"I once believed that because I could not, I would not harm.I soon realized that this belief was an omen for many trials
sometimes a heart's innocence betrayed itself.
Never again will I lead myself through the world with naivety. To hold myself accountable to this principle, despite its necessity, I consider it, a tragedy."
In a castle which was erected On the highest of peaks, With moss congealed against its mass in its deepest most well-guarded chambers, sat a girl Slouched against the dilapidated walls, which were abetted by Her heart which with a muted strength, preserved through the indifference the world had regarded her with. One day I Will be free her eyes said but what is freedom her mind rung"
The deprivation of stimuli had caused her to peer into the veil that guarded the realm against cosmic forces, every day she was haunted every few weeks they had asked her to go deeper and deeper.
In the deepest corner of her mind, she was able to peer into the vast expanse of the cosmos there an entity greeted her A chill ran down her spine fear and panic possed every vein in her body but the entity lulled her a choir indeed it was
"Who, What are you leave me in peace"
"And what do you envision as peace young one, Rotting away in some forgotten corner of the world being subject to experimentation"
"What you en…vision as peace?" The girl asked cautiously
"Contentment, The archetype of contentment; But that often costs what you consider peace, or what others impose on you as peace "
"Are you content?"
"The better question is are you Content?"
"I …I don't know anything else"
"I don't know what is more tragic: one who suffers because he knows better, or one who doesn't know better and therefore does not suffer."
"Which one am I"
"The one who does not know better"
"Can you show me better"
"No"
"But I think all living things, have the desire to overcome ..For better or worse …."
"Overcome what"
"Stillness, or death as you...call it
"They're going to kill you Tomorrow"
"It was bound to happen"
"Hence, why I am sad for you, child. To be robbed of the basic desire for self-preservation… On second thought, I will show you better… I will be killed for this, but I have lived long enough."
The girl felt millennia of lifetimes flow through her—every sentiment, every moment: anguish, grief, love compassion, envy, lust, rage, wrath pride, and even gluttony. The intensity of the experience snapped her back to the physical plane, her sense of self molding itself around each emotion. And then she… wept…. And then it was an overwhelming fury her heart sang oh how I've been wronged her eyes proclaimed.
When she was done weeping, she lay there, her mind flowing with emotions and sentiments that reverberated through her with every beat of her heart. Within this, she felt something: a restlessness and agony that rotted at her. It was discontent, it was boredom.
How would these stone walls ever stir her soul to motion?
Hours upon hours passed, and footsteps began to echo as the girl awoke from her slumber, The metal door slowly creaked open revealing a silhouette of a man the light blinding her
"Izaline"
"Edward" She shouts as she gives him a welcoming embrace
A look of sorrow weaves its way into Edwards's face at experiencing this newfound development
"Izaline We don't have time you are in danger"
Suddenly they hear footsteps, Then shouting
"Oh Edward" Izaline pouts "Thank you"
Edward takes Izalline hand as they run through the labyrinth each path unveiling a myriad of forks
"There is an underground passage".
As they round a corner, a sword misses Edward's neck by an inch. He summons the Father's will through a talisman and places it on the guard's chest. As he does so, his chainmail shatters from the cold, and Edward drives a sword through his heart. The man's eyes go lifeless before his body the bl;ood curdling in his mouth a symphony that echoed through and pleaded for his mother's warmth
Edward takes Izaline by the hand and runs; the sound of her bare feet pattering against the cold stone floor They come to a large expanding courtyard within the castle they are surrounded by many men
"Izaline remember what I taught you
"I stare into their eyes while reaching into the back of my mind"
"Yes but this time I want you to stare into the ice crystals"
"why?"
"Dont ask just do"
"yes sir"
Edward reaches into his armored robes
Pulling out several talismans as the men charge at him, he bobs and weaves between all of them, placing talismans on the ground at each opportunity while blocking attacks with his vambraces. Then, when there is a circle of talismans around the courtyard, he emits a blast of air from his mouth, knocking the men to the ground. Using the brief interval, he weaves a sigil in the air and says a chant. The talismans begin to glow and come to life. Suddenly, it begins to rain in the courtyard, then that rain turns to vapor and mist, and then the mist turns to ice shards.
