“This is my final message to all those beneath the sky. I am Alvah and I am alive.” Those words boomed from above a few weeks before. The night had been filled with a cacophonous symphony.

That message invited trouble to Itxaro’s village. Titanic monstrosities strode past the settlement as they made their way westward in response to the call within the day it rang out. Before the next day was over, they returned.

Two lives were spent in as many days and now a third had been snuffed out before it began. In her village there were thirty-eight adults, four youngsters including herself, and ten not yet born. If the pattern continued Itxaro’s community of fifty-two would become fifty-one.

The chamber Itxaro often found herself in stank of blood. It was too late this time before she even arrived. For all the screaming and struggle that preceded, silence reigned. All she could do in the end was collect a tiny corpse in both hands.

She had performed this role since she was five and lived for almost twice as many years since then. Still, this part was something she had yet to grow accustomed to.

“Dispose of it,” her grandmother instructed to which Itxaro replied with a simple nod. The village elder regarded the woman who was still breathing heavily in the center of the chamber. “You did your part. You can rest now.”

The elder possessed the same chestnut brown hair as Itxaro though while the elder’s eyes were indisputably blue, the granddaughter’s eyes were light enough to be considered grey. Within the village, almost everyone had blue or even grey eyes with some variant of black or brown hair.

Stress from the titans’ untimely arrival led to a stillbirth. The baby was not due for another three months. The blood had not been cleaned from it, leaving it in a strange dark shade of pink.

Even with this loss, she still had ten expecting mothers under her care. That was her duty as the elder’s granddaughter. She dealt with the mundane matters while her predecessors initiated her into more complex ceremonies. Many of such ceremonies had been dedicated to appeasing the gods but those times were over.

The titans had been a part of the world since the downfall of the gods about three centuries prior. After the gods were gone, the Great Ones turned their attention on humanity.

The only Great One Itxaro was intimately familiar with for herself was Atp’mte the One that Accepts but evidence of the others were available if she was willing to stray too far. East of the forest were barrens and even through the forest itself to the north was a swave of land where one left nothing but a path of pure death. Fortunately, forests were accustomed to loss, forest fires heralded rebirth.

From west to the east, that cursed place had been stripped clean of life, not even hidden seeds or burrowing insects were spared. Itxaro’s mother and grandmother had let it be, when the deceased fauna and flora rotted, the nutrients were at least returned. It was clear where it happened, the tree line was far lower where younger foliage replaced the old.

To the west was a mountain range where a strange crystalline humming could be heard in the distance. Itxaro was sent from home for a few days to investigate what it was that drew the Great Ones that way. All she had to report was the sounds that used to ring out from there had gone quiet. The silence terrified her.

An oddity of the Forest was that some of the trees’ leaves turned a reflective silver instead of brown when the seasons began to become more cold. It was the middle of fall but barely any leaves littered the ground. Instead the strange silver leaves caught the light of the sun, making the forest seem to be ablaze in both morning and sunset.

She ventured south into the forest surrounding the village. She had been taught to leave the body out for the animals but the thought of coming across the bones on a later day disturbed her. One that had not lived did not earn a mound. It was a reasonable outlook her grandmother and mother both held to but Itxaro quietly disagreed.

Her grandmother was over nine hundred years old. Her mother learned all her secrets so it was Itxaro’s turn to learn all there was to know. Then she was supposed to have her own daughter once her own mother reached the age when death drew near.

Itxaro was midwife of the settlement as she was old enough to perform the duty yet young enough to not be distracted by greater responsibilities. If she was not busy with her duty as she often was, she was busy with lessons or foraging for materials.

If she did not think, she could hear the forest. She could sense the disturbance the grass found her footsteps to be, the shrubs wanting her to leave so her shadow no longer blocked the sun.

Plants screamed when they were hurt. It was something Itxaro tried not to think about as she stepped on anything. She found if she pushed tree branches aside lightly enough, it was little different from them being at the mercy of the wind. At least that much, they did not mind.

She treated the plants the same she did ants. She found no guilt in harming them but she did not do so purposefully, the way she would not disturb an antmound for nothing yet did not keep her eyes out for those along her path.

