Viora stood inside a house she knew all too well. This place came the closest to being her "true" home. The structure was primarily crafted from wood, exuding a rustic warmth that clashed with the cold emptiness surrounding her now. She stood motionless in the living room, where shelves and surfaces were lined with objects that could only be described as shamanic accessories—talismans, ceremonial tools, and other enigmatic artifacts.
Yet, despite the familiarity of the setting, the house was utterly empty. She was alone.
Then, a voice echoed in her mind, venomous and taunting:
"Ah… forgive me, pathetic bug. It seems that painting those memories is taking longer than I anticipated—I've exhausted most of my power. But don't worry. You wretches will still suffer plenty before I devour you three whole. My painting is always flawless! Well, except for one little flaw… but weaklings like you will never figure it out anyway."
Viora's eyes widened as the voice faded, leaving her heart pounding.
"Three? Does that mean Cyrus and Umeboshi were captured too?" she whispered, a tremor of worry slipping into her voice.
Then, like a cruel mantra etched into her soul, the words she dreaded most reverberated through her mind:
"How will your soul withstand the unrelenting hell of your own forgotten torment?"
It was as though the world had closed in on her. Everything went black—an absolute void of emptiness. Then, as if the world itself had opened its eyes, light returned, and Viora found herself standing before a door.
It felt familiar.
Behind her, the sound of rain filled the air, its steady rhythm a stark contrast to the surreal stillness around her. As she glanced down at her feet, a peculiar realization struck her—she was shorter, much shorter, like a child. The oddity of it didn't escape her, considering how small she already was.
Before she could process the thought further, she noticed her hand was clasped in someone else's. Turning her gaze upward, she saw the person whose hand she was holding: an older Black woman with a voluminous afro and a vibrant collection of strange accessories adorning her clothes.
The woman was speaking, but Viora couldn't make out the words yet. They were muffled, like distant echoes in a half-forgotten dream. Gradually, the words became clearer, grounding her in the moment.
"This is my house. Pretty neat, huh? Got a great deal on it back in the day!" the woman said, grinning.
As Viora looked up at her, she took in more details. Despite the rain and the overcast sky, the woman wore sleek black sunglasses, an eccentric choice for the weather. When she smiled, a gleaming gold tooth caught the light, adding to her curious charm.
The soul within Viora's small body trembled, a deep and unshakable quake that ran through her very core. It was a feeling like no other, the kind one experiences when seeing someone they never thought they'd meet again.
Mama Ipoh?
The thought echoed in her mind, fragile and disbelieving. Her wide eyes locked onto the older woman in front of her as the realization hit her like a crashing wave. It was her.
The woman paused, her keen eyes catching the young girl—no older than ten—trembling visibly. Her brow furrowed with concern.
"Why are you shaking so much?" she asked, her voice warm but curious.
Before Viora could respond, a sudden current of cold air swept over them, making her shiver uncontrollably. The woman's expression shifted as she seemed to piece it together.
"Ahh, so that's it. It is pretty cold out here," she said with a knowing smile. "Let's get inside quickly before we freeze!"
Without hesitation, she pulled out a key and unlocked the door with practiced ease, pushing it open in one swift motion.
The house was unlike anything Viora had ever seen—or rather, unlike anything she could fully understand. It was a peculiar place, crafted primarily of wood, with every corner and wall adorned by strange, eclectic accessories. She couldn't discern their purpose, but they filled the space with an air of mystery, as if each object carried a story she wasn't yet privy to.
Mama Ipoh let out a soft, lilting whistle as she took Viora's damp coat, hanging it carefully on the wall near the entrance. The sound was unexpectedly beautiful, a melody that seemed to carry warmth into the cold, rain-soaked air.
As she adjusted the coat on the hook, Mama Ipoh turned to glance at the young girl standing behind her. Viora's black hair clung to her face, soaked from the rain, and she looked small and fragile in her damp clothes.
"Oh my, where are my manners?" Mama Ipoh said with a chuckle, her grin revealing the glint of her golden tooth.
She pointed toward a wooden table in the center of the room.
"Go sit there for a bit. I'll bring you something to dry your hair and some hot chocolate. You must drink something warm after a cold, rainy day like this," she said warmly, her voice carrying an undeniable kindness.
"Okay…" the young girl replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Yet, as she stepped toward the table, her movements were hesitant.
Something tugged at the edges of her mind—a nagging feeling, like an important memory teetering just out of reach. She paused mid-step, her brow furrowing as she tried to grasp it. What was she forgetting?
The thought gnawed at her, an itch she couldn't quite scratch. But no matter how hard she tried, the answer eluded her.
With a small shake of her head, she dismissed it. It must not be important, she told herself, though the unease lingered. Shrugging off the thought, she walked toward the table, her footsteps light against the wooden floor.
She climbed onto a wooden chair, her small frame making it a challenge to settle comfortably. Her feet dangled above the floor, a reminder of how tiny she truly was.
Viora sat in silence, her gaze following the old woman with the afro as she moved gracefully through the house. Mama Ipoh walked past the table with a purpose, disappearing into another part of the home, her footsteps light yet deliberate against the wooden floorboards.
Viora remained quiet, the room filled only with the faint creaks of the house and the soft patter of rain outside.
Viora heard soft footsteps approaching from behind. Before she could turn fully, something light and soft fell gracefully onto her head—a towel.
"Here you go! Make sure to dry your hair well!" the old woman said cheerfully, her voice carrying a melodic lilt.
Mama Ipoh resumed her whistling, the tune as lively as before, as she made her way toward the kitchen. Viora watched her go, the women's movements smooth and deliberate, her colorful attire swaying gently with each step.
The faint clinking of pots and cups soon drifted from the kitchen as Mama Ipoh began preparing something warm.
After a few minutes, the rich aroma of hot chocolate wafted through the air, comforting and warm. Mama Ipoh returned, carrying two steaming mugs. She carefully placed one in front of Viora, the dark liquid swirling invitingly in the cup. Then, with equal care, she set another mug on the opposite side of the table, clearly intended for herself.
"Make sure not to burn yourself, dear," the woman said gently, her voice soft and soothing. She smiled, the golden tooth in her grin catching the light again as she took a seat across from Viora.
As they sipped their hot chocolate, Viora rested her arms on the table, her gaze drifting upward. Her eyes lingered on the ceiling, her expression thoughtful and serene.
Mama Ipoh chuckled softly. "For someone of such small stature, you sure seem more thoughtful than most people my age," she remarked warmly, her voice carrying a hint of admiration.
Viora didn't respond right away. Instead, she pointed upward, her small hand extended toward the ceiling. Her innocent voice broke the quiet.
"What's that?"
Mama Ipoh followed her gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to see what the girl was pointing at. When her eyes landed on it, her breath caught. Floating gently near the ceiling was an orb of soft, glowing blue plasma, its light pulsating like a heartbeat. Its ethereal presence seemed almost alive, and its innocent, almost childlike expression mirrored Viora's own.
Mama Ipoh's eyes widened in shock, her hands trembling. The mug slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the table and spilling hot chocolate across its surface.
"You can see them?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with surprise.
Viora lowered her gaze, looking at the old woman with a puzzled expression.
"See what?" she asked innocently, confused by Mama Ipoh's reaction.
Unbeknownst to her, this was the first time Viora had glimpsed the spiritual—a world hidden from most. And though she couldn't know it yet, the woman sitting across from her would be the first shaman she'd ever meet in her life.
chapter twenty end