Skin dark and glimmery like a piece of polished amber, a voice completely devoid of emotion and two eyes shining with the golden light of the Old Gods… These are the marks of the Man of Stone, the Eternal Wanderer, the only survivor of the Towers’s Falling. He is a mysterious figure who can appear in any place: from the beautiful gardens of Xanadu to the dusty tables of a lost pub in some town forgotten by time. His travels follow no logical sense, no defined route, and whenever he leaves there is no trace to be found, ever.

But this is not why we remember him, his appearance is of no concern and his elusive nature wouldn’t matter to anyone if not for what he knows. Wonderous medicine, miraculous feats of science and technology! Wherever he appears, he reveals to some unlucky sod secrets that no one is ready to learn or understand… and calamity often follows those who heed his words and try to put them to practice.

The tales are long and impressive, of supposed “apprentices” to Mustafá’s teachings showing a fraction of his abilities and capitalizing heavily on them, only for their folly to arrive oh so suddenly and having entire villages burned or broken down to pay the price for their disrespect to Magic itself.

For magic is no longer the property of humans: it belongs to demihumans, spirits and the echoes of the Gods.

Of course, Mustafá does not care: for he is not mortal. People swear they have seen him survive blasts of fire without even flinching, poison has no effect on his body! Blades bend and break when trying to pierce through his skin, hammers shatter to dust when touching his head. He is simply indestructible, a force of nature that humanity cannot stop.

The last echoes of the Age before the Silence, here to continue to haunt and torture mankind forevermore, never allowing the taint of Magic to ever truly fade from our story.

Gabrielle’s eyes were wide open, her mouth shut and her hands restlessly playing with the dirt of the floor while Baraqiel spoke. She was trying her absolute best to not interrupt him, but there were simply too many questions pushing each other in her mind, just begging to be answered.

“What secrets does he know!? How does he do those things!?”

They say that he holds in his hands the power of Immortality, the cures to all sort of diseases and maybe even their causes! With a motion of his hands and a sign of his fingers he commands the elements to his will! Nothing can ever stop his perversion of nature!

Bookburners, inquisitors and all manner of bounty hunters have tried and failed to give chase to Mustafá, to capture him and kill him, erase him forever so our world can rest! But Mustafá refuses to yield… and there are some who feel inspired by his very nature, by his strive to continue following the path they chose, consequences be damned.

The girl’s mouth hung open.

“And he uses those powers for evil!?”

Those powers are evil, Gabrielle. Those powers were not meant to be held by any, magic was forbidden by the Gods because humans abused it in the past, and now–

“That’s not true. Father says that the Gods took magic to test humanity’s resolve.”

Well, the Demiurge isn’t exactly the sort of person who tells the truth, right?

Gabrielle fell silent, the kid had a point.

Now. Let me tell you more, because after what happened last night I think I understand what the stories were about after all. Because I saw this power, I felt it inside of me! I was cursed with it by the Demiurge and last night… remember that storm?

The little girl nodded eagerly. Yes, she did remember it vividly.

I think I may have been the one to call its last thunder strike.

There was a loud gasp. Gabrielle covered her mouth and shook her head, very softly whispering.

“No… Are you really sure?”

Our narrator shook their head as well, crossing their arms and letting out a soft huff.

I am not. I barely remember what happened that night, but I do remember the feeling of light, and warmth. I remember the energy pushing through me as an idea came to my mind, and I could just feel it in my skin. As they narrated, Baraqiel carefully slid a finger on the now drying floor, making several lines and points. They could vividly remember that rune in their mind, and just by trying to draw it they could already see it again: waiting in a warm, sealed side of their heart.

Three points, connected by lines and then converging into a single path. The last line they drew, the one crossing that path, felt heavy for some reason: capital and final, it was an ultimatum, the closure of a path that would not be walked upon anymore. Never again.

This is what I saw in my head, what I still can see… maybe this is what Mustafá uses, this “Rune”, as the Demiurge said. This is also what he wants. And what he must never get. I do not know how it is used or why it came to me when it did, but now that I have it, I will die before giving it to him.

That much I promise.

Gabrielle nodded with stern determination, staring and memorizing that strange rune as well. Of course, it was easy to make these sorts of promises without really experiencing the looming threat of certain, sudden death… but Baraqiel’s energy was quite contagious, and Gabi was already more than decided to follow her friend down the path to Hell.

“We will protect the rune together. It’s part of the Covenant’s mission now.” Gabrielle declared, tracing her finger over Baraqiel’s rune and nodding to herself. “We cannot use it either, or he will know where you are!”

“Exactly!” Bari nodded eagerly, no longer needing to narrate and just relaxing on their spot with a sigh. The girl did get it. “I think I can summon it again if I want to but, I am not sure how to control it, or what it really does… so let’s never use it. Another Covenant Rule.”

“So the list is: One, to rescue your friends!”

Baraqiel wanted to add that they were not really friends but, what good would that do? They kept quiet.

“Two, to protect the rune! And three, to never use it again.”

Gabrielle offered her hand to Baraqiel with an intense look in her eyes. Once both of them shook hands, the Covenant had officially created its first Three Commandments. Their fate was now fully sealed.

Until Gabrielle’s mind conjured another question, one that they didn’t think of before.

“Wait. You only managed to see that thing because of the Coordinator Spire, right?”

The kid fell silent, rubbing the back of their neck. They really wanted to say no, to scream it out loud, because giving any sort of credit to that torture was utterly disgusting, but there is no doubt it had something to do with it. Although…

“...If that was true, then every single person who was put through that hell would have seen the same I did.” Bari felt much at ease with that answer. “So no. It was definitively not the Spire.”