She did not hunt but she needed to know her way with a bow in case she encountered a beast. Her arrows were made from the shoots of winter-fire dogwood shrubs. Her ancestors found such a plant sacred, though the berries were not good for humans, animals enjoyed them and the birds would pick the dogwood clean rather than disturb their crops. In winter, it provided a fine sight when the leaves fell and the stems turned red for winter.

That was not to be confused with the also precious cherry dogwood shrub that was akin to a small tree that offered sustenance for people. Cherry dogwood was more useful, the dark branches provided excellent wood for tools like her bow.

She found a stream and followed it west to an alder tree. It’s roots formed a tangled net over the wet bank and its serrated leaves flowed downstream when caught by the water.

She dug into the wet soil between the roots. The ground molded to her touch and the tree remained silent though she disturbed the fish that took shelter beneath it.

She was told in olden days that such trees could bring the dead back to life. She had not witnessed such a miracle in her own lifetime though. Now, it could provide her people with dyes. She promised not to ever use this tree, to color her clothes with it would be the same as clothing herself in the flesh of the dead.

She made her way back but halted suddenly. Above the rushing of the stream, she could hear words from where she came. She crouched and listened as she quietly resumed to make her way back.

A man’s voice drifted into her ears. “I promise I will dance once my leg is healed.”

On the other side of the stream was a stranger. She went completely still and silent the moment she caught sight of him. He stopped talking as he cupped his hands together to gather water and drank from them. By some trick of the light, one of his eyes seemed a brilliant blue that contrasted his dark hair and other eye.

He was not from around. The thick forest canopy provided constant shade yet his complexion was bronzed from the sun and he had the muscles of a laborer rather than the agile build of a hunter. He was not young but he did not seem old, at the tipping point just before age began to show.

His clothes were so old they seemed new. It was pieced together and patched that she would not be surprised if nothing remained of the original article yet it was done so artfully she could sense the sentiment. The only thing that did seem to be that way was his girdle. There was little one could do to restore a belt. Attached to the belt was a satchel that may or may not have been newer than the garment, its design more practical and not quite as tenderly restored.

He had a rudimentary brace around his right leg made from a pair of sticks tied together by cloth. None of his clothes seemed torn so it might have been made from some spare or discarded material.

She had not moved, she could have sworn she had even held her breath but his head suddenly turned towards her. The trick of the light went away and both of his eyes matched.

His face twitched and his lips formed into a number of expressions ranging from surprise and disbelief to joy as if he was unsure of how he felt before quickly settling on a jubilant yet awkward smile as if he was indeed happy but had forgotten how to properly smile. He pressed his hand to his nose. “Greetings,” he called out.

This was the first outsider she had ever met. Some thought there were no humans left but her grandmother insisted there were other survivors out there. Her instructions were clear, assess to see if he was dangerous. If he was not, bring him home. If he was, return home and let the adults deal with him.

She froze for a moment before she raised a hand to mimic his gesture. It was a way of greeting from long ago. Her mother taught her manners before matters of the arcane. “Greetings. Do you have a name, sir?”

He gave her a long pause. “People in my homeland called me Zibin.”

She did not like the way he hesitated. She looked around. If he was so protective of his own name, she doubted he would give her a decent answer to who he had been talking to.

“I am Itxaro,” she replied as she approached him.

His right calf was swollen and his shin was covered in faded brownish yellow bruises and one noticeable wound where a bone broke through the skin and the flesh had not had time to be restored.

That made her feel more secure. If he was a danger, she could at least outrun him. Then again, he might not truly be human but some monstrous trap.

If he was mortal. She could easily gather some comfrey leaves to treat his injury, it was simple enough to find those bell-like flowers. If she was at home, she could have made a compress. All she would have needed to do was brew some herbal tea, let it cool, then soak a cloth into it.

She did not have the time to make comfrey oil. She would need to dry out the leaves and wait weeks for them to soak.

She might as well ask who he was with, give him a chance. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, you heard that?” he inquired. “I fear it is a habit for those wandering alone to talk to themselves.”

That made sense. She only heard one voice and he did not seem dismissive of her concern. She got even closer.

A walking stick of red with a purple hue rested beside him. It reminded her of a shepherd's staff like the ones her ancestors would have used in olden days. It had an aroma to it.

“Cedar,” she identified. “It represents strength though it is one of the softer hard woods so it is easy to craft.”

