Anxiety choked El Ritch like a noose.
The den stretched before him, yet he could not leave it. He turned his head, cracking his neck, the sound hollow in the vast silence.
"Hello?" His voice echoed back at him, too loud in the stillness, swallowed by the dark.
Jol and the hare had gone. He was alone.
"Hello?" This time he shouted, but the emptiness remained indifferent.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
Is this it? My final moments leading me to this place?
The thought curled in his chest like something rotten.
This was death, then. Not fire, nor judgment, nor the embrace of anything beyond—just a stagnant, endless void, a silence so thick it pressed against him from all sides.
El Ritch shuddered. He had wanted to die. Had accepted it. And yet—
"Please, do not be the end. Please."
A presence shifted in the dark.
"You are the boy who escaped me," a voice murmured, soft yet sharp as a drawn blade.
El Ritch spun, breath catching in his throat. A girl stood there, blonde, slight in stature, her blue eyes half-lidded in something that might have been exhaustion—were it not for the way she looked through him, fierce and unblinking.
He stepped back, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Who are you? Where—where are we?"
She tilted her head, as if considering the question. "I am Sagittarius A," she said, and the moment her name left her lips, her voice twisted, breaking into something jagged and raw—like a beast crying in the deep.
El Ritch knew that sound.
The cry of the thing that had hunted him. That had almost killed him.
His stomach twisted. He staggered back, his fingers reaching instinctively for the chipped blade at his side—only to grasp at nothing. Of course. Nothing physical existed here.
"You—" his voice cracked. "You tried to kill me!"
The girl—the beast—shrugged.
"I almost did," she admitted, her tone indifferent. "But those two figures—the male, a plaything of the primordials, and the female, bound by the strings of the world—saved you." She crossed her arms, her gaze unchanging. "I am not here to kill you now. Well I was, at first. But now that I see we cannot kill each other, let us talk."
"I have nothing to give you," El Ritch stated.
Frankly, he did not want to talk to the girl. He was scared of the girl—the beast.
"Oh, but you do," she countered, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "You have much to offer, which is precisely why we should talk. And in return, I will help you get out of the limbo."
There was something unsettling about her—about how easily she spoke, how casually she wore that human mask, unlike his first meeting with the beast when he was with Aldric and Adeline.
"But you must answer fast," she added, tilting her head. "I have measured time."
El Ritch hesitated.
He did not want to speak to her. But the alternative—the thought of being alone in this silent abyss forever—made his throat tighten, made his chest seize with an irrational dread. He did not want to be forgotten here. He did not want to cease.
"Alright," he said, his voice steady despite the fear curling around his ribs.
The girl smiled wider, satisfied. "Both of us will ask one question after the other. A fair exchange," she mused, stepping back slightly. "Why don't we start with introductions?"
She bowed. The motion was stiff, awkward, as though she were mimicking a gesture she had only seen but never performed. Her hands pinched the edges of her gown, lifting it slightly at both sides in a way meant to denote class, yet it felt…wrong. Forced. Unnatural.
"I am Sagittarius A," she said.
El Ritch hesitated again. Should I lie? The thought came and went, but no false name rose to his lips.
"I am…" he exhaled sharply. "...El Ritch. Elphonse Flint Ritch."
His turn.
"Why did you try to kill me?"
Sagittarius A's eyes flickered, something sharp gleaming in their depths. Then, she smiled—an amused, knowing smirk.
"You could have asked how to get out of here, you know?" She scoffed, shaking her head as though disappointed by his lack of foresight. "But to answer your question—"
She paused, glancing downward, as if considering her own words.
"I don't know what I am," she admitted at last.
Well, we both have that in common, El Ritch thought bitterly.
She sighed, tilting her head to the side. "My creator tasked me—or rather, punished me—with understanding what could not be understood. I failed, obviously. And for my failure, I returned here to receive my punishment."
Her expression did not change, but something in her voice wavered.
