Alfirin opened her eyes slowly. Before her sat a mysterious figure at the head of a silver, celestial round table. His presence was commanding. Yet, what drew her attention was not his form, but the strange phenomenon concealing his face.
Though his figure was clear, his face seemed to blend with the fog surrounding the space—a fog that shifted constantly, denying her even a glimpse beyond its mysterious barrier. She felt his unseen gaze fixed upon her. It carried no malice, yet the weight of his attention pressed heavily on her soul.
Oddly enough, the figure was dressed in simple pajamas, their mundane appearance starkly contrasting the otherworldly aura surrounding him. It was as if the being's attire defied the gravity of the moment.
She struggled to comprehend her situation. Was this a dream? If so, why this place, and this being? And if it was not a dream, had she stumbled upon something far beyond her knowledge—something she was not meant to encounter?
Alfirin, who was no stranger to mystical traditions, guessed she was in the presence of a being whose intentions remained shrouded in mystery. Despite the sorrow lingering in her heart from earlier events, she spoke in a respectful tone, her voice discreet and cautious.
"Who are you, respectable sir?"
Though fear of the unknown stirred within her, she maintained her composure, waiting for an answer.
"You need not concern yourself for now," he said, his voice calm and casual. "What matters is that fate has brought us here."
He crossed his right leg over his left, the movement slow and deliberate. Then he spoke again.
"Fret not, for I bear no ill intent. But be cautious, and heed my words—yours is a blessed fate."
"A blessed fate?" Alfirin repeated, bewilderment evident in her voice. This encounter had thrown her into uncertainty. She had feared it might mark her end, a possibility she rejected with firm resolve. No death before the truth.
But then, a realization struck her—she had not introduced herself. She could make up a false identity, masking who she truly was. Yet, the risk of offending this enigmatic being, and endangering her already fragile position, weighed heavily against such deceit.
Slowly, she rose from her chair, her movements deliberate and composed, and offered a graceful bow.
"Forgive my lack of courtesy," she said, her tone respectful but steady. "My name is Alfirin Panthael." She eased herself back into her chair and added softly, "I have been... a little out of sorts lately. My apologies."
The being seated upon the throne responded, his voice calm and reassuring. "There is no need for apologies. I can see that you are exhausted."
Merlin's crimson eyes glimmered faintly behind the shrouding mist as he observed Alfirin. She was poised, respectful, and, above all, vulnerable. He leaned back in his seat, resting his chin lightly on his knuckles, his mind racing.
He hadn't planned for this. The words he spoke, the commanding air he projected, or even his actions—it was all an elaborate facade. Beneath it, his thoughts were in a desperate attempt to maintain control.
"Blessed fate," he had said, the phrase came from nowhere, yet it carried weight, as though a wise being was talking, a mysterious being whose intentions were unknown.
That's the thing about bluffing: the trick wasn't in the lie itself, but in making others believe there was no way it could be a lie.
As Alfirin bowed, introducing herself with a formality that belied her fear, Merlin almost chuckled—but he caught himself. Instead, he nodded gravely, as if her words held profound significance.
"I can see that you are exhausted," he had said, his tone perfectly steady. He imagined Solomon might have known what to do here. But Merlin wasn't Solomon. He was merely a fake version of him playing a role far larger than himself, and somehow, the performance was holding.
His words carried a sense of finality as he continued, "Our paths will cross again. For now, go and rest. And may fate guide your steps."
Before Alfirin could respond, her form dissolved into a radiant orb of light, ascending swiftly into the endless expanse above.
And then, silence reigned once more. Merlin remained alone at the head of the celestial round table.
Merlin sat on the throne, his posture leaning forward as he whispered to himself, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
"Blessed fate," he muttered, his voice mixed with irony. "If only she knew I'm just a nobody. Maybe fate really did bring us together. But what was even the point of this encounter? No, rather, how did it even happen?"
The weight of the encounter settled over him, not just from the mental strain of bluffing his way through it, but from the subtle exhaustion this place seemed to impose on his very being. He glanced at the grand round table before him, its celestial glow gleaming faintly, as though the place itself was alive.
In the short time he had been here, Merlin had begun piecing together an understanding of this strange domain. It responded to his spiritual intuition, shifting and reacting as if tied to his will—or so he guessed. Yet, he couldn't be certain. The rules of this place felt bizzare, bending logic and reality.