He glanced at his support for a moment and his eyes returned to her with a smile. “Ah, I just needed a walking stick but I liked how such trees were sacred in my land though the ones I’m familiar with were different. They provided decent structural wood back home.”

That his clothes were in such great condition, she might think he had experience sewing and his knowledge on the quality of wood from his him might make her think he was a forester. His tan was something he could have acquired in the chaos this tumultuous time brought.

“What is your profession?”

"I would like to think of myself as a gardener."

"You garden?"

"I did until recently. It was once an interest of mine and these trying times turned it into a necessity. You seem more knowledgeable of their meaning. My greatest concern was their fruit and beauty."

“Where are you from,” she asked.

“From near the center of the continent but to the southwest, a place scarce of trees but plentiful of crops.”

It sounded like he was far from home. They were north and east of the center if her people's estimates were correct.

She turned her attention to his leg. “I would recommend oak like you used with your brace,” referring to his walking stick. “It is reliable and also symbolizes strength and is durable.”

He went quiet, his attention drifted elsewhere for a moment as if listening for something.

He took the stick in his hand and examined it. “I am afraid I like this as it is. If I have to, I will find a way to reinforce it.” He started to lift himself.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Let me look at your leg before you put any weight on it.”

“You know about both plants and medicine?”

“I know plants because I know about medicine.”

“Still, you’re quite knowledgeable,” he observed as he settled himself into a comfortable position. “I am not about to reject help from a fellow human.”

She kneeled beside him and rested her hand on his lower leg. She winced in sympathy at what he should have felt. Everything below the knee and above the ankle had been ruined.

“It appears both your tibia and fibula were shattered then healed only for you to let fractures form in the old breaks.”

He said nothing to confirm or deny. If she had to make a guess, each bone was broken into at least three separate pieces. His muscles also showed signs of tearing. During the time of the injury, it would have been utterly impossible for him to walk in such a state. Even now he should be in agony every time he put weight on his right leg.

“You should not be able to walk at all,” she concluded. “You should have rested until it fully healed.”

“But I had to. Maybe I could have found a place with berries and shelter available but I could not bring myself to stay still.”

Itxaro imagined trying to survive in the wilderness alone with such an injury. He had to worry about starvation, exposure, and wild beasts.

“How did you break your leg like this?”

He looked away as if ashamed. “I was being foolish.”

The bones seemed partially healed yet the flesh where those bones cut through seemed less than a month old. It made no sense.

“When did you break it?”

A spark of blue danced across his right eye as he formed a half-smile. “Would you believe a few weeks ago?”

She paused. “Yes… maybe no… How did the bones heal this way?”

“Magic,” he answered bluntly.

“If you are a powerful enough mage to mend your bones why didn’t you-“ she stopped herself. It made sense. He would not have been able to walk at all without using magic but he probably abstained from going further to avoid aberrations. Her grandmother insisted one was not to use spells unless absolutely necessary.

She never had the misfortune to examine an aberration but she was confident from his flesh and bones to be a human. It was his eye that concerned her. There were two things he could be, a mage as he claimed or a liar. She needed to bring him home if there was anything to be done. This was not something that could be treated with some quick preparation of tea then ignored.

“My home should have medicine available for you,” she offered as she stood. She patted her own shoulder. “I will help you get there. Lean on me and keep your leg lifted.”

He grunted as he adjusted himself and balanced himself on his walking stick. “Are you sure? I am a stranger. Even in these days where there are few of us left, you need to be careful who you trust.”

“The same can be said to you,” she countered. “Do you trust me?”

His smile seemed more natural now but it still seemed a bit odd like the expression itself hurted him. “Yes, I do.”

She helped him walk to the village. He was remarkably heavy. She was shorter than him so he needed to use his walking stick to stop his weight from being unevenly piled onto her.

When they reached the fringes of the village, they were greeted by the two men of the settlement. She explained the matter to them and they took him from her. They seemed wary of the outsider but his condition reassured them.

The villagers wore clothes of either linen or goat wool. Only the men wore animal hide and that was for when they hunted.

The village was in a clearing made from a set of hills to the north and west. A majority of the was on a faint incline on the eastern side to avoid the water that streamed down and escaped to the south with only some hugging the side of north hill. A few buildings rest on the safe side of the west hill where angles were too steep to form streams. Somewhat in the center of everything was a well. On top of the north hill were only only two structures.

