Chapter 23: Eventide Path

The blood of the dead surrounded a youthful form, whose voice deemed it to be lesser than ten years of age.

A child of ebony, whose clothes it donned were vestments of black, stared at the wisp; of whom it searched after her disappearance.

The wisp itself, Willow, returned a gaze to him. Of sorrows and woes, and solitude within the bloodbath she caused for his sake.

She did all of this to protect his companion from the wolves that might hunt him down. These Bloodhounds were dangerous. To him and her: to the both of them, as a matter of fact. It originated from the Twilight Forest, where the Eventide Path lies.

She did this to protect him. And yet he saw it differently, for he truly knew little.

★[Why aren’t you saying anything?]

His questions continued to hound the wisp, whose stare peered upon his pondering form.

And he contemplated over the wisp’s actions, as he knew not why a banquet of blood lay at his feet, a pile of corpses singed by the flames of his companion.

★[It shouldn’t be hard to answer my question so, why?]

***

Afore they met, from when the pair had left the haze, Willow saw her companion fall. She had recently finished her excursions within the Black Fog, as she led the boy through it.

She remained behind for a few moments, to ensure that none would follow them outside.

And, having done so, the wisp finally left the accursed haze, only to see that her companion had vanished. She searched for him, then she heard his voice beyond the foliage. It called out to her, with a tone of contention.

She did not think it odd, as perhaps the boy was thankful to her for leading him.

And yet here she was, facing the one he sought to guide and protect, carved with wounds and blood.

☼ [Nonary!]

The youth’s crumbling form, where he had bled red, had collapsed on the foliage of a certain twilit forest. Surrounded by the evertrees, his wounded self stumbled and fell. The boy saw his friend leave in safety, and so he was happy.

But she was not.

☼[What happened to you...] Willow quavered, distraught over Nonary’s wounded figure, who slept soundly as it suffered from his wounds. ☼[I kept you safe, so how?]

The wisp neared him in quick pace, as she saw the boy’s grievous harm. Countless flesh wounds, ones that pierced into his meager form, had bled the boy dry. His clothes scattered a strange haze, yet she saw his injuries that were like pricks of a spindle.

Though cloaked he was, Willow saw how wounded he became, from the inception of what came to harm him. Nonary’s assailant remained unknown to her, but the damage was there, and he was bleeding.

She'd ascertained that the boy was entwined with her strings when they first set on forth, and it remained that way as they advanced further within. To proceed deeper, as they traveled the depths of the Black Fog, he still felt the boy tug every now and then.

Those tugs of his ensured that her companion was still awake, and that he could still go on with their journey. It was an univocal answer, where nothing between their travels should have gone wrong.

He should have been safe, especially with her presence.

Though now that she thought about it, anyone who entered the fog would have their presence obscured. Like a film of darkness, she never saw the boy's appearance, though she knew he still walked with the string she strung to him.

Perhaps something acted within that obscured haze, and his injuries came to pass from it.

And if Willow pondered further, then she would notice that Nonary's steps took to a standstill, only to resume once she her flames loomed near him. That brief pause must have correlated with whatever struck at the boy.

She should have taken notice back then.

☼[Did the fog do this to you?]

Hopeful as she was, the bleeding was quite worse than she expected. The wounds were far too many for someone of his stature to survive through yet miraculously, he still breathed every now and then.

His physique truly was different, as Willow had thought. But it should still bear similarities to most races, and that was what she found to be important.

He wore obsidian gloves that hid his hands, onyx boots that shielded his feet, and sable clothes that covered his minute appearance. His face, though hidden by the strange machination, was not enough to eliminate the traces of his ancestry.

He truly looked like a child of their world, which was what made Willow ponder over her strange companion.

His appearances, by all acounts, pointed to him as a member of the sentient races. She found him to be quite peculiar, and from her perspective as a long-lived individual whose knowledge surpassed most of the scholars, that spoke largely of her experiences.

What did the boy mean when he spoke fearfully of his blood, as if it wasn't meant to be red?

☼[I'll try to fix you, alright?] She muttered quietly, fearing for his life.

But her thoughts did not matter much, and with the boy's injuries, they mattered less to her for she could still heal the boy.

Her capabilities may have been reduced, with their contract that bound both of their strengths to near nil, but she was still a healer. A Replicator of the Imaginary Numbers, representing Time; one who could both heal those deserving of her mercy, and to be grievous towards her enemies.

It was her identity, and she would heal the figure in front of her.

Even if he was found to be on the verge of death, her powers were quite astounding. Even if she was weakened by their pact, she was still capable of healing his tragic wounds. Her strings would unwind the murmurs of time, which continued to bleed his companion.

