Borrowing from the future is how the present becomes a stranger.
Hours later I was still unable to calm down. It felt like the walls were closing in around me, as if any moment they'd squeeze the life out of me if I didn't leave the house. I walked slowly along "P" Street and then passed the school. When I got to the playground, I got into one of the squeaky swings.
When I reached the playground, I climbed into one of the creaky swings, hoping the rhythmic motion might soothe me.
I didn't know Ábel very well— hadn't even known he existed until just a few months ago. So why did his condition hit me so hard? I was still reeling from my own mess of emotions.
Life's a cruel game. It dangles happiness in front of you, just out of reach, offering fleeting moments of joy before taking them away. All that's left is the aching reminder of what you can never have again.
That's what happened to Ábel. He'd suffered his whole life, just to have a few weeks where he didn't have to fear anything. And before he could really savor it, life yanked it away. It broke my heart how life had betrayed him so mercilessly—just like it had done to Jo...
A cold, damp sensation on my arm snapped me out of my thoughts. It had started raining. July rain, freezing and relentless. The drops fell from the sky, each one briefly soaring with the freedom of flight, only to meet the ground and vanish. Maybe they knew they were doomed, or maybe they didn't care. Maybe the few seconds of joy were worth the end.
I sat there for a moment, silently admiring the rain's quiet surrender.
"You always did like the rain."
I heard the familiar voice before I felt the swing beside me creak. Des had joined me. I didn't look at him, just shrugged, letting the cold rain on my face remind me of everything I couldn't fix.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.
"Ábel's dying," I said, barely above a whisper.
"Really?" he asked, his tone betraying an unexpected joy.
I turned to give him a sharp look.
"Not that I mind so much," I growled, "just that there's nothing I can do."
There were so many people dying around me, and all I could do was watch.
"Is that why you agreed to open a hospital in your house?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Maybe," I muttered, "I don't know..."
We fell into silence, the kind that only seemed to deepen the gloom hanging over us.
"Did you see the article?" Des asked after a while, breaking the quiet.
I glanced at him, nodding with a weary sigh.
"It wouldn't be great if your identity got exposed," he continued. "Though, I think it's becoming inevitable."
"I don't really care," I sighed again, the weight of everything pressing on my chest.
Des chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I was half-expecting you to say that."
I shrugged, letting the silence settle again.
My brother opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get another word out, he was gone. The playground faded, and in the blink of an eye, I found myself standing in front of the now-familiar wrought-iron gate. Confused, I looked around. How had I gotten here?
The iron gate creaked open, revealing the tall, slender figure of Gironde.
"Good afternoon, Shaytan," he greeted me, tipping his top hat in an exaggerated bow. "Please, come in."
I blinked in confusion. "How did I get here?"
But I moved towards him anyway.
"Do you remember the little favor I did you?" he asked with a sly smile. "Now, I'd like to collect."
I froze. Then, reluctantly, I continued walking. Why was I surprised? I'd known this moment would come someday... though, if I'm being honest, not so soon.
A bad feeling coiled in my gut, but I had no choice but to follow the Necromancer as he strolled casually inside.
In the living room, he gestured to a chair, then offered me some bitter cakes and tea. I declined, my unease growing. What did he want?
"I hear you're an informant," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
The smile was unsettling. I shrugged, trying to stay calm.
"I see," he continued, his voice almost too smooth. "Can you get me some... sensitive information?"
"That depends," I cut in, unwilling to let him lead. "I'm not omnipotent."
His grin widened, the sharpness of his teeth catching the light. "What if I told you you had no choice?"
I met his gaze with a chilling calm, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You think you can give me orders? I don't take orders from anyone."
Gironde chuckled, the sound far too amused. "Of course, of course, you don't."
I wasn't in the mood for games. "Now that we've cleared that up, you can stop wasting my time and tell me what you want. I'm not in the mood for small talk."
He tilted his head slightly, almost as if considering something. "Well, that's understandable, considering it's only been twelve hours since you learned your half-brother is about to die."
I stiffened. "I'd rather not know where you got that information."
Gironde's smile widened, the corners of his mouth curling. "I'm a necromancer, Shaytan."
I clenched my fists, barely holding my temper. "And how long are you planning to drag this out?"
His smile didn't falter. "Why is it so wrong that I enjoy your company?"
"The feeling is not mutual," I said, my voice low.
He laughed, a sound too cold for comfort. "Too bad. But let's get to the point."
Finally.
"I need to know where a certain Dorian Vincze is," he said, his tone sharp and purposeful.
"Dorian Vincze?" I repeated, not recognizing the name.
Gironde leaned back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "It's not easy, you know. I couldn't find him myself, and I'm sure you can guess how extensive my magical knowledge is." He paused, enjoying the reveal. "But I did manage to discover he's in this city. His year of birth is 1993."
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "So, what makes you think I'll succeed where you failed?"
He sighed dramatically, the sound almost theatrical. "Magic doesn't work well against someone who can cast spells, and connections... Well, you have them. Ones I don't." He looked at me pointedly. "I trust you'll succeed."
"You'll tell me why you need the guy, though?" I asked.
