeth.
As quickly as the wound appeared, it vanished, leaving only a couple of crimson droplets in Simon's palm, glistening against his cold, translucent skin. The pain lingered, though. It sometimes did, even if I healed right away. I held Simon's gaze and hand for another long moment.
"Shay…" Simon's voice was laced with concern, his gaze flickering between my wrist and my face. "What are you—?"
"Listen to me," I interrupted, my voice low but firm. "Take this blood. Add it to Alice's meals. Without anyone noticing."
Simon blinked, his usually calm expression replaced by disbelief.
"He's dying, Simon," I said, my voice cracking for the briefest moment. "Alice is dying."
For a second, there was silence between us, the weight of my words settling in the air like a suffocating fog. Simon's eyes widened further, and I could see the confusion and concern warring within him. His cold hands tightened around the blood in his palm, as if it might slip away from him.
Simon stared at me, his ghostly form flickering slightly as the weight of the situation hit him. He glanced down at the blood in his hands, then back at me. "Shay, this… are you sure this is going to help?"
"It'll slow it down," I muttered. "It's all we've got."
Simon's gaze softened, and he nodded, his ghostly coldness softening with a rare show of compassion.
Without another word, Simon turned to leave, the blood still cradled in his palms. As he vanished from the room, a painful heaviness settled over me again. My wrist had healed, but the ache of knowing what was happening to Alice… that wouldn't go away.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at my now flawless wrist. The guilt of knowing what I hadn't told Des weighed heavily on my chest, but I pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of duty.
I would do whatever it took to keep Alice alive.