The thought of searching for a door or an exit briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly. The gate he had come through was gone, vanished without a trace, and no other pathways were visible. That left him with one option: to will himself out.
Merlin adjusted his posture, settling firmly onto the throne. He closed his eyes, focusing inward. If the realm was tied to his intent, then perhaps he could command his return.
He channeled his focus, pushing his thoughts towards desire to leave this place. The effort pulled at him, disorienting his senses and making him feel as though he was being unraveled, piece by piece.
His vision distorted, colors and shapes bleeding into each other, until everything collapsed into whispers. Voices echoed in his ears, fragmented and incomprehensible.
Then, in an instant, it was over.
Merlin jolted upright in his bed, gasping for air as though he had been drowning moments before. He ran a hand through his hair, his crimson eyes scanning the dimly lit room. Everything was exactly as it had been before. The same normal room, as if the otherworldly encounter had been nothing more than a vivid dream.
But Merlin knew better.
He got up from the bed, his gaze shifting towards the desk where the dagger lay. Snatching it up, he inspected it closely, his heart sinking as he realized the cryptic engraving was gone. The words "As above, so below. Fate beholds no truths," had vanished entirely, leaving the blade bare and ordinary.
Still, he tried.
"As above, so below. Fate beholds no truths," he repeated in perfect english, his voice firm and clear. He waited, his breath held, but nothing happened.
He repeated the chant, his tone more deliberate, ensuring every syllable was perfect. Yet again, nothing. The dagger remained bare and the air around him unchanged.
Uncertainty crept into Merlin's thoughts once again. Whatever had happened—whatever strange realm he had ventured into—it seemed the way to it was closed. For now.
Sitting into the wooden chair on the side, Merlin stared at the dagger, a mixture of frustration and curiosity swirling within him.
"What kind of a life am I going to have?" he murmured, the question hanging in the stillness of the room.
...
Merlin slept through the night after the strange events of the day before, but his rest was uncomfortable. He had plenty of questions, but there was no one to answer them.
He awoke early to find himself surrounded by unsettling blood, smeared and spattered across the wooden floor.
Merlin knelt to clean the mess. He grabbed the moist cloth he prepared and started vigorously cleaning the dried blood, trying desperately to remove any traces of the horror with each stroke.
He could smell the iron in the air, and it made his stomach turn. The floor resisted his attempts, as though it were clinging to the blood like a horrible memory it couldn't let go of. As he pushed harder, his arms hurting from the effort, Merlin's fury increased.
"Why is there so much blood?" he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice heavy with irritation. "It was even mentioned in that damn letter like it was a warning."
He paused, staring at a particularly stubborn stain.
"This must all be Solomon's. If so, what in the hell happened to him before he... 'died'?" His gaze flicked to his trembling hands, which were now stained pink from the scrubbing. "And why did he write 'Come and find me'? How do I find a dead man?"
Merlin's thoughts spiraled further. If this is all his blood, then he must have gone through hell before I took over this body. His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms.
From the clothes I wore to my sticky hair when I first woke up. Just what the hell happened to this man?
The scrubbing continued, his motions becoming more frantic. Who even was Solomon, really? The more I think about it, the less I know.
Eventually the blood began to yield. The stains faded, leaving the floor raw but clean. Merlin dropped the cloth into a bucket, his shoulders heaving as he caught his breath.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. He dragged himself to the kitchen, shaking off the haunting thoughts.
Merlin's kitchen was barebones—a single pot, a small stove, and meager supplies. He rummaged through his cabinet and pulled out potatoes he had boiled before he started cleaning the blood, his forward-thinking ensuring he wouldn't go hungry today.
After quickly cleaning the pot and placing it on the heat, he cracked two eggs into it. The sound of the eggs striking the hot metal was strangely reassuring, bringing him back to reality and simplicity. Merlin worked rapidly as the omelet formed, adding salt and pepper he had saved from the room's small pantry.
With deliberate motion, his hands sliced the boiling potatoes into clean quarters and peeled them. "Poverty feels like an unbreakable curse, even in this new life." A bitter smile pulled at his mouth. "I've got some food on my plate, at least. Gotta be thankful for that."
As the omelet finished cooking, he plated it alongside the potatoes and a few stale pieces of bread he had toasted lightly. He carried the meal to the table and sat down.
