Chapter 12

Sophia woke up to the bells ringing again. Her eyes snapped open, her body lying on the mattress where the near-midday light of the gloomy sun leaked in. The stone-bricked walls glowed white in striped patterns, motes of frozen dust floated through the beams, suspended in the air.

Words could be heard, shouting in the streets that pounded into her skull. With a groan, she pulled herself up, taking a moment to shake the drowsiness off. Like some undead fresh from the grave, she lumbered into dressing herself, shoving her mattress away.

Then, she cast her gaze around her room, struggling to remember the events from yesterday night, half hoping that it was some fever dream she had concocted in her sleep. Just like her previous revelation of the magical nature of the world, she would have expected it all to just be a figment of her imagination. However, a single look at the pale, glistering egg that sat at the base of her feet, she was reminded that yes, things did occur.

No matter how long she stood there, waiting, the past wouldn’t change itself.

She let go of her breath, clenching and unclenching her small fists.

Mechanically, she trudged down the stairs, each creak sounding as loud as drums to her ears. When she reached the serving hall, however, there was no one to be seen. Finny wasn’t up and about, the candles unlit and yet the fire continued to smoulder away. Yet, when she carefully looked around the room, she could see that the tapestry that hung on the walls were different, however slightly it seemed.

Previously, the strings would have depicted scenes of battle, man slashing away at each other and such — the old favourites of Bvurdrjordians and she wouldn’t have batted an eye. Now she knew better and could observe that there was a new scene that she was sure wasn’t there prior. Three wolves dotted the newest segment, their snarling faces nearly impossible to make out against the white if it weren’t for the brutal depictions of their dismemberment.

Thread.

She realized she had taken a step entirely too close and backed away. From where the tapestry hung silently, she could see hints of deep brownish-red staining the floor. It didn’t take too long for her to conclude that the guardian had left to fight off the wolves sometime last night.

Sophia tore her eyes away, huddling to herself as she made her way to the door, pressing her ears against the door. Outside, she could hear people gathering and murmuring — near the village square, their individual voices too blurred to make out. However, one could be heard above all, loud and clear.

“Wolves!” a voice cried, “Wolves were seen last night! Massive beasts of the dark in the dead of winter! Our brave watchman spotted them roaming at the walls, outside these very gates! Citizens! We must...”

Uh oh.

Sophia backed away and padded up the stairs again.

In her room on the attic floor, she could open the window and be granted an unobscured sight to the square, however limited it was. Slowly, she pried the shutters open, allowing the cold wind to blow through the chamber. Throwing her hat on — the one that had tucked away, she poked her head out for a good look.

The people had gathered on the streets, far more than she had seen any time during the winter. Fisherman and their wives, the old lady and old man that lived next door — anxious villagers spilt out to listen to the words. The crowd made their way to the square where upon a podium, a man dressed in a gaudy tunic and furred coat was shouting.

It didn’t take long to match the voice and the clothing together.

“...Together! This threat at our walls can’t be allowed to walk freely! They might have fled away today, but what about tomorrow? Or the day after? Wolves that draw so close to our homes are mad with frenzy, starving in winter!” Felios Castor continued his speech, waving a sword in the air. Somehow, his gut seemed to have receded, his limbs just somehow less spindly than she remembered.

If she were to be honest, Sophia had almost entirely forgotten about this man. He hadn’t been part of her world for so long that he had almost completely faded out of her memory, left in the dredges of her discarded mortal life.

Now, however, that person came back into focus at an extremely inopportune time and space. Next to Felios, two guardsmen watched his actions nervously, their hands crossed before them.

Are those… his brothers?

Sophia squinted.

Yes, they are.

The people murmured their agreement, their voices echoing. It seemed that some time prior, the somewhat unshapely man had convinced them of their impending danger.

“These wolves are a danger to our lives! Our children! Are you not people of Bvurdrjord?” Felios yelled, his face red with excitement, “Will you allow these things to stalk your people, to tear them away in the night?”

The crowd voiced an angry no.

“I say we take the fight to them! We hunt these rabid beasts in their filthy lair,” Felios commanded, “We are of Bvurdrjord! The blood of warriors flow in our veins, our hands were born with swords held in them, not just ploughs and fishing poles. We aren’t so weak to cower in our walls, hoping the big, bad wolf goes away!”

Another resounding approval echoed out, several cheers rising. Sophia watched, stunned, surprised that a person like him could somehow gather the support of so many people. What’s he planning? Was the old Bvurdjord so important? Why are people so eager to start fighting?