As Edward closes his eyes, he shouts:
"Izaline, now!!"
Izaline stares into one of the ice shards. Then, everyone in the courtyard sees the depths of the cosmos reflected in every direction, in every ice shard. As they peer through the veil, they are driven into a mad frenzy and reduced to a bumbling, catatonic state.
Edwards mutters to himself "I wasn't expecting this"
Within the still silence of the triumphant victory, Izaline Asked: "What are you, Edward?"
I am a magus of the order of the twilight veil or rather a former magus now
Izaline looks to the side "Why did you save me?"
Because… I've developed a paternal affection towards you these past few years of my life
And so it was they mounted a steed and rode off but regardless of which direction they went they would be facing time
In the north, before the mountain range, sat the capital, erected with gothic architecture—an evocation of beauty that gazed upon the decadent souls of its inhabitants. Thus, the town spoke: This is the will of the human heart, athwart its hideousness, its strives to create the heavens of the earth, so that it may love itself through its design.
Tucked deep within the capital's walls stood a castle, a monument to the perseverance of the human spirit. Within that castle, there was a chamber, and in that chamber sat King Syphus.
The chamber was lit with a myriad of colors, each contrasting against the marble floor. On that floor, before the king—who slumped on his throne with the most lackadaisical of dispositions—stood an arbiter, draped in robes decorated with golden accents.
"I've allotted this time to the clergy and, by extension, to you, to voice grievances. You may speak," the king said, waving his hand dismissively.
"My king—or rather, our king—we come with a proposition, one on which the longevity of our nation hinges."
"In the deepest study of our highest members, we have discovered a blight within the human mind; nestled so deeply within it, it may even be considered primordial in nature."
"Go on," spoke the king.
"A proclivity toward decadence and hedonism that arises with the infrastructure required to sustain a large population."
"And what do you propose to solve this?" the king asked, deep in contemplation.
"There is no solution, my king. This is predestined, based on the gods' blueprint. The people have grown fat and comfortable due to your noble rule. They no longer see a need for authority or a king. They've become used to order, to structure—"
The king interrupted, "They have become blind to the role it plays in their lives."
"And so, the earth must rest, the soil must... the cycle of life must continue—"
"Through our deaths," the king finished.
A deep melancholy possessed the king. "I've done everything in my power for the longevity of this empire. I conquered all their gods and made them bow before ours. But even in conquering their gods, I suppose we have to face ourselves in the end, don't we?" Slouching further in his chair, the despair weighed heavily on him, almost as harsh as the crown he bore.
"I'm sorry, my king. I'm afraid your reign will be the last. But that's not to say you can't make the fire burn bright, even for just a little bit longer…"
The king glanced at his son, Julius, Aralius Marcellus, and lastly, his daughter Clementine.
"When will I know this empire's days are numbered?" the king asked.
"When the people cry for freedom," the arbiter said. "From the gods, they feel confined but don't understand that they need to protect themselves from each other."
"But this rebellion can never be satiated. The desire for liberation will never end. One day, they will cry to be freed from even life itself—freed from the pain and suffering it entails. And then all will be lost to time. The human soul, in its desire to be liberated and freed, will stagnate and trap itself.
Meanwhile, across the river from the wealthiest district of the capital, where the slums resided, denizens moped about with the most wretched of complexions, abetted by the squalid stone streets. But within their malformed hearts, a spark of rebellion began to fester. A man by the name of Christopheles was beginning to garner the ears of the people. There he stood, next to a figure draped in cloth.
"Is the heart of the people not representative of the ruler's deficits? The Maguses of the Sanctum of the Twilight teach us that we should not love—to love is to suffer. But they fail to realize that this suffering is the very source of love, as one cannot exist without the other!"
"YEAH!" the crowd shouted in unison.
"What about us? Damn their god!"
Christopheles unveiled the figure in the cloth, revealing a magus. He pulled out a blunderbuss and pointed it at her head.
"Where is your god now? Go on, pray," he sneered, ripping the gag off the woman.
She turned to him, her gaze as calm as the eye of a storm. "The retribution for your actions has already begun. You suffer from them at this very moment."
"Yeah, I figured."
"Go on, tell the crowd what you mean," he demanded.