"But by then," she continued, "my creator had disappeared. And strangely… you were the first thing that smelled like them. So I believed, for a time, that I had rescued you from those two beings. But you were not my creator."
Her smile twisted.
"And at that time, my form was unstable. Forgive the beastly attitude." A shrug. "I wanted to kill you."
She turned away, stepping lightly across the broken debris before perching atop a large, jagged stone as if it were a throne. Her next question came as she sat.
"Why did you smell like my creator before… and why do you not smell like them now?"
El Ritch had no answer. So he gave her the only truth he did have.
He told her everything—everything he knew of himself. That his newest memory was of being a thief, a boy scraping and stealing food with his father. That his oldest memory was one of pain—unbearable, searing, as if his body were melting. That he had no home. That his village—Edhan—had burned.
At the mention of the name Edhan, the girl stilled.
Her body gave a small, involuntary shudder. Her eyes flickered, her lips pressing together for the briefest of moments before she forced her expression neutral.
El Ritch caught it.
"What is wrong?" he asked.
Sagittarius A flicked a hand dismissively. "Nothing," she murmured. "Continue."
She rubbed her eyes, her posture shifting as she leaned forward slightly, listening once more.
But El Ritch had nothing more to give.
"That is all I remember," he admitted. "Except for one thing. Something that may be connected to your creator."
He took a breath.
"If life is a constant search for awareness," he recited, "then what do you find in death?"
The moment the words left his lips, the girl went still.
Her head tilted, her expression unreadable.
And she watched him.
Sagittarius A's gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. The eerie blue of her eyes flickered, like the last embers of a dying fire.
She did not speak at first. Instead, she drummed her fingers against her knee, the slow rhythm filling the silence between them. The weight of her stare pressed against El Ritch like a physical force.
"If life is a constant search for awareness, then what do you find in death?" she murmured, repeating the words as though tasting them for the first time.
El Ritch shifted uncomfortably.
"I do not understand that either," he admitted. "It was told to me, but I never got the answer."
Sagittarius A studied him for a long moment, then exhaled, the sound almost wistful. "A shame," she said. "I had hoped you would know." or would she?
She tapped her temple lightly, lost in thought, before shaking her head. "Well, no matter. You have given me something, so it is my turn to answer your next question."
El Ritch hesitated. He had more pressing concerns—how do I get out?—but his curiosity burned hotter than his fear.
"You reacted when I said Edhan," he pointed out. "Why?"
"Another wasted question," she shrugged. "I do not remember."
A flicker of something—doubt, frustration—passed through him. Liar.
But he said nothing.
"Oh," he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He had expected something more.
A silence stretched between them, not tense, but strangely expectant. Then, out of nowhere—
"Would you like to hear a poem?"
El Ritch blinked.
"A…poem?"
Sagittarius A nodded. "It is a good poem that I wrote, and I am sad that no one ever listened to it."
A strange request. A pointless one. But what else did he have to do?
"...Okay?"
She did not wait for further confirmation. Instead, she closed her eyes, tilted her head just slightly, and recited, her voice soft, melodic, haunted.
"My little knight on the horse white,
Come and save me…
Oh, my sweet knight.
In the tower I stay,
The princess is the witch, they say,
Curses fall upon me, and they take their children away.
Death upon me do they pray.
But I am just a girl,
Who looks upon the sapphire night.
Oh, take me away,
My sweet knight."
When she finished, the silence returned, thick and heavy.
"That…" El Ritch hesitated, searching for the right words. "...was a good poem."
The girl blinked, watching him closely. "You just feel that it is good and nothing more? No feeling under them?"
El Ritch stiffened.
"Why—why would I have any feelings for a poem? That's a stupid question—wait! It was my turn to ask something!" He scowled, realizing too late that she had stolen his question away.
"It was a complimentary suggestion, not a question, really." She smirked, folding her arms. "And why are you blushing? That is weird."
El Ritch stiffened further, suddenly aware of the heat against his ears, the quickening of his pulse.