The meal was simple but satisfying. Merlin ate in silence, savoring each bite. The warmth of the food dulled the cold morning air, and for a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the quiet.
This is a fresh start, isn't it? A new life where anything could happen. He let out a breath, almost a sigh. I don't know who Solomon or what his purpose was, but it's my life now. I'll make something of it.
Finishing his meal, Merlin washed his plate and utensils quickly. And before turning his attention to his coat he swiftly brushed his teeth and washed his face to wake up once more.
The coat had been stained with blood, but he had cleaned it the night before. Slipping it on, he checked himself in the mirror by the corner, his crimson eyes scanning over himself.
Satisfied, he grabbed the few pounds he had left and prepared to head out. Today was the first day of his new job, and curiosity burned within him to see more of the mysterious powers he had encountered.
Just as Merlin reached for the door, three deliberate knocks echoed through the room, slow and measured.
Merlin froze, his hand hovering over the handle. Hesitantly, he grasped it and opened the door slightly, peering outside. Standing before him was a young man with short blond hair, his blue eyes sharp yet friendly.
"Hi, Merlin. I hope you've had breakfast. I'm here to take you," the stranger said with a warm smile.
Merlin's brows furrowed in confusion. "Who are you? How do you know where I live? And how do you know my name?"
The man chuckled softly, unbothered by the barrage of questions. "Ah, where are my manners? My name is Michelangelo Amadea, but you can call me Michéle." He gestured to the frosty air. "Now, aren't you going to invite me in? It's freezing out here."
Merlin crossed his arms. "No."
Michéle laughed, shaking his head. "You're colder than the morning air." His tone grew more serious, though his smile remained. "You think you can just stumble into things like this and avoid the consequences? We've got a lot to discuss, but first, let me take you to headquarters."
Merlin didn't move, his mind racing. Headquarters? I thought I was supposed to go there alone. His gaze narrowed on Michéle. I can't just trust anybody who randomly shows up saying, 'Let me take you.' But... he seems to know me. I wonder if he's actually associated with them.
"Sure, Michéle," Merlin finally replied, his tone measured.
Let's see how this plays out.
Merlin locked the door carefully before following Michéle into the crisp morning air. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the gray sky, dusting the street with a thin layer of white. The cold bit at Merlin's exposed face and hands as he followed behind the blond man, their footsteps crunching against the shallow snow.
A carriage stood waiting for them at the end of the street, its driver hunched forward in an attempt to shield himself from the cold.
"So, I heard you got beaten up pretty good," Michéle said, glancing over his shoulder with a soft chuckle.
Merlin's brow furrowed. "Yeah, that was... partly my fault," he admitted, his voice tinged with irritation.
Michéle's grin widened. "Who told you?" Merlin asked abruptly, his frown deepening.
"The whole headquarters knows the fact that you got beaten up. That's no secret." Michéle replied casually.
Merlin let out a sharp breath, nodding heavily. "Ahh, I see."
Well, that's just perfect. Merlin's thoughts spiraled into frustration. How am I supposed to look anyone in the eye now? 'The new recruit who got beaten to take the job.' Great first impression.
He sighed audibly, the weight of embarrassment settling over him as they neared the carriage.
"Don't worry, though, there aren't many people there right now since it's the holiday week," Michéle said in a reassuring tone as they walked.
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "What holiday?"
Michéle stopped abruptly, turning to Merlin with a look of genuine surprise. His brow furrowed as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "Are you not from this country? No, not even from this continent? Because I'm pretty sure everyone knows the holiday of the beginning."
Merlin blinked, his expression blank. "What's that?"
Michéle blinked in disbelief, his frustration becoming more apparent. "The one we celebrate every goddamn year! The one that starts on the 25th and ends on New Year's Day, the 1st!" He waved a hand dramatically, muttering something to himself as he continued walking, clearly frustrated.
Merlin followed, still confused. "Why do people work if it's a holiday, then?" he asked, gesturing towards the bustling street, filled with workers hurrying to their jobs despite the snow.
Michéle sighed, giving up on the idea of educating Merlin. He kept walking, his voice more casual now. "Someone's gotta keep the gears turning, even during the holidays. Not everyone gets to enjoy the festivities."
Merlin glanced around at the bustling street. Despite the cold and the snow falling softly, the streets were alive with activity. Workers rushed to their jobs, the poor laboring even during what was supposed to be a time of rest. The contradiction wasn't lost on him.
