Like the spokes of a wheel, all the surrounding threads come to the center where the box used to be… and now where the little tree grows. I take a deeper look at each, walking around and ghosting through them, seeing shades of yellow and gold I take to be knights and other people above, and then there are silver strings, some glimmering like rainbows and others tinged with darkness I take to be the fairies.

But the ones that catch my eye the most are black strings that glisten with dread and have clouds of red and bruised blue emotions around them–the Bamshee.

My eyes are drawn away from the black threads to a golden one. It's a pale yellow and as I watch, it slowly fades into flakes of shimmering light and then… that soul is gone. My heart hurts at the loss.

I need to hurry. I have an idea to help the Honour Knights, but first, I need to find out what this guy knows.

A pure onyx thread pulses on the far side, bigger than any except Ran. It's somehow threaded with silver and gold, differing from the pure black Bamshee threads. Clouds of blue and purple and red pulsate around it interspersed with lighter pink, emerald, and jasmin.

I touch it and am immediately embroiled into a darkness so deep it seems to cover me in an oily residue. I take my time, shifting through memories that will haunt my nightmares, until I find what I’m looking for.

~~~

I see a place that feels familiar to the person I inhabit, but it looks very odd to me. All around are curved things. The table, the windows, heck, even the chair is made of circles and spheres instead of the squares and rectangles I’m used to.

A circle about the size of a mirror but gleaming an onyx black takes up one wall, two chairs on either side of it. A table lays in the center with a neat stack of papers and a figurine holding down the papers so they don’t blow away in the breeze coming from the open window.

The man looks away from the figurine and to the onyx mirror before I can get a good look at the four-legged creature.

‘Look back!’ I admonish, but of course, this is a memory, so I’ve no control over where he looks.

“They are in place?” a voice says from the rippling onyx mirror, and I see the being who first spoke to Darshius in that library so long ago. The eyes of this black-cloaked creature burn into the man I’m inhabiting.

“Yes, sire. More will come through the portals soon. The Bamshee are taking care of the animals of the forests; the Leviathon are causing fishery shortages and price increases. The Underground will soon be in our hands. Nobles welcome our assistance with open arms. They have already accepted many into their homes who will advance your vision.”

“Well done, Darshius. Get me the wolf, and you will reign in my stead upon that rotten land. We will remake her in the image of La’Maciago."

A name! We have a name, I think, almost giddy. But then my heart drops... I've never heard of such a place, not even sure what world that might be on. Maybe the library will have answers.

“Thank you, sire. I won’t disappoint you.”

“See that you don’t.”

Darshius looks back to his desk, and I see the figurine again. It’s a Timber Wolf.

He looks back into the onyx mirror… which, in the time he took to look away, has become a mirror in truth, reflecting the man instead of the black portal-like communication device. But the man in the mirror was not the blond-haired Darshius I’m used to seeing.

This man had black hair and eyes of a deep hazel. His eyes were sunken and his lips pursed into a thin line.

Then his face… changes. I would say the mirror is rippling, but no. It’s his face. The ripples begin at his forehead, displacing the dark circles beneath the eyes and inverting his hair until it is a light blond instead of the dark gray.

What is he? I wonder, my heart beating frantically in my chest as I realize I am facing a creature I have no idea how to beat.

~~~

I pull back into his hallway-like mind from the memory, panting. I feel like I’ve ran through the Eternal Woods and then taken a bath in slimy grease. Stinky, sweaty, and greasy. Gross.

I shake it off and prepare once more, then dive back into a different memory… but this time, tendrils of greasy blackness detach from the surrounding deep blackness before I can reach the sphere of memory.

They reach for me like leeches, and they multiply, even as I recoil. One wraps around my leg and I shake it off. It detaches with a sucking sound, leaving a greasy, gooey residue behind. I spin around, dodging grasping tendrils, and jog down one branching hallway after another with those things on my tail.

He knows I’m here.

I run, but everywhere I turn, the sucking, almost tentacle-like darkness tries to drown me in its grasp.

I jerk free, pulling back into myself just before the darkness would’ve eaten me.

And I don’t want to know what would’ve happened if it had.

That’s terribly scary. I don’t ever wanna do that again.

I bend over, sucking deep breaths into my… erm… spiritual lungs, even as everything I learned races through my mind.

They are killing our food. No wonder I couldn't find deer for Ran and even rabbits had grown scarce. I knew fish meat had grown more expensive, but I took no note while I was trying to survive. It seemed like normal inflation.

I shake my head, fear and horror roiling in my gut. This man is more atrocious than I thought. His crimes are deeper than I'd ever imagined.

It’s time to get this man off of my world, one way or another.