Itxaro led them to her home. Her house was the largest and the highest on the north hill. Beside it was the birthing chamber.

“Elder Itxaro,” Itxaro called out to the doorway. “I bring a visitor from afar.”

“I thought your name was Itxaro,” Zibin stated, still supported by his escort.

Itxaro’s grandmother stepped out. “My name is Itxaro as well as is my daughter’s, this child’s mother.”

“How should I address you?” Zibin asked.

“I am called Elder Itxaro and my daughter is Lady Itxaro. You can simply call my granddaughter Itxaro.”

"Where I am from, one can earn quite a number of names but I know of customs where a single name is shared."

“We can discuss such details later. First, come in.”

The home had five rooms. The largest room was the one they stepped into, meant for them to speak with visitors. To the left were two rooms, her grandmother’s private chambers and Itxaro and her mother’s shared quarters. To the right was the room where all the ingredients for medicine and other things were kept. Further to the back was a room with a hole in the roof to let smoke escape through.

The men placed Zibin on a pillow set aside for visitors.

“Make yourself comfortable," the elder welcomed. "While I speak to my granddaughter for a moment."

The elder went to the storeroom and beckoned her granddaughter to follow with a hooked finger.

“Tell me everything, dear," the elder whispered once the door was shut.

Itxaro omitted nothing, his condition, his claim that he was a mage. She mentioned his suspicious behavior like how he talked to himself and it seemed like there was someone else there.

“His name is Zibin?”

“So, he says. He took too long to give me that name.”

“Zibin was the name of a prince from a foreign land in a previous age, a very very long time ago. Maybe it is coincidence but you were correct to suspect him.”

Her grandmother began to collect a number of dried herbs. “Start boiling some water, dear. We will be making our guest some tea. Use the porous pot in this case.”

Itxaro made a basket of leaves and went back through the main room to reach the one in the back. She exchanged minor courtesies with the guest as she went past.

In the back, she lit the firepit. She placed the leaf basket in a large bowl and poured water into it. The earthenware absorbed the water if it was not glazed but the leaves kept the water and added flavor. She put the bowl directly into the flames.

While she waited for the water to boil, her grandmother stepped in. “I examined him myself. Your diagnosis was correct. I told him we are preparing him a remedy.”

“Is he really a mage like you?” Itxaro inquired.

“Maybe he is or rather... maybe he was. The way he healed was unnatural, it put a lot of stress on his body yet he seems to have a weaker sense of pain than he should.”

“Does that mean something?”

“That is among the symptoms of a husk,” her grandmother clarified.

Itxaro frowned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him then. I thought bringing him might help.”

“It is fine, dear. We do not know for certain if he is worthless to us yet.”

Itxaro noticed some of the ingredients gathered were not medicinal, particularly powerful mushroom extract among other things such as black kernels of ergot, a parasitic fungus that could be found among wild grass. “You said not to use magic unless necessary. It draws their attention.”

Her grandmother mixed the ingredients into a concoction. “This is necessary dear because one of them might already be among us and this potion as it is, is no more magic than a pile of sticks is a fire. It has all the components, it just hasn’t been started yet.”

Itxaro distracted herself with the now boiling water over the fire. “Will it hurt him?” She removed the bowl and poured some of it into a cup.

“Do not fear my dear. It is the same potion we used back home to free our spirits so we could fly,” the elder explained as she placed shavings of dark dogwood bark into the water. That part was indeed appropriate for the treatment. “Maybe if he was already bathed in ritual oils and the spell was done, his soul might slip out but all it will do in this case is expel anything inside that is not native to his body by making his mind too strange for even them to stay in.”

“And if he is just a man?”

“He will have visions and be in a waking dream for a while.” Her grandmother dripped the potion slowly into the herbal tea. The two formulas blended together into an ominous deep orange. “Be more worried for if there is something else in him. We might have to use some magic then but before that… You remember how to use this, right dear?”

Her grandmother passed her a bag of white powder. “I remember.”

She just needed to throw the powder on her target. Hopefully, her grandmother would be able to finish it.

“Remember dear, if I somehow fail to drive it out, aberrations have bodies but lack souls. They have no hearts to damage, aim for the eyes and limbs and whittle away at them until they can heal no more and fade out of existence.”