Sophia had known that Felios and his kinsman were somewhat supportive of the older ideals of Bvurdrjord, but this was a tad extreme. The man had been picking fights with the Zweits ever since he could hold a sword so, in hindsight, it shouldn’t be surprising at all.

The number of people sharing the sentiments, however, was somewhat terrifying. In a split second, she was suddenly reminded that despite knowing about the hidden world around her, she was still bound to the village as a human. The proximity, the shouting, the blood boiling in their veins —

It was palpable.

Even I could feel it crashing against my shell, sitting so snuggly next to Sophia herself.

“Pick up your axes, your bows, your swords, I say!” Felios shouted, throwing his arm out, “There are wolves out there and we are meant to slay —”

Then, suddenly, a voice interrupted the speech. With a loud cough, a sputter, an indignant roar, a shorter, fatter man forced his way onto the platform. His jowls shook as he yelled, “What’s the meaning of this?!”

Silence descended onto the stage as they recognised the man — the Reeve himself. Behind him, his personal procession of heavily armed guards too marched onto the stage, halberds held in their clenched fists. Thumping loudly, the group made their way up, stunning the crowd below..

Chinckling metal bits rattled like chains, the wind blowing through the buildings suddenly all too apparent, an uncertain uneasiness crawling through the air.

“My, the Reeve himself!” Felios loudly said in the midst of the silence, “Finally take an interest in our mortal affairs?”

The Reeve scowled. In many ways, the two were similar — blonde and unhealthy curves, both technically nobles. The Reeve, however, was a Zweit appointed by the Crown to rule over this particular village and had technical authority over the Ansvil. The creases and folds in his flabby face quivered as the jog drew shivering breaths from his rotund body, sweat forming in the frozen winter air.

In contrast, the Castors were mere remnants of the old, obfuscated houses of the past. It sat around in the bay like a fish trapped in a drying puddle, waiting for things to get worse. Then, right now, it seemed the recent misfortune was like rain to the family, Felios immediately taking to the stage in hopes of regaining whatever glory the house had many decades ago. With a cocky grin, the man swung his arm at the mass below grandiosity, “Look here, people! Your Reeve is here to solve our issues.”

“Cease your inane flubbing and stop waving that sword around,” the Reeve demanded, “And get down from the stage, boy!”

“Bah! I’m simply telling about the wolves around our village,” Felios drawled, “There’s no harm in that, surely.”

“I have the situation under control,” the man insisted and he turned his attention to the mass before him, “And you lot! Go back to your homes. The watchman will settle this wolf business. Disperse!”

“Afraid not, Reeve,” Felio’s lips stretched sardonically, “Bvurdrjord always take care of its own. We have our own hunters with bows and spears.”

There was a soft ahem at that. From behind the Reeve, another figure emerged. Dressed in an ostentatious, scholarly robe, a fresh-faced Zwetisian man whispered into the Reeve’s ear urgently and backed off again.

With a victorious smile, the Reeve spoke, “Castor, must I remind you that your right to bear arms does not mean the right to wield it? All security and military operations are under our jurisdiction, not yours,”

“Its hunting wolves, Reeve. Not a war. Besides, it’s not like your troupe there knows their way through this forest. We can get it over and done with by tomorrow instead of your… vaunted efficiency, Reeve. We all know what you lots do up in your manor.”

“Shut it, Castor. Taking armed citizens is out of the question. My trained man will handle this, not whatever rabble you scrounge up.”

Behind the helmets of the guards, it was difficult to see what they were thinking. Sophia couldn’t help but feel as if they weren’t pleased with this development.

“Oh? So you are saying that you will hunt them down then, hm? As soon as possible, yes?” Felios walked closer — dangerously close. cocking his head to the side as if he couldn’t hear it, “Because it sure sounds like it, Reeve.”

“It will be handled, boy. Now get off before my man escort you off,” the Reeve’s face darkened, “Do not test my patience anymore, Castor.”

No one dared to move for the coming seconds.

Then, if anything, the smile on Felio’s face creaked even wider. With a seemingly satisfied expression, he sheathed the sword he was still holding and held his arms up in mock defeat, backing off to a safe distance. With a huff, he yells out to the crowd, “You heard that? The Reeve’s gonna do something, better count our blessings! The Crown’s sure feeling generous, hmm.”

With another bark of laughter, he motioned for his brothers to follow him as he trotted off the stage.

