"What's 'Touch' supposed to mean?"
Ash felt utterly lost. These sorcerers always seemed to pull new jargon out of thin air.
"He actually succeeded… Heath actually succeeded!" Shillin's voice quivered as he muttered, his pale face contorted in disbelief. "How? How is this even possible?"
Without warning, the Elf professor slammed both hands on his desk, sending its contents clattering to the floor. The shards of a shattered Knowledge Veil flickered briefly before going dark.
Ash swallowed nervously. "Uh, maybe calm down? You could explain things to me instead of having a meltdown. Who knows, I might be able to offer everything but tangible help—uh!"
The tree imprisoning Ash suddenly constricted. Crushing pressure closed in from all directions, squeezing him so tightly he could barely breathe. The oppressive force pressed against his chest, ribs threatening to snap, as if preparing to turn him into some grotesque Ash pancake.
I—I can't breathe!
"You're not even trying to resist," Shillin said coldly, his left hand mimicking a squeezing motion as though Ash were a toy in his grasp. "Your body is still so… fragile. I could accidentally crush you like a bug. Let me count to three. Three… two… one—"
Is this it for me?
In that moment, Ash felt an overwhelming tide of regret. He had thought himself ready to face death, had believed he didn't cling to life. Yet here he was, his mind racing with endless "what ifs."
What if I had just killed him outright?
What if I hadn't come here at all?
What if…
As the final number echoed in his ears, Ash clenched his eyes shut, bracing for what he assumed would be his last excruciating moment. But instead of the sharp agony of annihilation, the tree relaxed. The crushing force dissipated, allowing him to gulp in air as he gasped for relief.
When he opened his eyes, Shillin was slumped against the desk, his face streaked with tears. Yet, inexplicably, a wide smile spread across his lips.
"You really aren't Heath. You're not him… Ha! Ha ha ha!" The laugh spilled out, an unsettling mix of hysteria and euphoria. "He did it, didn't he? He actually pulled it off. How… how could he succeed?"
Ash studied the Elf's tear-streaked face with quiet confusion before asking, "What were you even testing back there?"
Shillin, still sitting slumped on the plush carpet, glanced at Ash with eyes heavy with something darker than mere weariness. "The real Heath… possessed the 'Key.' He didn't need sorcery or words. With the Key, he could control any follower with a mere thought—even me."
The Elf's voice trembled. "It's more terrifying than death itself. The Key robs you of all autonomy, leaving you as nothing but a puppet. I tried to end my own life once, thinking death would free me, but even suicide wasn't an option. Just before I could act, my body was seized, controlled. Only when I fulfilled his command was I allowed to 'use' my body again."
He paused, clutching at his chest as if the memory alone could crush him. "From the moment you placed that sword to my throat, I knew you weren't Heath. But I couldn't trust that knowledge. What if Heath was merely pretending? What if you were just a fragment of his mind, or worse…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "What if I was too afraid to believe Heath was gone?"
Ash felt a chill creep up his spine. The notion of being a mere plaything in Heath's grand design sent an unwelcome shiver through him. He glanced at Shillin's right hand. "You mentioned something about the 'Eye of Awe' earlier…"
"You don't have Heath's memories?" Shillin raised his hand, revealing the gaping hole in his palm. Moonlight passed through it unobstructed, the eerie sight both surreal and grotesque.
"This hole," Shillin explained, "was carved by Heath himself. A price paid for the ritual."
"The… ritual? You mean a ceremony of the Ritualist sect?"
"Yes," Shillin replied, his voice distant. "Though the cost was steep, the power of the Eye of Awe is undeniable. Anyone I observe through this hole falls into a prolonged state of mental paralysis. For those precious seconds, they're completely immobilized—unable to think, to move, or even to blink."
Ash shivered. He recalled the terrifying sensation of his thoughts grinding to a halt earlier, a nightmarish void where even the concept of resistance had been beyond reach.
"It's a powerful ability," Shillin admitted. "But not without its limitations. The Eye of Awe only works once per person. The first time is a shock. After that, it's just… spectacle."
"And when your trick worked on me, that was proof enough I'm not Heath?"
"Correct. Heath experienced the Eye of Awe long ago," Shillin said matter-of-factly. "He made certain no follower could possess a tool to resist him."
Ash couldn't argue. Trapped as he was, Shillin had no reason to lie. Yet it all seemed preposterous. Heath? A mere human who wasn't even a sorcerer? The same Heath who wouldn't have survived his first run-in with Igor without Ash's intervention? How could he wield such power?
If Heath really was some grand manipulator… then where's his hidden trump card?
Ash's thoughts spun in circles. He could barely wrap his head around it. "Why tell me all of this?"
Shillin, now seated upright, gazed at the floor. "Because I'm deciding what to do with you."
"What do you mean?"
"Because Heath's final order to me…" Shillin paused before delivering the words like a death knell.
"…was to kill you."
"What?!" Ash's jaw dropped. "But I am Heath! That doesn't make any—"
Shillin cut him off. "Exactly. Heath's last command was for me to eliminate him. To erase the post-ritual Heath completely."
The puzzle pieces slammed together in Ash's mind, painting a horrifying picture.
"The Bloodmoon hunters capturing me… Valcas… the Bloodmoon trial… even Gerard's visit. It was all…"
"It was all your own doing," Shillin confirmed. "I merely carried out the orders you left behind."
Heath wanted me dead?
Ash's heart pounded as icy dread seeped into his veins. A wave of nausea swept over him as the truth settled in: he had been nothing more than a pawn in an elaborate, cruel game orchestrated by none other than himself—or whatever Heath had become.
The realization crushed him. Ash wasn't angry—he didn't have the energy for that. Instead, he felt an eerie detachment.
As if watching a stranger suffer, he observed his own panic, grief, and confusion from a distance.
When you can observe pain, you free yourself from it.
When you can observe yourself, you free yourself from fate.
Anger, hatred, regret—they would solve nothing. Only cold, calculated clarity could pierce the web of lies and manipulation around him.
He needed precision. Detachment. Strategy.
Ash took a deep breath, his thoughts cooling like steel under a craftsman's hammer. He was no longer a man being crushed by the weight of his circumstances. He was an observer.
Everything is a tool.
Even myself.
And the Observer Ash will prevail.