“But keep a safe distance as well,” Itxaro added paraphrasing a prior lesson. “If it gets the chance to feed on someone, it can recover.”

"Correct," the the elder confirmed approvingly.

Itxaro prepared herself and her grandmother some tea as well before dowsing the flame. They joined their guest who had been waiting patiently in the main room. They offered him his brew.

“What is this?” he asked

“Dogwood tea to help relieve the pain,” Itxaro answered. “Mixed with-“ She was not sure what else she should tell him.

“With some medicine to help strengthen bones,” her grandmother completed for her. “The dogwood should help with the taste.”

He lifted the cup to his mouth and breathed in the steam. “Thank you.” His expression was neutral. He then took a large sip and swallowed. If it had not been hot, Itxaro could see him taking it all in one gulp.

After that, he slowly savored it. Zibin struck a conversation with Itxaro’s grandmother but Itxaro remained silent as her heart raced. Her anxiousness made time difficult to keep track of, instead she watched for the symptoms that would begin to express themselves in half an hour. Both Itxaro and her grandmother abstained from drinking.

His pupils slowly began dilating. He put down his cup and steadied his head in a sign of dizziness. Drowsiness and weakness were other possibilities and it would be difficult to discern if he was having trouble concentrating without testing him.

He scratched at his chest. Underneath his shirt some bandages were revealed. Then, his right eye turned a steady blue. He seemed to notice that, he covered his eye and mumbled something to himself.

A black substance slipped through his fingers and he fell face first on the floor, motionless.

“Another husk eaten from the inside out,” her grandmother confirmed. “Just a body, no mind, no soul.”

The substance slipped out from underneath him. It started as a shapeless mass like a blob of ink the size of an adult heart then came the teeth as it violently swelled in mass. A circular mouth like a leech with multiple rows of sharp dagger-like teeth the length of Itxaro’s fingers emerged and encompassed the entire width of the frontside of its body as it lengthened. It appeared ready to take a serpentine shape but then sprouted limbs.

Its mouth shrank and centered itself on a newly growing head while the blackness in the middle lightened as it took on a blue hue. What Itxaro thought was blood flowered from the back of its head but whatever it was became solid and divided into strands of red hair.

A mismatched pair of eyes, one red and one blue peaked from the darkness that was its face and from there the whites of its eyes seemed to leak and spread across the rest of its body, granting it pale skin.

What appeared now was a slender woman in a simple blue dress. One might think her form was based off of some ideal image if not for the reddened left eye and the patch of discolored skin surrounding it. She leaned forward on her knees, balancing herself on the knuckles of one hand.

“What did you do to him?” the aberration shouted. It had an almost singsong voice but beneath that was a deep resonating tone that stayed in Itxaro's skull.

She could talk? Of course she could talk. She was speaking while she was in the man’s body.

The sight left Itxaro disgusted yet entranced. “Do it, dear!” her grandmother shouted to break her out of her stupor.

Itxaro hesitated. The thing looked human yet she was not. The strange woman’s posture reminded Itxaro more of a cornered animal ready to strike than any human.

She threw the powder all the same. The aberration barely seemed to care as she became coated in white. Some of the powder got on the man’s body as well.

The thing’s eyes focused on Itxaro, stood and trudged towards Itxaro, she raised a hand as her fingers writhed bonelessly like snakes. “Answer me!” she screamed as her fingers stretched towards the young woman.

“Keep your distance!” her grandmother exclaimed as a warning to both Itxaro and the monster as she placed herself between them, still holding her cup. The elder addressed the aberration, “That form. Are you an allu? The poor fool must have invited you into his mind.”

“Allu?” the monster seemed to recognize the word but took some offense to it even as she calmed for a brief moment to say that word. “Allu! I am no mere allu!” She made a single theatrical spin. “I am his entire world.”

“You are just a parasite,” the elder retorted. “Just a cluster of desire. Now, begone with you.” She splashed the water at the aberration’s face but the thing raised an arm to block it. The liquid sizzled wherever it contacted the powder. False flesh bubbled and sloughed off to reveal multicolored darkness where muscle and bone should be.

Itxaro could not help but gasp. That powder burned hotter than fire. It should have at least eaten away the limb. Even her grandmother seemed surprised at their enemy’s resilience.

