"And this marks the end of our conversation, hon," the voice announced with finality.
"Wait, that's it?" Elil protested, his mind reeling from unanswered questions.
"That is all. Cry, roll around if you like, but we won't be talking for a very long time." The voice's tone had a smug satisfaction to it.
"As if I want to hear from you again," Elil muttered back, sarcasm edging his voice.
The voice let out a dramatic sigh. "Hmmmph."
"So, you're not handing out any special powers, huh? Like in those TV shows? Super strength, magic—anything?" he tried, making a last, hopeful plea.
"Haha, no," the voice laughed, almost cruelly. "But hey, try not to die in the first few days… or, judging by what I'm seeing here, maybe just make it through the next hour."
"Wait, what?" Elil's heart began to race.
"Sayonara!" And with that, the voice vanished, leaving only a fading echo.
"Wait! What's going on?!" Elil called out, but the silence was final.
He could still feel his body, but his eyelids remained stubbornly shut. Suddenly, his body began vibrating, and he felt the air around him turn thick, almost oppressively heavy. There was something ominously familiar about it; he recognized the sensation of floating again—but this time, it didn't feel serene. It felt charged, turbulent, like a storm waiting to erupt.
"The room might not be able to handle this much aura. We have to stop!" an anxious voice, belonging to an older man, reached Elil's—no, Vasir's—ears.
"Just a little bit longer, sweetheart," responded a colder, sardonic female voice, tinged with a chilling confidence that made Vasir uneasy.
"What exactly is happening?" Vasir's thoughts tumbled into a spiral of worry. "Is this what that obnoxious voice meant by 'things aren't looking good'?"
He could feel a rising pulse of energy around him, growing stronger, wilder. His thoughts spun faster, grasping at any explanation. Had he somehow been thrown into a volatile situation from the very start?
As Vasir's senses returned, his fragmented memories settled into place. "Oh yes, according to these memories, I was brought here by… my Ammi? For some sort of 'awakening procedure.'" His mind caught on that word—Ammi. A grandmother. A soft warmth touched his heart at the realization. But the intensity of his surroundings quickly pulled him back. "Yeah, not the time to get emotional!" Vasir thought, focusing.
"Awakening procedure complete," announced a mechanical voice. His body, still wrapped in the fading aura, began to descend gently. He managed to crack one eyelid open just a sliver, enough to catch a blurry glimpse of the high, shadowed ceiling above him. He could feel the last remnants of the dark purple energy dissolve, and his body finally touched the ground with a barely perceptible thud.
Summoning his strength, he turned his head slightly. A few feet away, he caught sight of a red-haired boy, similarly drained, his body limp from the procedure. Vasir wanted to speak to him, but he was too weak to make a sound. Exhaustion weighted him down, yet he was fully alert to the unsettling scene unfolding nearby.
"Well done, Priest." The cold voice from before cut through the silence, dripping with dark amusement. Vasir's gaze shifted; standing over the shivering, robed priest was a tall figure cloaked in shadows.
"Can I… leave now?" The priest's voice trembled, barely holding itself together. "I… I did what you asked."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk…" The figure clucked her tongue with mock disappointment. "Leave? And where would you go?"
The priest's eyes widened in horror as he realized his fate. Before he could even react, the woman's hand moved in a smooth arc. The gleam of her blade caught the dim light of the room for an instant before it met his throat. With chilling precision, she slit through his neck, leaving him to crumple silently to the floor, his life spilling out onto the cold stone.
The room fell silent once more, save for the soft drip of blood pooling around the priest's fallen body. Vasir's heart pounded as he watched, frozen in his weakened state, the chill of dread settling deep into his bones.
"Sleep tight, little ones," the woman said softly, her voice as cold and dangerous as steel. She stepped back into the shadows, leaving only the eerie silence to fill the room.
Before the murderer could slip away into the shadows, the door to the awakening chamber creaked open. An old woman in a gray, hooded robe entered with a calm, measured step—Tabatha, grandmother to Vasir and Raveer. Her gaze fell upon the two boys lying still on the floor, as if deep in a trance.
"Ara, ara, who do we have here?" The murderer's voice carried a bemused calm as her eyes swept over the walking old woman. At her entrance, the assassin—the murderer still lingering in the shadows—stepped back into the light with a playful grin. She wielded her blade casually, its glint matching her confident, sassy demeanor. In her obsidian robes and armor, the assassin's movements were precise and sleek, almost elegant as she closed the distance between them, stopping just three meters in front of Tabatha.
"Wanna have a go?" she taunted, her voice both mocking and serious, her blade raised to meet Tabatha's face.
Tabatha's expression remained steady, unreadable. Slowly, she reached behind her and produced a leather pouch, plump with coins. With a swift, calculated motion, she tossed it towards the assassin, who caught it with ease. The assassin—Viola—tossed it in her hand, gauging its weight and giving an approving nod.
"Maybe another time but, Well done, Viola," Tabatha said, her tone sharp yet oddly casual.
"I deliver what I promise," Viola replied with a smirk.
Hidden in the haze of exhaustion and confusion, Vasir observed this exchange, his thoughts scrambling for meaning. Had his grandmother—a woman he'd known as kind and dignified—just hired an assassin to kill the priest? It was almost too much to believe.
Tabatha's voice turned cold, issuing her next command without hesitation. "Don't just stop here. Order your men to kill everyone in this church and burn it down. Keep whatever you find for yourself. I don't want a single brick to survive."
"Roger that, madam," Viola said with a nod, already turning to carry out her orders.
"Good," Tabatha responded with finality.
From his spot on the floor, Vasir felt a surge of shock and horror rise in him. "WHAT THE ACTUAL… AMMI?!"
The realization crushed him, shaking every assumption he'd held about her. His world twisted in a brutal, unfamiliar light. Through the fog of his failing strength, Vasir heard distant cries, the horrific sound of the church workers being slaughtered as Viola's men carried out Tabatha's command without mercy.
Tabatha, oblivious or indifferent to her grandson's inner turmoil, turned and moved toward him and Raveer, who lay unconscious beside him. Vasir's vision dimmed as exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted into darkness just as she reached them.
Kneeling down between the boys, Tabatha gently stroked their heads, an affectionate warmth softening her expression in a way that seemed to defy everything else she'd just done. She smiled, a bittersweet gleam in her eyes, as if caught between nostalgia and pride.
"Boys do grow up fast," she murmured, her voice soft as though she were reminiscing about something simple, like happier days. "Seems like only yesterday I was wiping their bums… and now they're already awakened."
Her tone was almost tender, a startling contrast to the massacre she had just ordered. The bloodshed and flames rising around them seemed irrelevant in that moment as she looked down at the two boys, her grandsons, who she clearly loved in some twisted, ruthless way.
As Vasir surrendered to unconsciousness, his mind swirled in chaos. Everything he thought he knew felt like a distant, crumbling memory. His Ammi's gentle touch was real, but so was the merciless bloodshed she had commanded, blending love and cruelty in a way that left him reeling.
Through the darkness of his sleep, Vasir could still faintly hear the crackling of flames as the church was set ablaze, sealing an ominous fate he could neither understand nor escape.