As they continued walking, Michéle seemed unaffected by the cold or the awkwardness of their conversation. Merlin, on the other hand, found some solace in the revelation that fewer people would be at the headquarters.
Finally, they reached the carriage waiting for them. Without a word, Michéle opened the door, and the two of them climbed inside. Merlin adjusted his coat as the door closed, steeling himself for what lay ahead.
Along the way, the two talked about the general state of the city. The carriage passed through various streets, each one more modern and developed than the last as they moved further away from Holylaugh Street, where Merlin's modest home was located. Before long, they arrived at the headquarters.
The two stepped down from the carriage, the sound of hooves and wheels fading into the busy city noise. Around them, the streets were alive with people, carriages, and the occasional mass-affordable automobile. Pedestrians hurried along the cobblestone sidewalks, their faces set with purpose.
In front of them stood the headquarters building, a tall structure of stone and steel. Its arched windows, it's huge columns, and the carved details gave it an imposing presence, and a large clock above the entrance ticked towards eight a.m. People moved in and out of the big double doors, their steps fast and businesslike.
The square around them was filled with life. Vendors shouted from their carts, selling peanuts, coffee and some other snacks. A newspaper boy weaved through the crowd, waving papers and yelling the latest headlines. The air carried the smell of coal smoke, rain-soaked cobblestones, and fresh bread from a nearby bakery.
The building stood before them. They exchanged a glance before making their way up the steps, blending into the flow of the busy city.
After entering the building, a calm and orderly atmosphere welcomed them. The headquarters seemed to operate at a slow, deliberate pace due to the holiday. Only a few employees were present, managing the essential functions of the building and ensuring everything remained in order.
The interior had a practical yet elegant design, with polished wooden floors that gleamed under the faint winter sunlight streaming through tall windows. High ceilings made the space feel airy and expansive, while the subtle scent of varnished wood mixed with the faint tang of ink and paper, adding to the serene ambiance.
Michéle and Merlin passed through the double doors and into a quiet reception area. A sleek, polished counter dominated the space, behind which a young woman with chestnut-brown hair sat. She was dressed neatly in a vest and blouse, her posture professional but relaxed. Rows of cabinets and shelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers and folders that spoke to a reliance on manual record-keeping.
"We need to get you registered first," Michéle said, walking up to the counter. He stopped just short of it, glancing back at Merlin.
"You're lucky. The complicated part will start after the holiday ends when the others return. Right now, most people are on leave, and the building closes at one p.m. because of the holiday. So, you're stuck with me today." He smiled faintly before adding, "Though, I must warn you, the real work starts at night. Hope you're ready."
"I know," Merlin replied simply. "But what's so complicated? Isn't this just a security job?"
Michéle chuckled softly. "You'll see for yourself. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
Turning to the receptionist, Michéle greeted her warmly. "Anne, good morning. He's here; he needs to be registered."
The woman looked up, her eyes brightening. "Good morning! Wait, for real? Is that him? Hi!" She extended her hand towards Merlin, who shook it, noting her firm yet friendly grip.
"You've become quite famous lately," she said with a smile. "I must say, I'm impressed."
"I'd be happier if I were famous for something better," Merlin replied, his tone light but with a tinge of bitterness.
Anne reached for a document on her desk and handed it to Merlin. "You just need to fill this out."
Merlin sat down and began to fill out the job application form. His pen hovered over the first question—name.
Name? There's no way I forgot my own name... but... oh no. Merlin began panicking as he realized he hadn't given himself a last name. His mind raced, searching for inspiration, when his eyes landed on a poster across the room. Written on it was the word "sinister."
"That's funny," he muttered under his breath. Smiling at the absurdity, he filled in the name section with "Merlin Lannister," a nod to a famous TV series he had loved in his past life. Quickly, he filled out the rest of the form and handed it back to Anne.
"I thought I was expected," Merlin said as she took the form. "Why do I need to fill this out?"
"It's just a formal procedure," Anne explained. "We're making sure you're officially recorded, that's all."
"I see. Thank you," Merlin replied, turning back to Michéle. "So, what now?"
"As I said, you're lucky. During the day, there isn't much to do," Michéle replied with a smirk. "Which is why we're heading to a coffee house now. The job comes later—tonight."
...