What came from the aberration’s mouth was a sweet whisper yet the words reached their ears as if she was right beside them. “Was that supposed to hurt me or kill me?” She looked at the exposed blackness in the outline of an arm with bubbling remnants of false flesh still clinging on with more annoyance than alarm. “It does not matter. Getting between a lion and her prize is how fools die.”

Her left eye wept blood as her teeth extended into fangs. The darkness became golden and formed fur as her arm returned as some mix of hand and beast paw. She clawed her hands as she dropped to all fours. Her hair turned a golden brown and clung to her body like fur.

The aberration resembled a lion. Not a maned boisterous lion, no, a female. Males roared and ruled, it was the females that hunted and killed.

The aberration roared like the beast she imitated. “A quick death would be too good. I will break every bone, tear every nerve, then drag you screaming into the wilderness so the Great Ones can have you.”

For an instant fear filled the elder’s eyes but rather than despair, she began to chant. The beast lunged at the elder as soon as the words began to leave her the caster’s mouth.

Itxaro watched in horror as her grandmother was pushed to the ground and the lionwoman prepared to bring her jaws around the old woman’s throat. Itxaro reflexively threw the contents of her cup. She misjudged her aim and the liquid headed towards the man.

To Itxaro shock, in the blink of an eye, the aberration placed herself between Itxaro’s attack and the man. The right side of the aberration’s head took the brunt of it. She defended the man?

The monster looked at her with a face that was half gone. Her remaining red eye narrowed in rage.

What looked like fingers dug their way out of the darkness that once was her face like poor souls that were buried prematurely trying to reach out.

The man groaned and all attention went to him. “Oh, so there is some of him left,” her grandmother observed as she got back up.

The aberration touched the burning side of her ruined facade and frowned. She turned into a mass of shadow and the powder fell from her. A moment later, she reconstituted herself as she was when she first appeared before she had been first harmed.

She turned the man over so his back rested on her lap to hold him semi-upright. “Are you alright, Alvah?”

Itxaro lost the will to fight to that display and the familiar name. She looked to her grandmother for guidance but the elder seemed lost for words as well.

“I think you… leaving was too much of… a shock for me,” the man breathed. “I am fine for now but I can feel it… it is about to get worse. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts.”

“You brought an aberration into our home,” Itxaro’s grandmother accused. Her voice was cold.

He did not move his head, simply stared at the woman holding him. “You mean you can see and hear her?”

“Yes,” Itxaro replied.

Water gathered on the edge of his eyes. “That is wonderful,” he nearly cried.

“What?” Itxaro mouthed in confusion.

“Do not try to understand his reasoning, dear,” the elder comforted her as she backed away from the two outsiders and held out an arm to push her further back as well.”

“Why?” the man began. “Why did you poison me?”

“We needed to see if you were human,” the elder answered.

“Are you satisfied?”

“For now,” the elder replied. “It is not fatal so you will just have to weather through it.”

The door slammed open as Itxaro’s mother rushed in. “There was a roar! What has happened here?” Lady Itxaro was said to be the striking image of the elder when Itxaro’s grandmother was taller. Itxaro estimated that her mother was at least taller than her grandmother even if the diminishment that came with age was considered.

“The crisis has passed,” the elder reassured before repeating herself. “For now.”

The aberration bared her still human teeth like an animal at the sight of the lady.

“Please, forgive them Desdomena,” the man begged. “I was wary of you when we met.”

“You did not try to poison me.”

“I would have if I had the opportunity.”

Desdomena hugged his head. “No, you would not have.”

*****

The two outsiders made no sign to move from their spot. The more time passed, the less they seemed to regard those around them. Not even the aberration was noticably reacting to their host.

The elder gestured for both of her future successors to follow her. In the elder’s private room, the grandmother and granddaughter explained everything that transpired.

“It said his name was Alvah?” the lady asked for clarification. “The one that brought these troubles upon us?”

“Perhaps but if we act unwisely, further troubles will befall us,” the elder stated.

“He needs to leave. First he summons the titans, now he brings a lesser one into our homes.”

“Even if we wanted him gone at this very moment, we would have to resolve matters with that thing watching over him.”

“How about we banish it like others?”

“Usually an aberration desperate enough to possess a husk is weak but not that one. If we perform any rituals without proper preparation, someone will die.”

“So, what are we to do?”

