"What the fuck is going on?"
Mori sat stone-faced, his body rigid as the swirling and churning sensation finally subsided. His head felt heavy, like it had been spun in a whirlpool, and his senses struggled to regain equilibrium. The hand clasped firmly on his shoulder loosened its grip slightly but didn't let go. The touch was cold, deliberate, and carried an air of ownership he found deeply unsettling.
"So, now, Lux Mortis..."
"Cut the crap," Mori snapped, his voice sharp and unyielding. He didn't want to sound rude, but he hated surprises, and this man—this Erebus—radiated an aura that made his skin crawl. Everything about him screamed danger, like standing before a coiled viper ready to strike.
"Why did you bring me here?"
The question hung in the air like an unlit fuse. Mori's instincts screamed at him to stay on guard, though a sardonic corner of his mind mocked the attempt.
If he's as strong as those idiots hyped him up to be, what makes you think you can even scratch him?
The reality wasn't lost on Mori. Every possible scenario in his mind ended with him being completely outmatched. This man, Erebus, was more than just dangerous—he was something else entirely.
Erebus studied the boy in front of him, his sharp gaze piercing like needles into Mori's carefully composed expression. A sly grin curled his lips as if he found Mori's resistance both amusing and futile. Finally, Erebus sighed, his demeanor shifting like a predator toying with its prey.
"I don't usually tolerate puerile outbursts," he began, his voice carrying an undercurrent of authority, "but I'll condone yours since you're clearly out of your element."
Mori bristled at the condescension but said nothing, his jaw tightening in defiance.
"As much as I hate to admit it," Erebus continued, his grin fading into something more calculating, "you're clueless. Completely adrift. It's written all over you."
That admission sent a spike of unease through Mori. How much did this man know? He fought to keep his face neutral, but Erebus's words dug under his skin, planting seeds of doubt.
"You're surprised I figured it out? Please." Erebus gestured lazily. "It's not exactly a mystery. Your every move screams confusion. The others see it as an endearing naïveté, but I see it for what it really is: ignorance. And ignorance can be dangerous."
Mori's mind raced, silently filing away every word Erebus said for future dissection. He had already resolved to learn everything he could about this cryptic figure the moment he escaped whatever trap he'd fallen into.
"And why is that, if I may ask?" Mori countered, his tone sharp with sarcasm.
Erebus's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. His voice turned cold, laced with a warning.
"You will address me as Lord or Your Eminence, boy."
There was a weight to those words, an unspoken threat that hung heavy in the air. But Mori didn't flinch. He met Erebus's gaze—or at least where he thought it was—with a blank, almost resigned expression.
"So, I take it you're some kind of religious leader too?"
Erebus's expression twisted, fury flashing across his face like a storm breaking over the horizon. His lips trembled with suppressed rage, but he forced himself to remain composed.
"Did you hear my last warning?"
"Of course I did, Erebus." Mori's tone was calm, almost disinterested. "But if you were in my shoes, would you really consider yourself worth that kind of reverence?"
Erebus's composure cracked for a moment, his face contorting with anger. Then, just as quickly, he masked it with a calm, sinister smile that didn't reach his eyes.
But Mori's next words shattered his facade completely.
"Erebus Caligo," Mori said evenly, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. "What exactly do you want with me?"
The name struck Erebus like a lightning bolt. He stared at Mori, his eyes wide with disbelief. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
And then, to Mori's utter shock, Erebus fell to his knees.
"My Lord," Erebus murmured, his voice trembling with reverence as he clutched at Mori's legs. "You're my redemption... Welcome to the mortal world."
"E—excuse me?" Mori stammered, pulling back instinctively.
Erebus raised his head, his eyes shimmering with an emotion Mori couldn't decipher—devotion? Fear? Awe? It made his stomach churn.
This wasn't normal.
And yet, deep down, Mori had an inkling this wasn't entirely unexpected either.
Erebus's mind raced. No one in living memory had ever spoken his true name. Not because it was taboo, but because it was unknown. Even his closest family had no knowledge of it. And yet, this blind teenager had uttered it without hesitation.
This boy wasn't just anyone.
He was Divine.
Erebus rose slowly, his expression hardening with resolve. "My Lord," he began, his tone now dripping with calculated charm, "allow me to offer you something truly fitting. A chance to ascend. I will personally sponsor you at the prestigious Celestial Institute."
The name meant nothing to Mori, but he sensed opportunity in the offer. An escape from his confusion. A chance to find answers.
"Alright," he said, sticking out his hand. "It's a deal."
Erebus stretched out his, his grip inviting but tinged with ulterior motives. His mind was already at work, plotting.
Mori had no idea what he had just agreed to.