Michéle led Merlin out of the building, and the two spent the day exploring the city. Their first stop was a cozy coffee house tucked into a quiet corner of the central district. They ordered steaming cups of tea and indulged in an array of cookies—warm, spiced, and sweet, perfect for the chilly day.
After finishing their snacks, they wandered through the bustling streets and stumbled upon a small, charming book market. Stalls brimming with old leather-bound volumes and freshly printed novels lined the cobblestone street. They browsed through the selection, occasionally exchanging opinions on the covers and titles.
Eventually, they found a quaint little library tucked between two shops. It was warm and dimly lit, with rows of bookshelves stretching to the ceiling. Merlin and Michéle spent hours there, reading quietly at a shared table. The peaceful atmosphere lulled them into an unintentional nap, their heads resting on their folded arms amidst the scattered pages.
Later in the afternoon, they strolled through one of the city's parks. Snow blanketed the ground, muffling the sounds of the bustling city. They walked along the frosted paths, discussing trivial matters and the city's peculiarities. The occasional chatter of children playing in the distance and the sound of birds created a serene backdrop.
By the time evening arrived, the two found themselves seated on a bench by the riverbank. Snow drifted gently from the sky, illuminated by the glow of the streetlamps. The moons cast their soft light over the rippling water, creating a scene that felt both peaceful and melancholic.
"How do you feel about your new job?" Michéle asked, his gaze fixed on the water.
"I... I'm not sure," Merlin admitted. "Maybe both afraid and excited. I'm stepping into something I know nothing about, and that irritates me."
"Don't be impatient," Michéle said with a calm smile. "We'll head back to the headquarters soon. Then you'll find out what it's all about."
Merlin sighed, tilting his head back to watch the snowflakes fall. "It's a beautiful time of year. Do you like snow?"
"Depends on my mood. Why do you ask?"
"It's just... it's peaceful, the way it falls so slowly and gently. Even though it's cold, it somehow feels warm." Merlin's voice was soft, almost contemplative.
Michéle chuckled. "Are you some kind of romantic?"
Merlin didn't answer, his eyes still fixed on the snow falling against the backdrop of the starry night sky.
As Merlin gazed at the sky, his eyes caught a glimpse of something moving, a faint shadow crossing in front of the Azure Moon. He squinted, his heart skipping a beat.
"Am I seeing things, or is there actually something up there?" Merlin asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"What are you talking about?" Michéle followed Merlin's line of sight, his brows furrowing as he peered at the moons.
Then, faintly at first, the sound of jingling bells began to echo through the still, snowy night. The sound grew clearer, carrying with it a strange, inexplicable warmth.
Merlin's eyes widened as realization struck him. He shot up from the bench, his voice trembling with excitement. "Tell me that's not who I think it is!"
A booming, cheerful voice resonated through the frosty air, filled with mirth and magic. "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!"
Merlin stood frozen, his breath caught in his chest as he looked skyward. Against the backdrop of the celestial moons, reindeer soared gracefully through the air, their antlers glinting in the moonlight. Pulling behind them was a grand sleigh, and seated within it was a jolly, rotund figure dressed in red, a golden bell in one hand and a sack overflowing with gifts in the other.
"Santa Claus is real?" Merlin whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process what he was seeing. His childhood fantasies, dismissed as mere tales, were now alive before his very eyes.
Michéle's laughter broke the momentary spell. He stepped forward and stood beside Merlin, his face glowing with a warm smile. "Why are you so surprised? We see him every year. If you're lucky, he might even give you a gift."
Merlin slowly turned to Michéle, his crimson eyes wide with awe, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and childlike wonder. "Santa Claus is real?"
"Of course he is," Michéle replied, amused. "You keep surprising me, Merlin. It's as if you're not from this world."
Merlin turned back to the sky, unable to tear his gaze away. The sleigh soared gracefully through the night, the reindeer leaving a trail of stardust in their wake. Santa's hearty laughter echoed once more, a sound so full of joy that it seemed to melt away the cold, leaving only warmth in its place.
For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The snow fell gently, the moons cast their silver glow, and the sight of Santa Claus traversing the heavens felt like something out of a dream.
"Welcome to your new job, Merlin," Michéle said softly, his tone calm yet filled with a quiet excitement.
Merlin didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on the sleigh, his heart swelling with emotions he hadn't felt in years. As Santa's silhouette grew smaller in the distance, Merlin's lips curved into a faint, genuine smile.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel the pure, untainted joy of a child's dream coming true.