Gabi wanted to refute that, but the feeling was sort of comforting to her as well: Maybe it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t “ascend”, if that was still even a thing, maybe the machine itself was not doing its work! Maybe it was all useless! Maybe it was all its fault!

“...But then, where did it come from? And where did Mustafá gain his own powers?”

Baraqiel smiled, closing their eyes to resume their narration.

That’s a mystery of its own, but some theories are going around. Some say that he somehow struck a bargain with the spirits of darkness themselves, that he stole the power from the blazes of hell or maybe even sacrificed his own family for the sake of immortality and power. Being as old as the ancient Towers, anything could be possible really.

Gabrielle gasped. The Towers, vestiges of old civilization, were the oldest things in Jericho: the ruins of what once was the cradle of humanity itself, or at least that’s what Father said. So to compare anything to them was usually an over exaggeration, or a very serious and terrifying claim.

Mustafá is very quiet about it, the few people who have talked to him and lived say that he never speaks of the origin of those powers, but maybe that is to stop others from following those steps, and remain forever the only immortal on Jericho!

“Does that mean you are immortal too now!?” Gabrielle gasped even louder there, but Bari was quick to put those hopes down. They shook their head no. “W-Why not? How do you even know?”

I can feel it very deep in my heart that it isn’t the case. I can still feel cold, or pain, and I am very sure that things can still kill me. Mustafá, on the other hand, feels nothing anymore: be it naked under the burning sun or feeling the painful blizzards against his face, he never twitched. Not even once.

Gabi’s eyes opened wider, as the image of an invincible man just became so much inspiring to her. Never flinching, never aching, that is something she wanted to be one day! And maybe if she were to talk to this Mustafá, and learn his secrets? She could become an invincible walker of the world like him! Maintaining the Covenant would be easy as pie then.

And Baraqiel could tell the girl was getting strange ideas, but they were not fast enough to call attention to it. Gabrielle carefully picked up the used spoon and the empty pot, getting back on her feet and jumping slightly in place.

“I will get this back home and return later with some milk or tea! Try to stay in here, and don’t make much noise!” She said, as if she wasn’t the one making most of the noise back then. “I will see you then!”

“Wait, Gabi!”

But it was too late. The girl was already outside and the door was already closed behind her. With a sigh, Bari simply laid back down, grabbed the cloth they used as covers and closed their eyes. They didn’t have time to worry anyways, they had to focus on recovering properly.

With some luck, all this food and rest would return some strength to their body, and after that…

Don’t worry, everyone. Just wait a bit longer.

I will not let you all behind. I swear.

—

Walking through the forest felt weird with all these different thoughts in her mind. Gabrielle could feel how the spoon clanked around in the pot she carried, especially when she had to jump over a fallen tree or some rock in her way. That, the feeling of wet dirt on her feet and the singing of birds in the woods made a strange, natural rhythm: one perfect to get lost into. As she took her sweet time returning home… her brain was working overtime to try and make sense of it all.

She could feel images cranking around in her memories, the image of valiant Saint Martha facing unimaginably low odds, fighting dragons and evildoers with her bare hands; the image of Mustafá, the man of stone, being struck by lightning and simply walking through like it was nothing; and then there was herself, breaking down over the words of the other girls.

Why do they hurt so bad? Why do they hurt me all the time?

“Silly filly” was such a dumb little phrase, one that didn’t really carry any bad meanings, and yet Gabrielle could feel her fists ball just by remembering it being spit on her face by those girls. It wasn’t the words themselves, it was the way they said them.

Why was she even remembering that now of all times?

Because Saint Martha wouldn’t be hurt by them. Mustafá wouldn’t either! They wouldn't care, right?

But she couldn’t simply not care, could she? It hurt, deep in her chest like daggers stabbing straight at her heart. In all honesty, things were much less painful when they simply tried to choke her, punched her and kicked her! At least then she could fight back, she could always punch them and make them go away with a good, nice kick.

Before they learned the secret to confuse her, she could always grab the one saying things and shake her good until she stopped. Now, they were all working together and she simply couldn’t find the culprit at a time…

Why do they do this…?

Because they thought she was a Witch. That’s what Gabrielle quickly answered to herself: they feared her, and that fear turned into anger by some devilish mechanism in their heads. Witches are to be scorned, attacked and punished for their bad deeds.

But I haven’t done anything bad! Have I?

Has she?

She was, right then, breaking all the rules to keep Baraqiel safe and away from Father, and that was certainly a violation of Church Law. The right thing would be to simply point at Baraqiel and let Father take care of it… but Gabi could FEEL the rejection of that idea in every little fiber of her soul.

I could never.

Gabrielle and Baraqiel had made a Covenant, and that was above any laws or rules. That much she knew! Saint Martha had broken rules before too, and she was revered as a great Hero! But why was it suddenly a bad thing to do if she was a Witch?

As Gabi reached the Chapel she stopped once again in front of the Kitchen door, staring at it for a moment. The others were in there, they would attack her as soon as she got inside… and it would hurt, again.

Saint Martha would be ready to take it, she would endure it and fight through it all.

Mustafá wouldn’t care, he wouldn’t feel a thing and would move on.

And a Witch… a Witch would break the rules, and rules say that I shouldn’t do anything. So…

The little girl took a deep breath, frowning and balling her fists once again. She would try her best, she wouldn’t feel a thing! She wasn’t a Witch, right? And it’s not like they were evildoers, right?

She could just, take it. Take it all, not feel a thing and move on with her day like every other day.

And yet she felt this intense feeling, stirring deep inside her chest. This anger and frustration boiling loudly like steaming waters, just waiting for a chance to explode.