She replied, her voice steady, "Your struggles are derivative of your deficits, Christopheles. A murderer suffers from never knowing compassion. A prostitute suffers from never knowing love. An architect will never know the gift of natural order, and a gardener will never realize his will to power."
Christopheles, realizing what the woman was implying, felt the gun begin to shake in his hands as his palms grew sweaty.
"Damn you. Damn you!"
The blunderbuss went off, and the magus went limp as her head thunked against the concrete in the town square.
With that action, the monument of divine order began to crumble
Christopheles and his men began distributing muskets, blunderbusses, and ammunition to the people. "When the time comes, you'll need this," he told them, his voice firm yet heavy with the weight of the rebellion.
The guards flooded the streets, their armor clanking ominously as they marched. Christopheles slipped into an alleyway, his movements swift and deliberate. Emerging on the next block, he merged seamlessly with the crowd, the chaos providing him the perfect cover.
Later that evening, the confrontation he dreaded came to pass.
"How could I call you my son!" his mother shouted, her voice sharp and trembling. A whiskey bottle sailed through the air, shattering against the wall behind him. "It was you, wasn't it? Murderer! In cold blood! The Doughrey boys told me everything. Everything!"
She advanced toward him, her face etched with fury and despair. "I don't know what devil possessed you to do what you did today, boy. Get out! Get out and never come back!" Her voice cracked, falling to a trembling whimper. "And never come back…"
Christopheles stood silent, his heart heavy, his face unreadable. The arbiter's words loomed over his mind like a specter, but once again, he pushed them aside. His mother's anguish should have crushed him, but it didn't. It couldn't.
"If only you knew who you murdered," she said, her voice hollow now, a fragile whisper.
"Seraphina…" she continued her words cutting like glass. "The girl you used to play with as a child."
"I know," Christopheles admitted, his tone flat and unyielding.
Her eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face before it crumbled into despair. "Then you're too far gone."
She turned her back to him, trembling. "Just go… I've already tipped off the authorities."
Christopheles opened the door and was met with A guards with muskets pointed at him
CHirstopheles you are under arrest for the murder of a public official you will be held in confinement for the time being and await a verdict. You can willingly or by force
Christopheles spits at the ground before the man's feet
Very well then
A guard hits him with the but of his musket, Chirstopheles head spins as everything goes black black
In a dungeon beneath a prison, tucked within a cove far removed from the center of the capital, Christopheles woke to the sound of footsteps that echoed within the desolate expanse of his mind—no song, jest, or dance could fill it; only glory, from which he conceived through the image of what his father had denied him, what he owed him: nobility, purpose, respect, honor. The world would not only know his ambitions but would be scarred by them. He knew he owed it to himself, to all the forgotten dregs of society who scurried about in the slums.
"And who exactly are you?" he asked, glaring at the man before him.
"Much fighting spirit in you, boy. Unlike your brothers, who are infantile."
"I want nothing to do with you."
"How could you know? Your mother ran off with you before I ever got to see your face."
"Much of the nobility has grown weary of the king's reign, as he's allowed the merchants to consolidate more and more power. The educated populace feels that if they were to gain power, they would deny us the rights bestowed upon us by the king in favor of a life where we're treated as commodities."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"Everything, boy."
"Don't call me that."
"That is what you are. It has everything to do with you because you want to usurp the king, and that's fine, but you may just end up taking out your enemy's enemy for them."
"Currently, you hold away the largest population of this nation, the third estate, but they lack the funding, arms, and knowledge that I possess. The time for this nation is ticking, and this is deeper than you could imagine."
"What about the clergy?"
"The clergy never gets involved in these matters, typically, as long as their authority is respected and their dues are paid."
"I've already bought your freedom. Come now."
Christopheles stood up. For the first time in his life, someone spoke to him as if he were a person and not just a blemish upon their eyes—a bastard with a whore mother. The only thing he felt was confusion as he walked out of the dungeon behind his father. The light blinded him. The potential of his life, which was once confined to the slums, flashed before him…
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the countryside, about seven days' ride away, Izaline and Edward galloped on horseback at a steady pace. The trees seemed to merge with the horizon, their silhouettes softened by the foggy morning air. Dew clung to the grass, and fireflies danced in the mist.