She promised to protect him, yet he suffered harm under her guidance. It was a failure of her duty, and she couldn't bear to lose another.

The ones who accompanied Willow during her expedition, they also ceased to be. They made the choice to trust her, and they fell. The boy trusted him as they crossed the twilight mist, and now he lay before her. He made that choice, and he suffered for it.

But, so long as she could heal the wounds, then not all would be lost.

☼[I can save you, Nonary...]

Tendrils of light, willed by the will-o'-the-wisp who stood by the fallen's side, took to weave him in its embrace, made with the warmth of a pleasant sun. It were as if the sun had descended itself, as her flickering form afire held the shadows at bay.

They could not encroach the one that she would heal. He was hers to mend and soothe, to not be torn by the injuries he wore. The shadows would never reach him.

They loomed and stretched upon his cloaked appearance, and the tendrils wreathed him so that he would remain alive. Of sapphire blue, they fell to become a mantle for his recovery, to aid him in regaining his strength.

It was a blanket of twine and prayer, borne of her wish to heal the injured one, and it was her duty to do so. He would recover, that much she was sure. There was still hope.

Or at least, that was what should have happened.

☼[What?]

Her surprise became prevalent, as the boy continued to be bled, by the ice-pricked skin that hid beneath his ebony apparel.

She could not remove the pitch-black clothing, nor did they move under her strength.

Previously, when she tied a string to his arm, beneath his cloaked form, he felt the boy's touch that was hidden from him. His skin was comparable to that of silk, a smooth surface that deserved the greatest care that could be provided to it.

When they entered the ebony haze, her string joined arms with him, as it was her means to keep him safe.

His clothes were not an obstruction to what she did back then, as they made way for her gleaming strands. When she strung the boy's arm, there was no rejection.

Yet now, his ebony regalia were an impassable barrier that blocked her attempts to reach his wounds. The wounds that continued to bleed, and will continue to do so, as his sable cloak refused to make way for her.

She tried to tear them down with her strength, as what purpose did clothes have when its owner had died?

Her sapphire strings, they tugged and pulled at the leathery cloth, if only to clear them out of the way. The rugged cloth was dragged by her, and it moved with the strings she held, but they could not be torn.

With all her strength, she tried, truly she did, and unequivocally failed.

It refused to be moved by her touch, as he bled further red; a puddle of blood seeped from his wounds and clouded the ground with scarlet.

☼[What do I do? What am I supposed to do?]

She dreaded the coming of his death, one that she could have prevented were she to heal him. She didn't want to lose another, simply because she failed toBut his cloak refused to yield.

The cloth was of an unknown make, as its tenacity had surpassed her what she could exert. And she was, by no means, a weak person.

Even if she had weakened considerably, nearly no silk nor weave should have withstood her might, but his clothes begged to differ. The pair's circumstances would remain as it was unless she found a way to pierce his enduring garments.

Like her spears could, perhaps?

☼[To pierce them...]

She pondered over what could be done of her problems; one regarding the boy's sable cloak.

No matter her efforts, the leathery bindings would not succumb to her, and her patience was limited by the time her companion had left.

From time to time, he would see the boy gaze at its own attire, only to snicker by himself. It would seem that he enjoyed what he wore at the expense of his own plight, however eerie his clothed articles were.

It would be feasible if she could remove his camouflage without ruining the cloth, but she doubted that the boy would care much for them as his life was currently in danger, and it was far too precious to be lost over simple clothing.

They were merely clothes, and they could be replaced. She would apologize to him once she had saved his life, and her guilt could wait for later.

☼[Nonary, forgive me for ruining your precious clothes but...] With a cry of conviction, azure embers enfolded the pair in an afterglow. ☼[I need to rip them apart!]

As dwindling lights made manifest, her embers became giled spears that formed the hands of a clock, auric wings of golden resplendence were to be her weapons, and she would pierce the hide that fashioned the boy's clothes.

It took much out of her to form such a grandiose display, which marked the diminished state of her powers as a Replicator.

The simple act of manifesting them caused her much enervation, and she had no need for many spears.

Willow's control over her powers were far from perfect, especially so with the contract's presence as it effectively caused her to rewind her knowledge regarding the capabilities she had.

Her flames, the spears, and even her powers as a healer, they had all but diminished to a weakened state; a shadow of her former strength. The wisp's mastery over her very own abilities had fallen, and it hindered her from properly utilizing the spears she entwined.

She only wanted to incarnate a single spear, yet 9 more came with it. By simply leaving the spears to ever waft about, it drained more of her energy.

While she may have recovered much of the strength that she could, as she devoured time from the one she would save, the wisp knew better than to waste what she had, as they had recently braved the Black Fog and there would be many more dangers to be found within the woods.