Sophia wasn’t sure if she liked that. Felios never just give up on something and this display of subterfuge was making her deeply uneasy. With a slamming of the windows, she decided that she had seen enough of that mess.

She wanted no part to do with that.

Then, Sophia suddenly remembered the circumstances around the wolves. The very much magical wolves that probably prowled the wilderness.

While she didn’t know this, I had a much bigger concern about this scenario. If I were to match it with the other villages I had seen under the same circumstances, there was virtually no chance the village would survive the attack.

None, nil.

Nuh-uh.

If the Zweits were to send their men out, they would most probably die.

Is this an uprising? I had to wonder.

With a small push, I subtly reminded Sophia to hurry up and wake Finny. Snapping out of her revery, Sophia’s brain quickly did the mental gymnastics to work out the problem, leaving her wide-eyed and scrambling for the door.

There was a deep-rooted exhaustion she was carrying around. The events from yesterday, the attacks, the discovery of the magical world and her world got turned upside down — it was slowly but surely taking its toll on her mind.

Even with as powerless as she was, she realized that this wasn’t the time to think but to do.

Finny was still asleep inside her room on the second floor, which was the second to the right. The other two doors — Uther’s and Mrs Creighton’s, each separately were the one on the left and at the end of the hall.

Deftly, the girl went for Finny’s room. With her fingers on the knob, she slowly creaked the door open.

Sophia hadn’t been in her sister’s room much, the older girl had been unusually proficient in keeping her snooping out. Now, however, the door opened to a darkened chamber, exactly the same as she had left Finny there last night.

Carefully, she stepped near the thatch bed, standing next to Finny’s sleeping form under the blanket. The blonde’s breathing was deep and laborious, the body still aside for the rise and fall of her chest in the darkness.

Finny had always seemed to be indestructible.

Permanent.

Powerful.

Sophia couldn’t feel any of that from where she stood, looking down at the sleeping form of Finny. At that moment, the girl on the bed wasn’t some witch or godly magic-user.

Just a girl.

Suddenly stricken with indecision, she wondered if she should wake Finny up at all. After last night, Finny had seemed completely exhausted, too tired to even stay up without support. Now that she was asleep, shouldn’t she be granted the time to rest?

But Castor!

With a wince, Sophia gently prodded Finny’s shoulder.

“Finny?”

No response.

“Finny?” Sophia tried louder, taking a moment to shake.

“Mhmm?!” The older girl on the bed blearily opened her eyes, mumbling.

“Finny, we got a… problem.”

“Who’s… Sophia? What’s the — no,” Finny squinted, struggling to sit up and apparently still groggy, pressing her palms against her face, “Ah, that doesn’t feel right. Apologies, give me a moment.”

“Uh, don’t think it can wait, Finny.”

Under the mess of hair, Finny’s eyes glinted as she finally managed to pull herself to a sitting position, “Agh, is it important?” there was a pause, “Is it Uther?”

“Um, no. Its, ah, Castor.”

“...”

“He, uh…” Sophia grimaced, “How about you get some food first?”

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“That would be appreciated.”

Carefully, she backed out of the room, keeping her gaze on the floor. Listlessly, she stepped down to the kitchen in order to fix something up, reminded of the fact that she too hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.

It was a welcome distraction.

By the time Finny finally made her way down the stairs, Sophia had already gathered a small platter of bread, cheese and some other foodstuff — and she had almost dropped it the moment she saw Finny's face.

It was sickly, almost gaunt. There was an unhealthily pale complexion that fit a recovering patient rather than... She had thought that she had seen something in the dark but she wasn't quite sure. However, now that they were in the light of candles and opened shutters, it was clear that the magic had taken a toll on her.

Sophia did her best to not stare and set the food down on the table to eat. Quietly, the two ate the meal without a single word exchanged between them.

She wasn’t sure what to say — With every bone in her body she was certain that the world around her would change in some drastic way again — and each time she opened her mouth to speak, words refused to come out.

Seconds stretched into minutes as the two sat and ate in silence until she couldn’t bear it any more said, “Ehm.”

Eloquent.

“You said there’s… something?”

“Well, yes,” Sophia bit her lip, “While you were sleeping, Castor was — I think he was rallying something outside. There was a stage and he was trying to get the people to organise a hunting party for the wolves. Did you hear it?”

“...No,” Finny shook her head, her eyes closed, “That’s not good at all.”

“And then after that, the Reeve himself came along to break up the gathering and… well, apparently they are going out now?”