"Of course," he smiled, the predatory gleam in his eyes unmissable. "I want to kill him."
"And why's that?" I frowned, refusing to flinch. "What's so special about him? Do you want his body or his soul?"
"Oh, nothing so... simple," he said, a strange wistfulness in his voice, though the resignation underneath it lingered like a shadow. "The kid broke the unwritten rules. And when you break the rules, you die."
"Unwritten rules?" I raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Do necromancers even have rules?"
"Well, not many," he replied, twirling one of his blood-red locks with a casual indifference that contrasted with the gravity of his words. "But there are a few. And if you break even one, you die. He broke all three."
I stared at him, the curiosity gnawing at me. Gironde sighed, as though giving in to some invisible pressure. "Alright, alright, you're dying to know, aren't you? Ask your questions."
"What are these rules?"
"Fine, I'll indulge you." He leaned back, the air thickening around us as he spoke. "Our first rule is that we can only take possession of a body if we have a contract with it. The second: we can only trade one life for another. And the third: we cannot alter fate for our own benefit—so we can't kill a being before it's fulfilled its purpose."
The second rule hit me like a blow. "Wait a minute," I seethed, my blood boiling. "Can you really bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another life? Then why the hell didn't you bring Jo back for me?!"
I opened my mouth to scream, but the words choked on the air. Gironde's cold, calculating gaze pinned me to the spot.
"The person we bring back... they're never the same, Shaytan," he said, his voice laced with a kind of mournful truth. "The person I would bring back for you... wouldn't be your Jo anymore."
There was something in his eyes—a truth I didn't want to see, but couldn't deny. He wasn't lying.
"What do you mean by that?" I demanded, barely containing my fury.
"If you find out who Dorián Vincze is, I think you'll understand," he smiled with that same unsettling gleam.
"Why can't you just tell me?" I snapped, frustrated. "It would be easier."
Gironde's smile widened, almost dangerously. "Where's the thrill in knowing everything?"
Déjà vu. I hated that feeling more than I cared to admit.
"You're insufferable when you say that," I muttered, my eyes narrowing.
He laughed softly, mirthlessly. "Wouldn't it be boring if I gave you all the answers? Monsters like you, Shaytan, need a challenge, don't they?"
Every conversation with the Necromancer felt like a cat-and-mouse game, and I was the mouse—never quite able to get ahead of his endless, ancient cunning. But damn if I wasn't getting tired of being the prey.
Gironde's youthful face betrayed none of the years that he'd undoubtedly lived, his eyes ancient and calculating. When I looked at him, I simply couldn't tell how long he had been walking this world. He was always patient—except when I woke him up, but who likes waking up anyway?—and he was careful to smile. That sly, sideways smile, the predatory smile, or even the sweet, sugary smile—such smiles could start wars. Those smiles were dangerous in a way words could never capture. But wasn't that the point?
"So, may I ask you this favor?" he asked, his voice sweet as poison.
I held his gaze, steady and unyielding. "I'll do what I can."
He grinned, the satisfaction in his eyes making me feel like I was about to be dragged into another mess. "I'm grateful," he said with mock sincerity, "it's always a pleasure to do business with you."
"And I'm sure I'll regret it," I muttered, starting to stand.
His eyes glimmered with something like amusement, but it quickly shifted. "May I read your fortune, dear Shaytan?"
I shot him a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. "No. Don't even think about it."
Gironde's smile faltered for a brief moment, but then he shrugged. "Pity."
I stood up.
"One last question," I said.
"Go on," he encouraged, his tone laced with quiet curiosity.
"Will Ábel ever wake up?" I asked, the weight of the question hanging between us.
Gironde's eyes darkened, but his smile remained, thin and dangerous. "His fate was always to die in the war," he said, his words slow, deliberate. "You changed it, yes. But fate has a way of coming back around, no matter how many times it's altered."
I bristled, my hands clenched at my sides. "You didn't answer my question," I growled. "Will he wake up, or won't he?"
Gironde's smile deepened, but it was nothing like the honeyed grins from before. This one was dangerous, full of secrets. "He will wake up," he said, his voice like a quiet promise wrapped in shadows.
I turned my back then. But just as I started to step away, Gironde's voice reached me one last time, sharp as a blade.
"Changing fate is a dangerous game, Shaytan," he warned, the venom in his tone unmistakable.
I froze for a moment, my back still turned.
"Doesn't matter," I muttered under my breath, the words slipping out like venom, raw and bitter.
I glanced back at him, a dangerous smile creeping onto my lips. It wasn't a smile of amusement—no, it was a promise. A promise that I was not afraid, that no matter what Gironde had to say, I'd play the game on my own terms.
"Let fate come for me," I said, my voice cold and cutting. "I've never been one to back down from a fight."
Gironde's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Very well, then," he said, his tone dripping with that familiar, unnerving calm.
The words hung in the air like an omen, and though his expression remained unreadable, there was something about the way he said it that sent a shiver down my spine. As if he already knew my answer.
I kept walking. I didn't look back, but I knew he was still there, still observing. His quiet smile lingered in my mind, a dangerous thing, like the calm before the worst of the storm.