She couldn't discount the presence of the Bloodhounds, wolves that would devour those that carried the presence of blood.

Neither could she ignore the Evertrees that left its travelers astray, whilst leading them further down the Eventide Path.

This was where the pair currently found themselves in, though the boy had no clue, but Willow was aware of their locality.

To be within the Eventide Path, a road where the Bloodhounds would hunt and gather, to feast upon the dead and those who have been denied a chance at life. It had another name, as it was also known by its haunting form; the path of wolves.

If he bled even further, then his scent would reach the lupine creatures soon. If they ever found the boy's bleeding form, then it would be a feast for them.

☼[My spears, I only need one... I might hurt him otherwise...]

The spears vanished with succession, as each faded into inutility over their futile calling. They saw no purpose with their appearance, as their service for the will-o'-the-wisp never came to be; with a single one exempted from its fated disappearance.

She needed only one, as Willow had decidedly thought so.

Any more, and her guidance over the gilded spears ever loosened. She may be stronger than him, but that meant little within the Twilight Forest.

☼[I need to make a path for the flames, only then can they reach you...]

The clock-hand spear, whose presence was now a solitary one, loomed near the wounded form that she would heal. It approached his heaving chest, as his breaths grew weaker with each one taken.

Closer it went, as the sapphire-strunged lance pierced his ebony hide, exposing the frail surface that lay beneath it.

Of sallowed skin and reddened flesh, from where his sanguine blood wept from, was found to be in agonizing pain.

Innumerable, were his bleeding wounds; punctured flesh that gouged his youthful body. A childlike appearance, unlike the words he spoke of. She couldn't understand how the youth made it so, as he showed intellect which was that of an adult.

The boy's pale shell, marred with ruptured skin, was now within her reach.

☼[You'll be safe soon, alright?]

The clock-hand spear that pierced his ebony hide soon vanished, a trail of gold left in its stead. And with it, the gleaming string that held the spear faded into embers of blue, as they fled from the provenant flame.

With its duty now done, she needed none of her gilded spears as she would heal the boy next.

A new twine of azure, caught aflame by the will o' wisp, embodied the mending palm that would heal him. She had no hands, so to speak, yet her tendriled light moved what she willed as the world of fantasy would be grasped by them.

A string that flickered blue was enflamed by the wispy blaze and it drew near his exposed skin, just as the wisp had promised of him. He would be saved by her.

And yet... his visor flickered red and green.

:::

[Passive Skill - Black Box]

+ [Active Skill - Regression]

:::

And Willow was torn away from Nonary, ending her attempt.

☼[No!]

Howling winds stormed the two, a wall of zephyr gales that refused her presence. She could not return to his crumbling form, parading cinder and ash as red-green cast.

From his slumbering self, the ground was singed with it.

And his wounds, they invited the strange embers that danced among the whistling winds, carrying themselves as a sacrifice for the youth who soundly slept.

It was a luminary display, one that dared coalesce before the will o' wisp though she could do nothing but watch her patient who became besieged with his own embers.

Her worries were unfounded, for he was safe and sound within the mistral gale, as the vivid lights were what came to heal him and Willow could do naught but observe.

She couldn't approach him, after all.

☼[Is this... your ability?]

She couldn't form the Torched Contract with anyone, in fear of the revulsion that may accompany her abilities. Her ability was that of time, and she could demand of it under her command. And what it required of the one she would choose, was even worse.

This strange occurrence was proof of his capabilities, of the reformation that she theorized the boy to be in possession of.

He could revert certain aspects of himself, his stolen 'time' included.

This was why she chose him to be her pactbearer, for he would be the only one capable of withstanding her strict demands. No mere person could survive being devoured by time itself.

☼[I was right to choose you after all...]

From the words alone, 'regression' was an instance of progressive decline throughout a single phenomena, whether it were to be his wounds, or his troubled mind.

And in this instance, his injuries would be what was undone.

His myriad of wounds, minute stabs at his fragile skin that saw harm with him, began to be unwound by the embers that binded with what was lost.

What had spilled from his wounds, they would soon return to him.

The drops of blood that bled and fell, their departure to be reformed by the blinding lights, to return from whence they came. There was no need for her powers, as the boy proved to be tenacious with his peculiar abilities.

A youthful form, a hidden face, and what she found to be his strange grace, were the peculiarities that she saw of him. He would survive without her help.

Then the howling of wolves came.

☼[The wolves...]

Her fears came true, as the Bloodhounds caught the scent of blood; the scent of his blood. The animals would soon ravage where they stood, yearning for the boy's cruor red.

And with her weakness, she would be unable to protect him. Unless she made use of her vessels, there would be no hope for her companion.

☼[They're here.]