Erebus grinned sinisterly, clasping Mori's surprisingly strong grip and rising to his feet with a fluid grace that hinted at predatory intent. His eyes flickered with an ominous gleam as an evil smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Well, now it won't be too hard to bend him to my will, he thought, his grip tightening ever so slightly before releasing Mori's hand.
Mori's hands had been stiff during the handshake—tense, wary, unwilling. Erebus noticed it immediately. His practiced eyes rarely missed such subtleties. Of course, he doesn't trust me… yet.
Winning trust was a game Erebus excelled at. And Mori's blindness? It was like a gift-wrapped vulnerability, one Erebus fully intended to exploit. He could already see the cracks in the boy's armor, a fractured foundation he could quietly infiltrate.
"Excuse me," Mori said suddenly, withdrawing his hand from Erebus's lingering grasp. His lazy silver eyes shifted, adopting a sharper focus, their cloudy hue betraying none of the tension beneath his calm facade. "Earlier on, I could see you for a while. Why? I have an unsettling feeling that you were the cause—or at least connected to it."
Erebus froze for a split second, his grin faltering as a wave of panic threatened to overtake him. He quickly forced his face into a calm, neutral expression—only to remember Mori couldn't see it. Still, the question hung in the air like a knife poised over his head.
Should he lie? The odds were stacked precariously against him. This boy—no, this being—had already shown evidence of being something far greater than mortal, and Erebus was treading on unknown ground. There was no telling where Mori's awareness ended or how much was simply a test of Erebus's integrity.
Gods can be eccentric, Erebus reminded himself, the thought a chilling whisper in his mind. He decided not to risk lying. Gods hated lies, and their wrath was legendary. If Mori truly was divine, Erebus couldn't afford even the slightest misstep.
"It's one of the abilities of my eyes," Erebus admitted, his voice steady despite the chaos in his thoughts.
"Your e-eyes?" Mori repeated, his tone betraying a flicker of surprise.
Before Mori could say more, a barrage of memories struck his mind like a tidal wave. Pain, vivid images, and foreign emotions rushed through him in a torrent, leaving him momentarily breathless. Erebus's words, once cryptic, began to make sense as fragments of knowledge flooded his consciousness.
Eyes—unique to clans in this world. The Cryptic Arcane Cataclysm, six thousand years ago. Powers, abilities, and elemental affinities granted to humanity, with echoes of those gifts rippling through other species like vampires and shifters. A world irrevocably changed, where even beings of darkness could wield storm magic with terrifying precision.
Mori's jaw tightened as he sifted through the influx of memories. They weren't entirely his own. In his mind's eye, he watched through the lens of another's past—a colorful, innocent childhood blooming before him.
He saw a little boy, no older than four, playing happily, his laughter echoing in the sunlit air. A golden-haired woman—her beauty ethereal—stood beside him, her long, shimmering locks cascading like liquid light. Her hips swayed with an elegance that seemed almost divine, and her figure radiated maternal warmth.
Then, an intrusive thought hit him like a slap.
Shut it, idiot. That's your mom.
That's not my mom, Mori almost said aloud. He hesitated, confused, as the memories played on.
The boy—was that supposed to be him? The woman… who was she?
Meanwhile, Erebus continued talking, oblivious to Mori's mental whirlwind. His voice carried an air of self-importance, as though relishing his audience.
"My eyes, which some of my clanmates bear as well, are called Aetherglint Lenses. Aetherglint, for short," Erebus explained, his tone dripping with pride.
Mori barely listened, his focus split between Erebus's ramblings and the strange memories overtaking his mind. The scene shifted abruptly. The little boy was gone, replaced by a teenager—battered, scarred, and dragging his injured body across a desolate landscape. Alone.
"What the fuck—" Mori whispered under his breath, the word slipping out before he could stop it.
"And that's how the Aetherglint works," Erebus finished with a theatrical flourish, clearly unaware of Mori's inner turmoil. "Its abilities and risks—perfectly balanced. I trust I've answered your questions?"
Mori turned toward the sound of Erebus's voice, his expression vacant but his mind racing. He couldn't process Erebus's explanation right now. The memories—the fragments—were overwhelming.
Where had the original Mori gone for nearly a decade? What had this body endured in his absence?
Most importantly, why hadn't he returned with that golden-haired woman—the embodiment of perfection?
Mori clenched his fists, his thoughts a maelstrom of questions and frustration. His blindness could wait; he understood now that it was likely beyond mortal intervention.
No, his priority was solving the puzzle of his own existence. Who—or what—had he become? And what truths lay buried in the fractured pieces of his stolen past?
Erebus, meanwhile, observed Mori's silence with growing interest. Good, he thought, mistaking the boy's introspection for trust. It won't be long before he's completely under my control.
But Mori, lost in his thoughts, had no intention of surrendering control to anyone.