> Lamia

>

> Noun

>

> Translation: Nightmare

>

> Definition: "Lamia" signifies not only a typical nightmare but also a creature born from necromancy. These humanoid creatures are characterized by their six eyes and shapeshifting abilities, making them elusive and terrifying. Lamias possess the chilling power to delve into an individual's memories, manipulating and twisting them to their advantage. They are known to feed on blood, adding to their nightmarish and predatory nature. The existence of Lamias is often tied to tales of horror and caution, as they embody the physical manifestation of one's darkest fears and the corruptive potential of forbidden magic. However, they are very real.

As the crowd filtered into the cathedral, Mediah and the enigmatic elf lingered outside amidst the other half of the guests, who seemed equally indifferent to the ceremony inside. The air around them was heavy with incense and the earthy scent of the gathered masses, yet Mediah found himself inexplicably drawn to the elf and something else. Something he could smell.

His eyes lingered on her, tracing the contours of her face until she finally caught him staring.

"You don't seem like the religious type," she teased.

"Neither do you," he retorted, his gaze briefly flicking to the unique necklace adorning her neck. "Or is that some kind of new cult fashion I'm unaware of?"

She lightly touched her necklace, a silver web glinting in the candlelight, and smirked. "I see we both have strong opinions," she replied, her eyes meeting his with an intriguing intensity. "I like that."

"My friends would say I'm too opinionated for my own good. In other words, I never shut up when I should," he quipped, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"I like that, too. Silence is boring, overrated."

"Who was it that said... let me think, oh! 'Words are silver, but silence is gold'?"

"Someone who clearly doesn't understand the dynamics of communication and transaction," she replied quickly. "The value of words often surpasses that of coin, determined not by inherent worth but by the impact they have and the demand they create."

Mediah couldn't help but be intrigued. Her presence was an enigma, much like the unusual necklace she wore – out of place yet undeniably captivating. Just like a coin.

The elf moved a few steps closer, her morbid scent intensifying with each stride. "Words have a value that can be measured by what people will exchange for them—information, intel, secrets—and by the eagerness with which they seek them. What meaningful creation ever emerged without thoughtful dialogue? The mere coin isn't always sufficient."

"I see you enjoy engaging in stimulating conversation," he observed, subtly tilting his head to lessen the impact of her potent smell and mumbled. “Some people never get the meaning of the coin.”

"Like any curious person, I suppose," she responded, turning to face him fully. She caught a hint of his unease. "You're not accustomed to having deep conversations with women?"

"Oh, I am... Quite frequently, actually. It's just that..." Mediah trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Am I that repulsive? Is my appearance so unwelcome to you?" she asked with a hint of mock offence, a playful twinkle in her eye.

Mediah, steadying himself against the overpowering scent, decided to address the elephant in the room. "Are you a mortician by any chance? You smell like…"

Her face registered surprise at his blunt question, followed by a quick, almost subconscious action where she sniffed her hands as if to confirm the scent he mentioned. "I see a girl can't keep secrets from you," she responded with a wry smile, extending her hand.

"I'm Zvoya, and yes, in a manner of speaking, I deal with death. You could call me a mortician or someone who tends to the aftermath of death. And you? Are you some sort of... pleasure provider, a rent boy? You carry the smell of sex."

Mediah took her hand, his grip firm but devoid of any usual flirtatious gestures. As their hands connected, he felt her potent sexual energy surge through him, unsettling in its intensity. He was not surprised. He knew the effect he had on the opposite sex and sometimes on men, too. After all, he was an Amoernt feeding on emotion.

Despite her alluring looks and the lively spark in her conversation, Mediah could sense that Zvoya was aroused, brought to nought and was way more than she appeared. There was a depth, a hidden layer beneath her casual admittance and light-hearted banter.

"I spend more time and coin on that subject... than I actually earn," Mediah quipped, smoothly playing along with her teasing.

"You must not be very good at bargaining then," Zvoya shot back with a playful grin. "Given your looks and charisma, I'd imagine you'd be quite the successful rent boy. Definitely sounds more appealing than my daily chats with the dead."

"I can't disagree with you there," Mediah responded, his smirk mirroring hers.

"So, you're a Magi, aren't you? And it seems you're the only one around," she noted, her gaze sweeping across the crowd.

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"Seems like it," Mediah acknowledged, "but my presence here is more... personal. I'm looking for a friend."

"A friend?"

"Yes, a friend," he confirmed, eyes scanning the crowd over his shoulder.

As the bells of the cathedral rang over the Castle, Zvoya's smirk reappeared as she glanced around. "Seems the ceremonial part is done."

"I could do with something to eat," Mediah suggested, heading towards the banquet hall with Zvoya following. As they walked, he couldn't help but look over his shoulder, searching for Ulencia. Despite his efforts, nothing.

As they entered the banquet hall, Mediah and Zvoya were lucky to secure a spot at one of the tables, just ahead of the throng of guests that followed. The hall was alive with noise – a blend of boisterous laughter, animated conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional slurred words from a guest who had indulged a bit too much.

From his seat at the table, Mediah had a clear view of Xendrix, the newly crowned King of Keblurg. The transformation in the King was stark and undeniable. Xendrix appeared to have shed a considerable amount of weight, and his face showed signs of premature ageing, making him look almost a decade older than he actually was. Dark circles under his eyes and strands of white hair at his temples.

Mediah speculated whether the loss of his father had taken such a toll on the young King. Despite his tired appearance, Xendrix participated in the festivities with an energy that belied his looks, engaging in laughter, feasting, and drinking with a zeal that seemed genuine.