It didn’t take long for Finny herself to come across the same conclusion it seemed if the white-knuckled grip she had on her cup indicated anything.

And perhaps more.

“Are you alright?” Sophia prodded, “Last night was stressful, I know, but is there something more?”

“Sophia,” Finny admitted after a few moments of visible contemplation, “I… I don’t know. The problem is much bigger than what I’ve told you.”

“Eh?”

“We weren’t the only ones attacked. Most of the villages on the island didn’t have the protections we had.”

“... Uh.”

“Last night, when I went back home to get my supplies, I received word from the other hunters by crow,” Finny said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hunters? Crow?

“Hunters?” Sophia repeated what’s on her mind, “Like Uther? Are they here?!”

“Yes and no. They’ve been operating on this island for years and… Well, they checked up on Skjra recently,” Finny crossed her fingers, leaning back into her chair and breathing deeply, “Skjra, Rurbvor — Vurskein too. They… There weren’t any survivors.”

Sophia sat there.

Her mind quite literally blanked.

It seemed that the enormity of entire villages just dying was a bit too much for her to grasp.

“None of the happenings now were normal, I assure you,” Finny continued on, “Could be related to whatever mother went off to but…”

“No… No survivors? Are you… sure?”

“That’s what was relayed. They’ve seen what was... left.”

Sophia hadn’t actually been to any of those villages. In fact, she was keenly aware of her making it a personal goal to go to one just weeks prior. Now that she was blatantly told that the neighbouring villages were simply gone…

My legs are shaking, she noted distantly.

“With that in mind, our schedule had just been drastically changed,” Finny sighed, “And… we might have guests.”

“... Guests?”

“The hunters. Tjorvi and Katla. There’s nowhere else to go on the island and we need all the help we get if we want to prevent the entire island from being wiped out.”

“But — Isn’t this a big problem?” Sophia questioned, her eyes wide and words fumbling, “Shouldn’t — Shouldn’t Mrs Creighton be told? She- she’s a powerful witch too, right?”

“I couldn’t reach her. Whatever they were doing at the Conclave had made their location too obscure to divine, much less getting words across. With the sea freezing over, even getting boats over would be equally challenging,” Finny laughed morosely, “No, no, this is a problem that we have to solve ourselves.”

With that, the older girl suddenly stood up, lips stretched tightly in a grim smile.

“We can’t sit around now, even if we want to,” she said simply, “I didn’t want to get you involved into this mess but it seemed things are really turning bad right now, so I’ll have to ask you to do a few things right now. Is that alright with you?”

“Y-yes!” Sophia stuttered out.

“Right now I’m rather weakened from the ritual. If I had more time to set up the casting, the cost wouldn’t be so drastic but… well, I have methods to recuperate. But in the meantime, I’ll need you to…”

On the other side of the island, I was busy making a choice.

I had a sneaking suspicion that I probably misjudged the threat this being posed. While I was perfectly confident in my own ability to handle it, there was no denying that the majority of the other beings upon this island would probably just die.

And that wasn’t a thing I wanted.

If this wolf-thing just ate everything, then I would get none of them. From where I was perched, I could see its bulging stomach, the [Essence] breaking down within its stomach.

What waste.

Furthermore, it would affect my own plans to gather information. Not only did it draw attention from whatever powers there were but it also disrupted the local ecosystem! How was I supposed to get information about the area when it would probably be wiped off the map when it was all over?

Obviously, I had two choices.

I could encourage people to strike back and regain their land, but I wouldn’t gain much from it at all. As again, what I needed was information and not the gratefulness of the people nor to feel better about myself. As long as Sophia survives and can serve as my proxy, I couldn’t care less.

On the other hand, if the wolf-thing won in its little crusade, I could easily influence its mind with my own and gain its knowledge for myself — essentially planting a parasite in a powerful being.

Or so, I would assume it had an agenda for whatever it was doing. My {Appraise} merely revealed its nature as a meat-bag filled with Sufferings and whatever Spirit the body houses. At this point, it was difficult to tell the two apart.

Why would a Spirit become so infested with Sufferings? Was it willingly or was it something that happened on its own?

Moreover, what happened to the other Spirits here? According to Evelyn, sentient Spirits were supposed to be rare but it almost seemed deserted here.

There was nothing much left other than the trees and errant [Blobs].

Oh, and the Sufferings.

Most apparently, it wasn’t something like me.

It just ate. It didn’t take apart them as I do — it’s a visceral being. From what I could tell, while it was using up the bits of the [Souls], it had absolutely no control over what was added and what it didn’t.