He’s deeply embroiled, and there are many more than him infiltrating the highest ranks of my kingdom.

It’ll take time to get the coiling body of the basilisk from where it's embedded itself into Irisia. But right now, I have the head in front of me. And it’s time to cut it off.

~~~

I open my physical eyes, burning with a righteous rage and locking onto the man who’s responsible for bringing chaos and war to Irisia and to my family.

I tap into the dark and oily threads of thought and emotion that are the Bamshee. They are intelligent creatures, but most long for one thing.

Death.

I’d be frightened at the sounds of sword on steel and the grunts of pain from behind me, but numbness already invades from the use of my Gift. Whatever happens behind me, I assume Silver can handle it.

I have much more to do.

The blond man in front scowls, the first form of emotion I’ve seen on his face besides that creepy smile.

But that means little to me in my current state.

All the strings of hate and oiliness from above, those who fight with abandon and crave blood... I try to sever them.

But it doesn’t work. They are stronger than glass gold, even though they are thinner than thread.

I try again, focusing on just one. It takes a mental muscle I’ve never used before to finally break through. It’s similar to the first time you try to cut wire with scissors… it’s hard.

A nudge from Rose and I know what I need to do. A cold grin crosses my face.

Gathering the many dark threads and making sure I have no others is harder than I thought it would be and takes longer than I’d wish, considering the Bamshee are killing Honour Knights and guardsmen at this very moment, the threads unraveling before my eyes.

I can see the savagery and glee in colors of red and blue around the darker threads.

Once they are in lines like good little ducks, and once I’m sure all other threads are out of the way, I imagine a large executioner's blade. I hate it, but they are sharp and heavy, the best I know for this task.

It takes more out of me than I wish to actually lift the thing, and I shiver as it feels like I’ve dunked myself into ice-cold water.

The blade drops, severing the chords of blackness.

More than one body shakes the ground as it drops, sending dirt raining down from the ceiling even this far beneath ground. It seems the Bamshee were bigger than expected.

I feel nothing at the death I caused, only a growing iciness from my core, making goosebumps pop up on my arms and my teeth chatter.

The man in front of me watches with growing alarm... his eyes widen and his face goes slack. I’d almost call that fear in his eyes.

The light builds in front of me as I ask Rose to drop the wall preventing my Gift from reaching me. It’s time I accepted it as the blessing it is, even as I feel the curse thread its numb needles through every pore of my internal matrix.

The instantaneous bombardment of feelings and emotions is indescribable.

It’s a tsunami sweeping me off my feet from every corner of Risia and beyond.

It’s the despair of a childless mother. It’s the seeping fear of a hopeless situation. It’s the brokenness of a... well, of me. I’m broken.

But I’m healing.

And even through the numbness, I can feel the joy of a father holding his son for the first time; the little one’s cries worming their way into his father’s heart. The love of a mother as she watches her toddler share a painting with her tiny six-month-old sibling, the little baby smiling and gurgling his appreciation. The peace and contentment of an elderly woman as she watches her grandchildren running up the drive with wide smiles on their faces, shouting for their grandma.

I open my eyes with a snap, seeing I’m still on my knees, and a gentle smile curls my lips.

“You are done here, son of lies.” My lips move, but my voice does not seem to be my own. It's deeper. Indescribable. Powerful.

Darshius stumbles back, the blood draining from his face until it's ashen, his lips a pale pink and his eyes filled with fear.

“Mercy!” he cries, going to his knees and hiding behind trembling forearms.

“Did you give my children mercy?” The voice booms through my own, so soft in its anger that it’s terrifying—were I able to be terrified.

“Please, I beg of you. I will leave. I will send my people away.”

“I see through your heart, son of lies. I know. Do not tempt my mercy a second time.”

He bows his head to the ground, his brow glistening with sweat.

He stands and steps back, almost tripping over his own feet, and motions to the dark-haired boy beside him to do the same.

The boy watches with awe slacking his features... and something else. He has the fear of his father, but... he also has a longing, a deep want and desire in his eyes for something more. He takes one step toward me before his father grabs his arm and pulls him through a swirling portal.

“It is done,” crosses my lips, caressing my soul.

Well done, my daughter. It is time for you to rest.

My legs loose all feeling beneath me. My arms are numb and seem as if they belong to someone else; yet they burn with an icy coldness that sends sharp spikes of pain from the tips of my fingers to my shoulders.

My head spins and I’m unsure what’s up or down or why colors swirl in a kaleidoscope around me.

Strong, warm arms catch me before I splat against the ground. The heat of his arms almost feels too hot against my cold and clammy skin. “Rest now, Guardian of Risia and Blessed of The King. You and your family are safe. It is indeed done.”