Chapter 123

Breath Held

She appeared like a ghost, with no signs or foretelling noises. Appeared like a phantom and stood silent amidst the ghastly corpses. Sylas forced a grin, realizing once and for all just how far away from her he was. She didn’t actively embody energy, yet his own seemed to wither and die whenever he thought of using it to attack her. There seemed to be a wall that transcended the nature of energy surrounding her, sky-tall, impregnable.

Her eyes were like the piercing spears that saw right through him, though paused on Agnes behind, eyebrows arching and lips pursing into a smile.

“Oh my,” she said softly. “Had I know we were being graced by the Gods’ own, I would have rolled out the drummers and welcomed thee. Then again,” she added. “Your blade seems quite restless, Prophet.”

“...” Agnes, though, didn’t speak, her fingers tightly clutching Sylas’ shirt, shaking.

"My little princess is quite shy, I'm afraid," Sylas said with a peal of boisterous laughter. "So, though beneath you it may be, you'll have to talk to me, I'm afraid."

“You’ve killed one of my favorite creations,” she said, bending over and picking up a few pieces of armor. “I’ve woven a lot of love in these threads. Was one of my first, you know? The Stitch.”

"Ah, I remember my first," Sylas said. "Ria Bekowski. Was the tallest girl in my class, almost fuckin' five-five at fifteen. Insane. Played ball. Both on and off the court, aye. God, she just jumped me after school one day and had her way with me. Told me she'd rip my cock in half if I told anyone. And you know what? I trusted her. Shit, this is the first time I've told anyone that story! Haah, feels good to get it off my chest."

“I’ve never seen your Way before,” she said. “You two pique my interest. Come.”

“... huh?” it was Sylas’ time to stutter with words. “You’re... not going to kill us?”

“What for?” she asked with a faint smile. “It’s still on the table, but I’m far too curious to simply let you walk.”

“Fair enough,” Sylas shrugged and grabbed Agnes’ hand. “Lead the way.”

“How did you find us?” she asked as the two joined her, walking side by side through the misty, fogged streets of the city.

“Business led us north,” Sylas replied. “And we eventually reached the membrane.”

“Was that business perhaps her visions?” she glanced at Agnes.

"No," Sylas shook his head. "Her visions are mostly of me naked--ugh," he groaned in pain as he felt an elbow dent his ribs. "I mean, of us fully clothed with a respective distance between us. Yeah."

“Ha ha ha,” the woman woven in the melody of shadows laughed keenly for a moment. “You two are quite entertaining, aren’t you?”

“We try. What about--” Sylas paused as he suddenly realized... they were no longer in the fog. In fact, they weren’t even in the streets. They weren’t outside, that is. They were in a spherical room, its floor interconnected, obsidian-dyed stone boards that were akin to bridges, forming squares with holes between each that led to darkness down below. Assortment of furniture decorated the room and it was strangely well lit, what with several, silver chandeliers hanging from the far-high ceiling above.

Shelves lay stacked against the half-walls, with books strewn about their parts as well as several desks that stood taut at the half-corners. The woman led them across one of the bridges, over the abyss, and into a small, ported room with a long stride of a table, some three feet long, bedecked in ashen jewels with painted motifs of a skull furbishing its surface.

Waving her right arm gently, three of the chairs that were neatly tucked beneath the desk were pulled out, all in harmony and soundless. She herself sat opposite of the other two, summoning a pair of glasses and a bottle from a nearby shelf the same way she pulled out the chairs. She sat and smiled and indicated with her hand for the two to sit down as well--and they obliged. Agnes still remained frosted and hanging onto him, her head lowered, while Sylas kept smiling.

She poured the both of them red wine, though the kind that sizzled and bubbled as though boiling. Sylas reached for it and held up the glass--unlike the burning hot he was expecting, the glass was chilly, as though made of ice. He took a whiff, his nostrils flaring at the cold touch of the air that burned through his passageways and into his lungs, clearing them up in a moment.

“Kadiak’s flower,” the woman said. “I imagine, among the kingly Emperors of your realm, it would be considered a godly wine. After all, the lovely kadiak,” she said as she seemed to pull something out of the void itself and tinker with it--looking at it, Sylas realized it was a black-hung flower with twelve petals that were all wound counterclockwise. “Grows only in my realm. We’ve often bought your armies and their loyalty through that drink. Baseless, men truly are.”

“... it’s a good wine,” Sylas sighed after taking a sip. Though he was reluctant to admit it, he could see how it would buy armies, especially if sold in large quantities. “Why aren’t you drinking it?”

“Why would the dead drink or feed on anything?” she asked with a smile, letting go of the flower. The latter, eerily, didn’t fall on the table--it defied the force of gravity and remained afloat above the desk, hovering gently back and forth. “Our vanities are indulged elsewhere.”