Unlike me.

What a waste.

Either way, simply sitting still would gain me nothing. Might as well start a conversation before passing judgement. My current puppet here was merely an owl — snow-white feathers but still very much a mortal creature.

I made the owl hoot.

“Hoot.”

The wolves below froze, their ears flicked. Thirty-seven pairs of pitch-black eyes swivelled upward at me, glaring at me in both surprise and indignance.

The thirty-eighth — the ones that belonged to the big, bad wolf, squinted upward at me. Translucent drool dripped from its lips as it considered me, the pasty-white face frowned with apparent displease. With a slurp, it consumed its current meal like pasta, an arm disappearing into the mouth.

“You are no owl,” it spoke. It was a deep, baritone voice, sounding as if it was made by grounding skulls and bones together — not English, not actual words. Every instinct within the owl shivered as the wave of intent reached it, the sheer malevolence understandable even to a simple bird.

I dutifully obeyed the instincts and refused to move closer.

On the other hand, it was good to establish that this thing can be reasoned with, unlike its intellectual debatable lackeys. If a conversation is possible, I could most probably threaten it to do something rather than destructive run at me.

Oh, and it probably didn’t know of me. Another conspiracy disproved.

“You are no wolf, not anymore,” I replied in my own way, “Hoot.”

The thing laughed, its jowls flapping as the sound it made echoed through the chamber. Dark, broiling shapes squirmed in whatever exposed bits of its innards, white circle-like irises glinting like stars in a pitch-black sky.

With a chuckle, it sat on its haunches and said, “What gave it away, little bird?”

“From one puppet to another, that is. Hoot,” I stated, hopping from branch to branch, “You’ve made quite a mess. Quite silly to toss in your lot with something as base as Sufferings, too, and now everything is dead.”

It looked back at me with irritation — and a hint of curiosity.

“And yet, here you are,” it said, its eyes narrowing, “You are not from the family and nor are you a Spirit of the land. I do not recognise you. This is not your business, outsider.”

“Hoot! I’m merely interested in what you are trying to do,” I replied, “There aren’t any other Spirits around. Did you eat them all? Risky thing, the Conclave wouldn’t last forever.”

It didn’t reply to that.

Instead, it only got wearier. In my periphery, I was aware of the ways the wolves were fanning outward, trying to leave my line of sight.

Ah shit. Did I push it too far?

“Hoot, do not worry. I am merely here to watch,” I continued, “Wondering what you are trying to achieve here. What made you do what you are trying to do?”

It was well aware it couldn’t touch me — wolves do not leave the ground or climb trees.

Not casually, at any rate. They could probably do that wind-thing and fly up to me, but that seemed like something quite resource intensive.

Not that I would be averse to sampling that particular technique, but I was confident in my ability to counter that. Did it know I could do it? Would it think I was bluffing by being so close to them? Now that I thought about it, it probably realized that I genuinely wasn’t afraid of its power and that could only mean so many things.

Either I was stupid or was stronger.

“And why would I answer you, outsider?”

“Mostly because I wouldn’t care much for the locals,” I answered, “But you are intriguing, hoot.”

“You are interrupting my meal,” it stated.

“Don’t let me bother you. Go on, hoot, I would like to watch. Pretend I wasn’t here.”

It didn’t seem to know how to reply to that.

Well, that much is obvious.

I gathered that my entire appearance would be rather off-putting. If I had appeared as a Saighgair, it probably wouldn’t be so hesitant in immediately attempting to tear me to shreds. Did my guise as an owl really bother it that much?

Or, perhaps it was something more basic?

“Leave.”

“I’m not here to steal your food, hoot. You looked like you spent so much effort in getting it,” I tried to assure it, “Even if it isn’t healthy for you, you know.”

It seemed to be internally debating something. Would it run or fight? It probably thought that I was some kind of even greater Spirit, one that it couldn’t fight head-on. There wasn’t quite as much fear but rather some sort of muted weariness.

Good.

“If you aren’t eating, why don’t you answer some questions for me, please, hoot?” I asked, “Shouldn’t take too long and I’ll leave you to your business, how’s that?”

Jeeze. This feels like bullying.

And that’s also my first proper social interaction on my own, too, to something that I wasn’t in. I could imagine it — some evil Spirit working their ass off to consolidate power just for some eldritch-asshole walk in with their weird magic and browbeat it to the ground, screaming for lunch money. That thought should probably feel depressing but somehow became hilarious.

