Lir finds himself faced with two individuals hunched over a cauldron. They both resemble each other in the eerie manner that twins do. He starts wondering if this curious little trip of his was not a mistake after all.

However, before Lir can trace his steps and leave this place, one of the two shadows turn his way. The young man, whose grey eyes almost merge with the whites of his gaze, parts his lips in an exaggerated show of surprise. “Ah.” He taps the arm attached to the young woman, who had yet to notice, for she was too enthralled by the contents of their cauldron. “Someone's here,” the young man mutters. “You're supposed to stop.”

“And you're supposed to keep going,” she snaps.

“But I don't want to!” The young man whines. He tugs on her sleeve again in a most childish way. “Come on, talk to him with me! Let's make a friend! Please, please, please?”

She glances up at him for an instance. “You're very annoying.” And then, it is back to the cauldron.

“That means you're annoying, too.”

“Beck…” The young woman shuts her eyes and sighs. “I am sick of you.”

“Then,” he chuckles. “You are sick of yourself, too?”

“Be quiet.”

“No! I won't—”

Lir raises a fist to his lips. He clears his throat, then steps forth, into the fog that has lifts itself into the air, before it settles for dwelling at his feet. “E-excuse me...” Lir pinches the hems of his shirt. “Are you with Archie?” The question is a silly one. If they were burglars, or delinquents, surely, they would not tell him. Yet, Lir has a lingering hunch that they will not lie, and that he will finally receive answers—though, which kind remains a mystery to him.

“Oh!” The young man—Beck, apparently—coos. “Look, Beck! It's the Halloran boy!”

The young woman—who is also, somehow, apparently Beck—rolls her eyes. “And?” she asks. “It's not like we can cook him. He isn't useful.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don't be like that!” He motions at Lir, who stares, dumbfounded by the scene unfolding before him, and the mystery that this pair make. “Didn't you hear that he was trying to become human again? We could give him something,” Beck-One whispers. “He would make a marvelous test subject!”

Give him something? Lir frowns. What exactly?

Had Archie been lying to them?

Is there a cure after all?

These people are probably crazy. Maybe they'll stab him in a minute or two—they sure look like the type who’d do so, if the prospect seemed interesting enough. But Lir must know. He'll be a dead man soon anyway, with the way things are going. He might as well die while being a tad less ignorant than before about his case, if that is even possible.

Lir coughs again, then mutters the words, “I'm still here, you know...”

They both freeze, tilt their heads toward him and say, “Ah, yes, that is true. Very true.” Their coordination is sinister. Lir wonders if there might not be more going on with the duo than he'd initially thought, aside from their strange perception of the world.

“Wow!” Beck-One whistles. “It's amazing how your skin really turned blue though!”

The other Beck cringes, and rearranges the dark bangs that hang over her brows. “Do you have to be so loud?”

“How much you know about me?” Lir blurts, before they lose themselves to another one of their arguments.

Again, they reply in unison. “We heard everything.” There is a difference in their tones, however. The young man is over-enthusiastic, whilst the young woman sounds like her soul has faced death a million times and did not make it back.

Lir makes up a theory where Beck-One is actually slowly sucking the life out of Beck-two. Even if the assumption is probably wrong, it would explain the bags under their eyes—a grim contrast against their ghastly pale skin. “Who are you?” Lir asks them, because suddenly, the curiosity he holds for their case seems a lot more appealing than talking about why he probably won't be able to stay with the people he cares, for once they, too, will confirm that he cannot be human again. Ever. Like Archie had insisted today, more times than Lir would have liked.

“Beck,” they say, and having both of them replying at once will definitely take some getting used to on Lir's end.

“So...” Lir gulps. “You're… twins, then?”

They shake their heads. “A common entity that has been split due to unfortunate circumstances.”

The fog dissipates for good this time. It leaves only but a faint trace of its previous existence, freckles of water peppered against Lir’s bare shins.

Lir frowns. “I don't think I follow.” His is more confused now, than before, when he had yet to ask the question.

“You don't have to follow,” they say. “Even I feel it is complicated sometimes.”

The nonsense Lir is hearing is exactly what he needs right now. “You can make me human again?” he asks—also because he feels it is better to steer away from their initial topic, for it is making his head hurt, and his face cringe.

They chuckle. “Depends on what you consider human to be.”

“Like before,” Lir says. “Normal.”

More cackles.

Another laugh.

“Normal?” Beck-One scoffs.

“It is bold of you to assume normal exists,” Beck-two tells him. Her voice is still quiet, as always, like the caress of a ghostly friend.

Lir sighs. “I take it that's a no, then?”

They shake their heads. “We can try!” one says, as the other nods.

“We can definitely try.”

“Why?” Lir pauses. He bites his lip, then crosses his arms. “Why can you do it, when Archie cannot? Will not.”

“That is because he worships the fundamental laws.”

“The fundamental what?”

“Oh.” They coo. Beck-one brings his fingertips to his lips.

“Cute! He doesn't know,” they both say.

Lir barely has a chance to take offense, as they soon speak again. “Whatever is, simply is. And what is, is always right!” they say, with a finger risen in the air.

“But I think that's bullshit,” Beck-one spits, and Lir can only assume he speaks for the both of them, since the simmer of a smile has made its way across Beck-two’s lips for the first time since Lir has met her.

There is a certain howling in the distance. Lir despises the noise. It reminds him of the waters where he lost it all. He tilts his head. Asks them, “What do you worship, then?”

Their gazes are piercing. Shadows of gloom seem to rise around them. The bleak darkness crawls up red tapestries hung all around the walls. In the room inhabited by the cauldron, other strange concoctions in glass vials, that are aligned across shelves hung off chains, seem to vibrate and sway along with the modest breeze of the wind, that has made itself known.

Lir gulps. They hold out a hand for him to take. “We worship chaos,” they say. “Chaos is everything. It is the end and the beginning of us all. And we believe you are the key. So, won't you join us, Lir?”

Clouds slither in the sky above them.

“We will help you.”

The light of the moon fades, and yet, Beck’s eyes retain a soft glow in this ever-growing darkness.

“We will save you.”