Beside the King stood a mysterious figure, wholly enshrouded in white, her features hidden behind a veil of opaque tulle. Mediah found his attention irresistibly drawn. There was a certain detachment about her; she seemed aloof from the festive atmosphere, not partaking in the feast or joining in the laughter that filled the room.

Mediah's intense gaze on this figure did not go unnoticed by Zvoya, who asked, "Is that your friend?"

His train of thought interrupted, Mediah turned towards her, slightly taken aback. "What?"

"The queen? The woman in white, standing next to the King. Is she the friend you're searching for?"

"I'm not certain," Mediah answered.

The identity of the veiled figure was still a mystery to him. Yet, there was something in her posture, a certain poise that struck a familiar chord in Mediah, kindling a hope that it might indeed be Ulencia.

As if sensing his gaze, the veiled figure abruptly stood and began to move away from the banquet. Without a moment's hesitation and without excusing himself, Mediah quickly followed the white silhouette. The corridors were unusually deserted, and her pace was brisk. "Wait!" he called out, his voice echoing through the empty hallway.

She stopped and turned towards him, the veil still obscuring her features. "What are you doing here?"

A broad smile spread across Mediah's face; it was indeed her. He would recognize Ulencia's voice anywhere. "I missed you."

She stepped towards him, and in a moment, they were almost nose to nose. The sudden impact of her hand against his cheek, amplified by the echoing slap, took him by surprise.

"Why are you here?"

Rubbing his cheek, Mediah replied with a hint of humour despite the sting, "I'm not sure if I should answer, considering your strong grip."

"Go away, Mediah. Return to the District Trial or anywhere else on the Map! The Red Sea even! I don’t care! Just disappear from here! And never come back!" Ulencia yelled.

"What did I do?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Just go away!" she insisted, turning to leave. But Mediah reached out, gently grasping her hand.

"Please, Ulencia, whatever I did or said, I'm sorry. I... I came because you once asked me a question, and now I have the answer. I wanted to..."

"I had to burn, shred or whatever, any invitation to any Magis to protect my people. Please, leave!" she pleaded, her voice trembling, "Please!"

"Your people? I thought we were your people... too." Mediah's words were grave with disappointment.

"No! You don’t understand. I protect my people, you and the others. You, Mediah, and the others are my only people. But you have no idea what's happening here. Xendrix, he... he..." Ulencia's voice broke off, and her body shook. Fear. Mediah could feed the fear coming through her skin and quickly release her grasp.

"Ulencia, Ule... you're scaring me. What's happening?" Mediah attempted to draw her closer, but she pushed him away with a force that betrayed her turmoil.

"He's become a monster. It's far worse than anything you can imagine. It's all been an act. You don't understand the danger, Mediah. Nobody can stop him, not even Yeso or Noctavia. We're all in danger!" Her words tumbled out, laced with tears and the panic of someone on the verge of breaking down.

Ignoring her resistance, Mediah pulled her into his embrace, trying to calm her. "Breathe, Ulencia, please breathe, I'm here now. We'll find a way to make things right, okay?"

"It's too late for that," she whispered.

"Ule..." Mediah’s words were soft as he rubbed the back of her neck covered by the veil. He could feel her filled with pain and fear, almost fed on it.

"We'll find a way through this," he assured her, "I'm here with you now."

"I'm pregnant. He... he got his way, he made me... I didn’t have any choice," Her voice trailed off, choked with grief. "I had no choice... I... I don't want it! I don't want to carry the seed of a monster! I don't want it! I want it out!"

Mediah's heart sank at her revelation. Gently loosening his hold, he reached up to lift her veil to dry her tears, but he couldn't expect what he saw.

Menschen, renowned for their blue blood, possess a unique physiology where their blood is made of raw magic. This magical disposition grants them immunity to sickness and ageing.

Even half-Menschen share this extraordinary trait, their blood infused with the same magical properties. Yet, Ulencia, standing before Mediah, appeared strikingly human in her current state. Signs of physical wear were evident on her face – wrinkles creased on her forehead and around the corners of her mouth.

One of her normally vivid blue eyes had turned grey and opaque, suggesting a loss of vision, and three of her front teeth were missing.

Visible bruises marred her neck, including two puncture marks, as if she had been bitten, and evidence of physical abuse.

Mediah, taking in the extent of her injuries, asked, almost numb from all the emotional turmoil he was feeling, "What the fuck, is he doing to you?"

> Throughout my career, I have attempted to heal victims of Lamia attacks, each case presenting a distressing sight. The symptoms vary significantly depending on the victim's blood type. One particularly poignant case involved a young elf brought to my office. He was almost dying. He was naturally pale, but on that day, he was a shade paler, with two puncture wounds on his neck. As I treated him, I observed a rapid and startling transformation. His hair lost its characteristic lustre, fine lines etched themselves around his eyes and mouth, and his gaze became empty, devoid of the spark-like, almost as if they were dead. I feared for my own safety that he might turn into a Lamia in my own office, but instead, something unexpected happened: he became human. His blood changed to red, and with that, he lost his connection to magic, to whatever made him an elf. This phenomenon added more complication to the already agonising mystery of how certain creatures suddenly possess red blood, like Maggie. This discovery was truly unsettling, prompting me to ponder the larger implications. It made me wonder if there's a greater force at play, perhaps orchestrating our existences to conclude earlier than naturally intended. I don't believe in gods, but it would be easier to explain all of this if I did. ——The Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer