Chapter 8
The room seemed to tighten its grip around Oberon as he observed Alicia's frail form on the bed. His eyes, accustomed to the shadows, now carried the weight of a secret burden. In the subdued glow, the bruises on Alicia's body whispered echoes of suffering, a reflection of a loved one's battles with a unique and seemingly incurable condition.
As the physician tended to Alicia's battered body, Oberon couldn't help but draw a poignant comparison. The clinical precision with which the physician worked evoked memories of the countless healers who had attempted to ease the pain of his afflicted loved one. Alicia's silent struggles resonated with the helplessness he felt whenever he thought of that past event.
‘She's just like her’, Oberon compared silently, his thoughts echoing in the shadows. ‘A captive of her own pain, battling against the invisible foes that leave scars both seen and unseen.’ The air thickened with the unspoken weight of shared suffering, a common thread between two lives entangled by circumstances beyond their control.
As the physician diligently tended to Alicia's battered form, Oberon's thoughts lingered in the shadows of his own inner turmoil. The melancholy that shrouded him did not escape the notice of the astute healer. Sensing an opportunity to offer solace, the physician broke the silence.
"What weighs on your mind, Oberon?" he inquired, his voice a soft ripple in the room's stillness. "I didn't expect to find one of the Paragon's trusted guards looking so despondent in the face of this unfortunate event. I can't help but sense a deeper connection."
Oberon's gaze, a mixture of guarded emotions, met the physician's probing eyes. The air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken understanding.
The physician, with a compassionate tone, continued, "It is indeed tragic what befell her. I can empathize with the heaviness of your heart in witnessing such suffering."
A moment of hesitation hung in the air before Oberon replied tersely, "It's nothing of the sort. Alicia merely reminded me of someone I know. That's all."
His words, a shield against his personal struggles. It was almost like he unintentionally let slip a vulnerability that he himself despised.
"Is that so..." replied the physician, his voice carrying a weight that echoed the somber atmosphere in the room. He momentarily diverted his attention from Alicia's still form, fixing his gaze on the window that overlooked the troubled world beyond. The moon’s pallid glow cast elongated shadows, emphasizing the gravity of their conversation.
"These are troubled times," he mused, his words laden with a heavy sigh that seemed to resonate with the gloominess of the era. His eyes, reflective pools of weariness, met the unforgiving landscape outside. The physician spoke as if shouldering the burden of the world's woes.
"Especially now, with the bordering empire declaring war on our own," he continued, the words hanging in the air like a storm cloud on the brink of releasing its torrent. The room seemed to contract with the weight of impending conflict, and the physician's voice mirrored the grim reality.
His gaze returned to Alicia, still and fragile on the bed, as he muttered, "Who would've thought that Constantine would be so impatient..." The name itself seemed to carry a curse, an embodiment of the brewing darkness on the horizon. The physician's tone, now tinged with a touch of resentment, resonated with the harsh reality of a world torn apart by the ambitions of its leaders.
Oberon, seeking to shroud his momentary vulnerability in a cloak of levity, attempted a jest that cut through the heavy air of the room like a misplaced blade. "Well, with the empire at war, your business should be booming, shouldn't it?" he quipped, a forced smile playing on his lips. The attempt at humor, however, fell flat, hanging in the air like an ill-conceived echo.
The physician, caught off guard by the jest that bordered on the morbid, blinked in surprise. His features betrayed a flicker of discomfort, a subtle response to a joke that danced too close to the shadows of insensitivity. The room, already steeped in a sombre ambiance, absorbed the tension like a reluctant witness to an awkward exchange.
A heavy sigh escaped the physician, a veil of resignation settling over him. Rather than engaging in a confrontation, he chose the path of reluctant agreement. "Yes, war often brings an influx of business for those in my trade," he conceded, his tone carrying a muted reproach. It was a delicate dance between maintaining professional decorum and acknowledging the stark reality of their conversation.
Oberon scoffed, a dismissive retort to the physician's veiled response, hung in the air like an unspoken challenge. Undeterred, he pressed further, steering the conversation toward the regional dynamics brought about by the war. "And what's your take on Baron Hermes and his performance in the war effort? How's Salem faring against the Byzantine forces?"
The physician, choosing his words with deliberate care, replied with a guarded tone. "Baron Hermes is proving adept against the raids and sieges by the Byzantine forces. It's not surprising, considering his lineage hails from the esteemed military house of the Heimarchs," he stated, a diplomatic veil shrouding his true sentiments. The air thickened with unspoken thoughts, and the shadows in the room seemed to whisper secrets of their own.
He continued, seemingly veering into safer territory. "Count Tyranir, Baron Hermes's father, was a remarkable strategist in the previous war. His achievements were overwhelming, and I have no doubt that the Baron would follow in his father's esteemed footsteps."
A subtle nod accompanied the praise, a testament to the unwavering loyalty embedded in the physician's words towards the previous generation.
On the other hand, Oberon, perhaps seeking a common ground in the tumultuous terrain of war and politics, nodded in agreement with the physician's sentiments. "Indeed, Baron Hermes is doing an admirable job in maintaining stability within the city," he remarked, his words skimming over the tumult that brewed in the outer districts, as if intentionally steering clear of the less savory aspects.