"Is this... beauty?" Izaline asked, glancing at Edward.
He nodded, a quiet smile crossing his face. "Yes, I suppose it is."
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
Edward turned his gaze forward, his tone firm with purpose. "I have pounds stashed across the country in case I ever needed them. I'm going to collect some from an old friend of mine. I told her that if I ever stopped being a magus, I'd marry her."
Izaline raised an eyebrow. "And... you're not exactly equipped to raise a lass?"
Edward chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I can only teach you to fight and history. Anything beyond that, well, I'm not sure."
She looked at him thoughtfully. "Was it the courtyard... fighting?"
"Yes," Edward answered, his voice solemn. "Without your help, I would have died."
Izaline paused, her expression softening. "I saved you?"
Edward met her gaze, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Yes."
Izaline smiled, a quiet, knowing expression. She leaned forward, hugging him tighter as she rested her head against his back, trying not to fall off the horse. Her eyelids grew heavy as she almost nodded off.
"Hang in there, Izaline," Edward said gently. "We're about three paces away."
The village bustled with life, its streets filled with people moving about. Some shot awkward glances at Izaline; others wore looks of concern.
"She's so pretty," one whispered.
"It's a demon," another muttered.
"Don't look at it," someone else hissed.
A loud, familiar voice rang out. "EDWARD!"
A woman rushed up, hugging Edward from behind.
"And what is this mysterious creature you've brought with you?" she asked, eyeing Izaline.
"My successor," Edward replied. "And hopefully... my adopted daughter, if she wishes it."
"Whew, adopted..." the woman exhaled with a smirk. "You almost had me going there."
"But... what is she?"
"I'll tell you after we've had a warm meal," Edward said. "We've been riding for days, and we need some raw meat—preferably lamb."
"For what?"
"For her."
Camila grabbed Edward's arm, pulling him aside. She hissed under her breath, "You did not bring a vampire to my doorstep! I have a son. I can't put him in danger."
"I've known her for four years, Camila," Edward replied, his voice calm but firm. "If you won't have us, can you at least give her a pair of clothes? We'll be on our way."
"Where to?"
"I don't know," Edward admitted.
"You mean you're not a magus?"
"That would seem to be the case."
Camila's face softened, and her voice trembled. "You... kept your promise."
"I did," Edward said quietly.
Her cheeks flushed red, and she punched him lightly on the shoulder before wrapping him in another hug.
"Please stay this time"
She abruptly breaks the embrace
"Well come in why don't you," she says gesturing toward the door as she enters the Cottage
"John! "
A boy emerges from the corner of the door to a room
Meet your father
Doesn't he look just like you?
'The spitting image" Edward replies
I let you boys catch up while the girl washed up
Izaline cocks her head to the side in a curious manner "My name is Izaline"
In the bathroom when she removes Izalines clothes she is greeted with a horrid and uncamnny feeling that sank to the bottom to her stomach
She finds that Izaline possesses four arms and hocks for feet but that not what worries her She sees countless insertion points scattered throughout her body and a number tattooed on her neck It reads 726
"You poor thing"
Camila says as she places her hand on her cheek Come now get in the water ill scrub you down
"Is this pity? " Izaline asked"
Staring deep into Camilla's eyes
'It is unfair for me to pity you"
When Camila was done putting John's clothes on her
"Camila had voiced an observation. 'Hmm, I'm gonna need to sew some sleeves on this, but for now, I'll cut some holes into it for your extra arms.'
'There. Now try it on.'
'Is this, love?'
'No, sweetie, it pains me to say this, but you shouldn't love this soon.'
Izaline turned her head to the side. 'Okay,' she whimpered.
At dinner time, Izaline was ravenous. She tore into the raw meat, unabashed by her gluttony.
Edward laughed at Camila's and John's shocked faces.
'I've heard stories, but I never thought they were real.' John looked at his mother.
'I am sleeping in the same room as that?' John asked cautiously.
'Well, I can't make her sleep outside, can I?'
The sun faded over the horizon as the town grew lifeless. One by one, the candlelight in each of the houses went out, and finally, the candlelight went out as Izaline was nestled next to John. And for the first time in her life, she fell asleep warm with a full stomach. I suppose this is better, she thought to herself..