Adding onto that, of course, was my own awareness of the disparity between us. A dainty little owl on a tree against this nightmare-fuel of a human-faced wolf.

Laughing at my own jokes here. Ha.

I truly outdo myself sometimes.

If I were to force it to answer with a show of force, might as well let it feel it — for just a split second.

From within the owl, I pried open the [Marker] I’ve implanted within and let a little bit of my own cultivated [Presence] spill forth. From the majesty the Iasgaireans viewed the Sgnirmah as to the undulated horror the Priests and Vrraet once felt — I let a tiny sliver of that through and pumped it with a bunch of [Glow].

I would probably call it the {Frayed Aura} or something equally silly, but it would probably work.

It did. In a most comedic fashion, the frozen fur on its body bristled and it almost flinched from just being near me. The wolves nearby — the ones that were more basic in nature — they were almost immediately overwhelmed with the blast I sent out, whimpering as whatever base instincts they still carried within their shells cried out in fright.

And if I weren't mistaken, even the trees shook a little.

Then, I reeled the aura back in.

“Hoot.”

To my surprise, the wolf-thing snarled back, its hackles fully raised, “You —what are you?! You are —”

“I’m new around here and that is all that matters,” I said, cutting it off, “So I would appreciate some answers, hoot.”

I let the statement stew for a bit, simply staring back at it for however long it takes.

“... Ask away,” it growled.

“Let’s start with a simple question, shall we?” I stated, “What is your name? Did you have one? I would hate to call you something rude, wouldn’t it?”

“My… name,” to that question, the face actually looked contemplative for a moment before letting its attention back to me, “I had a name. Vargulf, perhaps. Call me that if you will. It is no longer who I was.”

“Hoot, Vargulf, now we are getting somewhere,” I celebrated, “So, what’s the deal with the Sufferings? Seems like a bad choice to eat so much of it. Hoot! Actually, why don’t you tell me what exactly did you eat?”

“... Spirits,” it replied.

“Oh, I know. You’ve been eating everything that you and your lackeys could find. Aside from the smallest lesser Spirits, there really weren’t that many left. Tell me, with a name that meant wolf wolf, did you choose to do so? I wouldn’t judge.”

Of course, it was reluctant to answer anything. As I hadn’t actually shown any of my actual offensive capabilities, it was obviously seeking a way out of this scenario. Again and again, it seemed both not want to pick a fight and not answer my questions.

Should I just become it?

That was certainly an option. I was beginning to tire of this conversation that wasn’t going anywhere in particular. But then, I reminded myself the entire point of this exercise was to not use my powers for everything. If I could only ever force people to give up information by joining their psyche, it would be too easy for me to build a bad habit of over-relying on it.

Not to mention the threat of being found out.

Well, threatening someone into revealing all their secrets probably wouldn’t be too subtle either, but it was something.

Or I could train my own deduction skills.

“Is it to gain power, hoot?” I prodded on, “Undoubtedly, yes? The moment the local witch left, you decided that it was a good time to slaughter everything. Am I correct on that?”

I carefully watched for its reactions. From its bloated body, I watched the small, minuscule waves and lines of intentions pour off him. By analysing the thoughts it had as I asked my questions, I could simply get my own answers that way.

Anger. Indignity. Fear.

Hmm, not quite there.

Yet beneath all of that, there was a tiny sliver of yes.

While I could simply handwave its behaviours away with simply ‘power-grabbing’, I sensed that it had something else hiding away. I highly doubt that it did it all just for the sake of getting stronger — no, there was something else to it that I was missing.

There was something big that caused it to do something so drastic and I wanted to know what it was.

Fuck, I’m tempted to just take over and be done with it.

And unlike that thing with Reiz Rutherford, I had no qualms with taking this abhorrent thing before me apart.

“If you don’t tell it to me yourself, I will have to rip it out of you,” I said, “And I would hate to have to do that.”

Finally, with that, it spoke, “If you know the world would end for you, would you not take all measures to live as long as possible?”

…

That wasn’t what I was expecting.

It was, again, tied to something that I couldn’t quite imagine right now. Would the Earth crack in half or something?

“End of the world, huh?” I mused, “Assume I know nothing about this event, please.”

It looked at me with intense doubt flowing off its [Essence] as if it couldn’t quite figure out what or who I was at all.

“Our kind, bird. How would you not know?” it questioned with an incredulous tone, “Have you not felt it? The fading of the magics?”

Um.

Hm.

That’s…

Not quite what I expected, either, it would sure explain a lot.