“... why did you invite us in?” he asked yet again. “You could have easily killed us.”

"You interest me," she replied. "Humans, I'm afraid, do not hold the monopoly on curiosity, despite your kind's projection. I understand you hold many-a-prejudice against my kind, but all I ask for is an open mind."

“Hard to have an open mind toward someone who invaded my home repeatedly and caused countless, pointless deaths,” Sylas replied.

“It’s a war,” she said. “And in war, undue deaths are plenty. We are not your foes, little human.”

“Who is, then?”

“Those who pointed their fingers at you,” she smiled. “One simple truth, little human, about my kind is that we have no business with the living.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” she didn’t seem offended at his outburst, keeping a calm and smiling expression. “We exist within two separate realms, within the same dimension. There is little of desire for humans in our lands, and we are more than happy to trade for what we need from yours. But humans... ah, humans are greedy, petty, angry creatures. They don’t want much of what we have--in fact, I am perpetually more certain that your ilk does not know what we have. They likely believe we still live in leathery huts and hunt half-naked to survive.”

“...”

“The only thing they think we have of value... are soldiers,” she said. “And thus, we sell them soldiers. Armies, ever so often.”

“What about the Well’s opening?” Sylas’ question didn’t seem to surprise her.

“What about it?” she asked back.

“The last time it opened, an Empire fell.”

“... you seem finely versed in history,” she cracked a half-smile, fiddling with the bottle. “But your history is wrong, I’m afraid. Let me ask you something--what do you think the Well’s opening signifies for us?”

“...” Sylas remained silent, noting it was likely a rhetorical question.

“It signifies a birth of our new Emperor,” she explained. “In many ways, it is no different than humans’ coronation ceremonies. We call it Attha-bun, ‘Eve of the Emperor’, and it has nothing to do with the living. I can hardly blame you, however,” she added, leaning back. “You live in a desolate corner, fighting a misted nightmare of a hand that you’ve been dealt, trying to swim through a swamp of lies and mountains of deceit. I cannot give you answers, I’m afraid--in part because I have no reason to, and in part because I myself am ignoble of many.

“For instance, during the last grand war of humans in your corner of the world, many of my kin have indeed been bought. By whom, why, and where they ended up... I haven’t a clue myself. You have seen it yourself, little human. We are not invincible. We aren’t gray shadows creeping up toward the human lands, monsters wanting to swallow you. If you wish to point fingers at anyone, point them at the gods you worship.”

“... you don’t?” Sylas quizzed.

“Just a God," she smiled yet again. "But in their perennial pursuit of entertainment, we are merely tools of ambition. You, me, yours, and my Emperors. Even their own child, that little Prophet by your side. A long, long, long ago, before the realms were cleaved and separate, she would have been much, much more. Ask yourself this--in a world of sublime magic, why is there so little diversity for your kind? Why is all magic... almost exactly the same? Wars are mirrored--like how a poet's description of a destructive force mirrors his own life."

“You’re quick to hand out pointless hints,” Sylas sighed and took a sip of wine. “I’m tired of those. I’ve plenty of hints. Yet, how come I still know fuck all about this world? Tell me at least what’s the Imporium’s Cairn.”

"Oh? Where'd you hear that one? Curious. Quite curious."

“So, you know what it is?”

“It is a--well, it used to be a Wayward of Worship,” she replied. “A delicately-woven bridge connecting your world to Gods’.”

“...”

“...”

“I ain’t gonna get anything more, am I?”

“Mull over it,” she said.

“Haaah, there’s a higher chance it seems of a porcupine fucking my ass than there is of anyone giving me a straight answer. Fine, I’ll mull over it. Thank you. Right, can you sell me--or, well, loan for now ‘cause I’m fucking broke--a few bottles of these?”

"Have at it," she chuckled, summoning a whole basket of them. "You intrigue me, little human. Just as how your kind uses mine as mercenaries, I'd like to use you as well. I'd pay you handsomely."

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“... there is a group of humans that are capable of entering my realm without detection,” she said. “They sneak in and kidnap some of our... important ones. If you could be so kind to locate them for me, I’d be more than happy to hand you enough wine to buy yourself an Empire.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “How do I find you? Do I just come back?”

“Do knock next time,” she laughed as she waved her arm, summoning a sea of mist to swallow the two of them. “Good luck, little human.”

Sylas desperately forced his eyes open and saw the trees rise around him--she’d somehow sent them out completely, back into the forest, just near the membrane. He sighed and looked at his feet where he saw a basket of bottles sitting there.

“She’s dangerous,” he mumbled into his jaw and looked up to the sky. Wayward of Worship, huh? Champion of Gods... destroying the Cairn... but why would they destroy it? Are those shadowy thingies in the anti-gods faction or something? Fuck... I’m getting a headache again...