Igern took a deep breath, slowly sinking himself into one of the pools reserved for purification. Unlike the baths used by normal mages, the ones inside the palace of the pocket dimension belonging to the Queen of Arhontissa were simply too big to be considered baths, thus the name.

More than three meters deep, and ten meters radius, the marble coated walls were imposing, with one for each mage living there. Space wasn’t exactly a problem here.

Neither was purifying on time. Since mages here were blessed by Arhontissa, their accumulation of miasma was severely slowed, taking several months to be needed.

And, even more months for Igern, due to his circumstances as a half-human. Which was more of a problem than a blessing.

And that was simply, because he had a need for the miasma’s… perks.

Once he was at the water’s end, he relaxed, opening his Esca. Black, rotten like dust spilled out, mixing with the water. It wasn’t a big quantity, smaller compared to other mages, but, once again, only the human part of him generated miasma, and his purification was scheduled.

But then, he broke one of magic’s taboos. Using his Esca at the same time he was purifying it.

Erasing the thin layer between his own residual miasma, and the one inhabiting the Primeval Sea.

The previously small spill changed drastically, becoming more of a pitch black fountain, converging into a dark cloud under the water, one that started morphing into a human.

One that stopped the room’s light from reaching him, long hair freely flowing under the water, and long, slender fingers that went for his throat.

The Miasma’s silhouette shared an uncanny resemblance to Velvet.

It had a twisted sense of humor, Igern had realized with the passage of time, yet it had enough awareness to push his buttons just hard enough to not break them, even if it tested the limits. If the Miasma had used Dianthus or that… man as a shape, then Igern would’ve been unable to control his urges to attack it.

A Velvet shape… it was annoying, and the twitching of his fingers proved his desire to summon a spear and stab her, but he could cope. He would cope, in fact.

He needed the miasma’s “help”, after all.

It pressed its “hands” against his shoulders, pushing him down until his back hit the bottom of the pool, and then some more.

Even when it was wearing Velvet’s shape, the Miasma’s desire to drown the mage was always there. Igern might be using it for something else, but that didn’t change its nature. It wanted witches, not mages.

Once it realized that he was already at the bottom, and no amount of pushing would change that, it began to slide its “fingers” across his skin, moving from his shoulders to his neck, and then lower.

For an outsider, the act might look intimate, but it was nothing of the sort. The Miasma’s texture was grossing him out, and the caress was just a way for it to reach his Esca without stopping holding him down.

His Esca was located in the middle of his chest, after all. An uncommon place for normal mages, but, for half-humans like him, Escas tended to open in uncommon places.

The Miasma reached the edges of his Esca. The eye had more than three quarters open, which, for his age, was a big accomplishment, yet it was not enough. He needed more power, and the normal way worked way too slowly for his needs.

So, he would use it. The “thing” most mages were terrified of.

Without warning, the Miasma dug its fingers into the Esca’s eye, and Igern’s whole body jerked, the stabbing pain coursing through his body and mind.

Clenching his hands into fists, he fought the ingrained need of reacting by counterattacking, forcing them to remain put. His head jumped back, knocking against the pool’s tiles, several bubbles filled with air escaping his lungs.

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… He needed those, dammit.

Cursing in his mind, he clenched his teeth, moving his tongue so as to not bite it. Or choke on it.

And then, the Miasma started pulling the Esca’s eyelids down.

Unable to keep his fight or flight response under control no longer, Igern’s fist shot up, crashing against the pool’s wall with force, causing several cracks to grow and expand.

The walls were reinforced, but a direct hit from a combat mage was too much, the impact shattering several tiles.

Digging his fingers into the cracks, he used them to remain still, even when the stress from the situation was causing his body to run out fast of oxygen.

But he needed to open his Esca a little bit more. Just a little bit. One tenth more would be enough.

So he forced his body to remain down, waiting as the Miasma opened his Esca with tortuously slowness. Bit by bit, millimeter by millimeter.

Just two seconds more, he could hold two seconds more.

The Miasma’s fingers dug deeper inside the eye, pulling it open a little more. Igern gasped between his teeth, swallowing a gulp of water, the rotting taste filling his mouth.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Igern released his hold on the wall, hitting the Miasma with full force, its shape deforming for a moment, undulating under the water movements, before it put itself together once again, just like dust.

The Miasma smiled, its smile a hole devoid from the back substance, just like its eyes, as it grabbed hold of his shoulders again, pushing him down, intending to drown him. It had no emotions that he was aware of, so that smile was just an imitation of Velvet’s.

… Just that a bit more broad, and it lacked the fake cutesy and smugness that Velvet’s had.

… And he really needed to stop focusing on comparisons, especially since he was drowning.

With his other hand, Igern pushed himself from the floor, kicking the Miasma’s silhouette.

His Esca was currently busted, the fact that he was in the middle of purifying it and the way the Miasma’s fingers had dug into it put him in a precarious position, where using magic could severely damage him. So he needed to get out by only using brute force. Even if that meant he had to dig his nails into the walls and drag himself out.

Rising until he was standing up at the pool’s bottom, he jumped, grabbing the pool’s edges with his hands. The Miasma moved, sliding under the water, until it hung on his back, its arms around his neck.

For a bunch of dust, it was heavy, heavier than most things he had the displeasure of lifting.

But he refused to let it drag him down. He wasn’t dying now. Maybe in the future, once his objective was fulfilled, but not now.

Digging his nails on the edge, to the point where they snapped, starting to bleed, he pulled his body up, climbing out bit by bit.

The Miasma didn’t do anything, aside from weighing him down, its face close to the back of his head, until it stopped smiling, opening its mouth to talk.

Igern ignored its words, or, at least tried to. Something he had realized with time was that the more the Miasma manifested, the easier its words were to understand. They no longer were a garbled mess, but a simple sentence.

A simple, and correct sentence.

His head breached the surface of the water, splattering around. He coughed, gasping for air, pulling the remainder of his upper body out and crashing against the tiles.

…

He was too tired to be breathing face down, so, with one final push, he turned his body around, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, fast at first, progressively getting slower.

Raising his hand, he pressed two fingers against his lips, a smoker's habit, even when he had no cigarette, only tasting the blood of his broken nails.

But he did put a box just within reach for this exact moment, one that he grabbed close to where his head had ended, taking and lighting one cigarette that he proceeded to smoke, repeating the motion from before.

The Queen was away from the Mergifari at this moment, so he was free to do so.

Igern looked at the ceiling for a while, before moving his head to look at his Esca. The eye had been punctured by the Miasma’s fingers, a bloody hole in the middle of his chest. A dark liquid slowly fell from it, painting the tiles.

His Esca wasn’t permanently broken, that wound was just a result of the Miasma’s interference. It was temporary, even if deeply painful. He would be unable to use magic or do any sort of heavy (and not so heavy) exercise for a day, ideally two.

That was not a problem, since Dianthus had been kidnapped, and most Arhontissian official mages were searching for clues, so no one really tried to bother him, not even Winter.

Taking another long drag, Igern waited for his Esca to stop bleeding.