"I am not blushing," he muttered, but his voice betrayed him, too defensive, too flustered.
Sagittarius A opened her mouth, as if to tease him further, but then—
She gasped, stumbling, her hands reaching blindly as though grasping at something unseen.
"What's wrong?!" El Ritch lurched forward without thinking, catching her before she could collapse. For a moment, he forgot what she was—what she had done—forgot his fear, forgot his caution. His hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her.
Up close, he could see her properly for the first time. The sharpness of her features, the striking blue of her eyes, deep as ocean water yet cold as ice. She was pretty, he realized, strangely mature for someone who seemed his age. She looked at him, and for a brief, flickering moment, he was mesmerized.
Then she pulled away, staggering backward.
"Hey! You promised you'd give the way out!" El Ritch shouted after her, his voice raw with desperation.
She was leaving.
He could not stay here.
The thought of being alone—trapped in this silent, empty place, ceasing to exist in the minds of others—was more terrifying than anything he had ever faced. It was a familiar feeling, he didn't want it to return.
Sagittarius A turned to face him, her expression unreadable, her voice as cold as the void.
"Promise? I said we could ask each other questions, and I could answer a way out. I never promised anything."
El Ritch's hands clenched into fists, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.
"Liar! You are a liar!" he shouted, his voice raw with fury, but she only stood there, watching him as if he were something amusing, something small.
"Evi-dent-ly...?" she answered, drawing out the syllables in slow mockery.
El Ritch felt something boil inside him, something ugly.
"Then everything you said was a lie too!"
Sagittarius A tilted her head, unconcerned. "Are you... trying to... make me angry?" she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. "Because that is certainly not working. And it does not matter to me whether what I said was a lie or not. That is your problem."
He shook his head, feeling the walls close in, the endlessness of this place suffocating him. "This is not fair! You promised!"
She chuckled, the sound sharp and cruel.
"Your tantrum is childlike. Your whole argument breaks down to the point—" she lifted her hands, mimicking his expression in exaggerated mockery, "'You promised!'"
Her smile widened, all teeth and derision. "In what world did you think you could get an answer from me if you didn't put anything of value in return? Trust is the most naive thing a man with a fleeting life can give."
She stepped closer, slow and deliberate, her presence filling the space between them like an approaching storm.
El Ritch's anger, already white-hot, flared further. He was powerless here. Completely at her mercy. And he hated it.
"Makes sense why you don't understand yourself," he spat. "You even lie to yourself, and that's why you have nothing. No friends. No parents. I have all of them."
For the first time, something flickered across her face. Not much—just the faintest tightening of her brow, the smallest shift in her expression. But he saw it. And he knew, then, that he had struck something real.
He didn't have time to react before she lunged.
Her hands shoved him, hard. He stumbled backward, losing his footing. Before he could rise, she was on him, her teeth bared, fangs sinking into his shoulder with a wet squelch.
Pain bloomed, sharp and searing. El Ritch gasped, his body jerking instinctively. He threw up his arm to push her away, but she was stronger than she looked, her grip like iron.
She pulled back, her lips stained red.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice thick with mock sweetness, "'Forget the beastly attitude.'" Her grin widened. "I lied about that too."
Her hands, slow and deliberate, came around his throat.
El Ritch coughed, gasping as her fingers tightened. But she was weak. Too weak.
He could have thrown her off. Could have broken free.
But he didn't.
Not at first.
Because for all her cruelty, for all her lies, she wasn't trying to kill him.
She could have. And she didn't.
"You know, I read you through," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. "You're a naive child, who thinks he has the best of all and cannot be hurt. Guess what? I am drinking your blood now. I will drown in it someday."
She rose to her feet, stepping away, her movements unhurried.
El Ritch coughed, pressing a trembling hand to his bleeding shoulder.
She turned to leave.
"Your self-preservation is the cause of your death," she called over her shoulder. "If you give in, you might just find a way out of here."
And then—
She vanished into the fog.