“Make him feel welcome and allow him to stay while he heals,” the elder instructed. “The thing seems to at least obey him and he was reasonable enough to have her stand down even while his mind was starting to go adrift but we can not know how they would react if we try to force them out. If all goes well then we will some use out of him. All we have to do is host for him for a month at most. If all transpires as it should, only half that.”

Normally it should take two months to even heal from a hairline fracture. He suffered complete breakage in multiple bones. Maybe his magic put his leg back into place but it would take longer than a month to fully heal.

“We can’t trust a liar. He gave my daughter a false name. He must be plotting something himself.”

“We will have to handle that when it comes,” the elder decided.

“I am not sure he lied about his name,” Itxaro interjected, adding to the conversation for the first time since she finished explaining her story. “He said to you, grandmother, that where he is from they can earn multiple names, I think Zibin is not a lie. He told me he was talking to himself, that was a lie but he if he is a mage, he was honest about that. If he is not a mage, he is entirely a liar but if he is one, maybe he was just being cautious.”

“Either way, we should not have him in this house for long,” the elder concluded. “Clean the birthing chamber, dear.”

Itxaro had to scrub the blackened bloodstains from the floor until it was spotless. The chamber was simple, just a single circular room so such details were easy to notice. She had not cleaned it yet due to her encounter with the visitor so the blood had time to darken. She brought a bowl of herbs to burn to vanquish the lingering smell.

Just as she finished, she heard a scream of unbridled terror coming from her home. She rushed to her house where the noise continued to come from and found the man struggling in the abberration’s arms. Her grandmother stood nearby.

“So, he’s having a bad reaction,” the elder observed quietly.

“How long is he going to be like this?” Desdomena yelled over his frantic shouting. Zibin, Alvah, or whoever he may be did not seem like he was trying to escape her grasp as much as he was trying to run away from whatever was in front of him. Desdomena’s lower body was that of a serpent to hold his legs in place.

The elder did not raise her voice. “It can last half a day so at least the rest of the night.”

He was shouting so loud, it seemed like the echoes of his words in her ears failed to leave before the next ones could be processed. However, there was a word or rather a name he repeated, Amirit.

Amirit? That was an infamous name. Amirit the First of the Titans, the one that began the downfall. It was Amirit that devoured her people’s own deities.

Itxaro went to the room in the back. He poured the remaining water from the heated bowl into a cup and returned to the main room.

She crouched as she held out the cup to Desdomena. “He needs plenty of water,” she informed the aberration. She looked at the frenzying man and was relieved he had the powder removed from him at some point.

“Give me that!” Desdomena snatched it from her hands. The aberration drank some of the beverage and rolled it around her tongue.

A long moment passed as their eyes met. The aberration spat what it took back into the cup and shared it with her captive. “Thank you,” the thing said grudgingly.

The night passed with much drama unfolding. His terror turned to paranoia. Desdomena needed to stay by his side so Itxaro volunteered to at least bring them more water whenever they needed it.

“Maybe I want you to be real so much I created this fantasy,” he rambled. “Or maybe you are playing another trick on me. Maybe these are my final moments, the imaginings of a dead man.”

“If he vomits, do not fear,” Itxaro found herself interrupting. “That sometimes happens.”

The two ignored her presence. She was not even sure if the man was aware of his surroundings.

“There is no Amirit,” Desdomena soothed him. “There is only me. Nothing else is real.”

“Are even you real? Are you just a hallucination? Am I still in that city, alone?”

She grabbed the sides of his head with both hands and turned him to face her.

“Look at this eye, Alvah. Is it not real or are you looking for an excuse for what you did? All that transpired between us, even the falsehoods are true.”

She pressed her finger against the center of his chest. “And if that is not enough for you…” He gritted his teeth. “Still sore? That pain is proof enough we are here.”

He seemed a bit calmer but was still not in his right mind. “You are right, Desdomena.”

The aberration licked her lips. “Now, let me eat those lingering doubts of yours.”

“Please don’t,” he begged. “If I can not doubt you then I can not have faith in you.”

“Faith? Faith in what?” she led him. “What am I, Alvah?”

“You are everything. You are insanity and clarity, poison and remedy as one.”

Desdomena smiled widely. “Correct. All that you are seeing is just me.”

Itxaro fell asleep watching those two.