The physician, caught between the weight of truth and the necessity of diplomacy, mirrored a reluctant affirmation. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of shame, a subtle acknowledgment of the dissonance between the city's inner veneer of stability and the harsh realities in its outskirts.
Despite his own dissatisfaction with this perspective, he masked his true feelings in a veneer of agreement, attempting to look impressed.
Oberon, sensing the underlying currents of unspoken dissent, regarded the physician with a peculiar look. It was as if he suspected him of having a hidden treacherous opinion veiled beneath the facade of compliance.
But before he could delve deeper into this mystery, a sudden knock on the door startled them both, breaking the tense atmosphere that hung in the room.
Oberon's hand instinctively found solace on the hilt of his sword. The air thickened with anticipation, and caution etched across his features as he approached the door. Every fiber of his being resonated with the silent warning of the unknown.
The door creaked open, revealing the silhouette of a young noble framed against the dim light of the corridor. This individual possessed an air of aristocratic confidence, his attire reflecting the richness of his station.
His dark auburn hair, neatly styled, framed a face marked by sharp, hazel eyes that seemed to hold a glint of mischief. The colours of nobility adorned him – a deep burgundy doublet embellished with gold accents, hinting at his noble upbringing. His countenance, a blend of composed arrogance and youthful vigor, bore the unmistakable mark of a scion of privilege.
Oberon’s guarded stance shifted immediately to one of respect as he recognized the visitor. "Young master, Trevor," he greeted, stepping aside with a deferential nod and extending his hand to usher the guest inside.
Trevor, the embodiment of nonchalance, passed by him without acknowledging the gesture, there was an air of entitlement in his every step.
As he moved forward, Oberon's senses tingled with an abrupt alertness, a ripple in the otherwise mundane. A hidden danger, ephemeral yet palpable, seemed to accompany the young master. Oberon's eyes scanned the room, the corridor, seeking the elusive specter of threat. His gaze fixated on Trevor's back, a silent question lingering in the air.
The room held its breath, the shadows conspiring with Oberon in an unspoken dance of apprehension. Oberon, determined to uncover the enigma that evaded his senses, stepped into the corridor. His eyes swept across the surroundings, searching for the elusive danger that had prickled his instincts. Yet, the corridor offered no answers, no telltale signs of intrusion.
Perplexed, Oberon turned back into the room, his expression betraying a lingering unease. Trevor, unperturbed by the sudden shift in atmosphere, inquired,
"What's wrong?"
The question hung in the air, a mystery waiting to be unraveled, as Oberon struggled to articulate the spectral threat that had eluded his grasp.
Oberon, his hand slowly retracting from the sword hilt, inclined his head respectfully toward Trevor. "Young master, Trevor," he began, his voice carrying a measured tone, "Forgive my intrusion, but as you entered, I felt a presence, an unknown entity. I sought to investigate, but nothing untoward revealed itself. Perhaps it was a fleeting moment of unease."
Trevor, eyebrows slightly furrowed, regarded Oberon with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. "Strange," he mused.
"I've been alone all this time and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. But I suppose these are uncertain times, and even the shadows seem to play tricks on us."
Deciding not to dwell on the momentary unease, Trevor turned his attention to the physician, who stood in silent observance. "How is Alicia?" he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of concern.
The physician, accustomed to the weight of such questions, responded with a measured tone, echoing the same account he had given the paragon before. "Her condition remains precarious, young master. The injuries are severe, and there's an unknown poison affecting her. We've done what we can, but a great physician is expected tomorrow. We can only hope for the best until then."
“I see, I understand, thank you for your efforts” he mentioned to the man as he eyed the bed-ridden Alicia before him.
Trevor, adopting an unhurried grace, approached Alicia's bedside. The room, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candlelight, witnessed his deliberate movements as he took a seat beside her, a touch of concern etching his features.
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Gently, he cradled Alicia's bandaged arm in his own, his fingers caressing the injured limb with a delicate touch.
"Sister, how are you feeling?" Trevor's voice, filled with a mix of care and worry, hung in the air. However, the room was veiled in a heavy silence as it offered no response, for Alicia remained lost in the clutches of unconsciousness.
Unperturbed, Trevor continued his ministrations, his hand trailing to Alicia's blackened face. With a tenderness that seemed incongruous with the grim reality of her condition, he tucked a strand of unruly hair behind her ear.
A fresh cloth replaced the slightly cold one on Alicia's forehead, Trevor's movements deliberate and almost ritualistic it was a small act that spoke of a brother's concern manifesting in tender gestures.
"I'm worried about you, dear sister," he whispered, the sincerity in his voice belying the silence that enveloped the room.
On the other hand, Oberon, a vigilant observer within the still room, scrutinized the scene with discerning eyes. As he watched Trevor's gestures of care, a subtle unease settled within him.
It wasn't the concern itself that unsettled Oberon but the peculiar nuance in Trevor's actions. The contrast became apparent when Oberon found himself retracing the steps of his own memories, recalling the moments spent tending to his own injured loved one. He thought about her.
As Trevor tenderly attended to his sister, Oberon's perceptive eyes seized a moment of realization, a silent acknowledgment that danced in the shadows of his thoughts. However, Oberon chose to ignore the answer within the labyrinth of his own mind.
His expression, though inscrutable, betrayed a fleeting glimpse of slight understanding, a flicker of instinct that he chose not to articulate openly.
"Physician, what is your opinion on the Great physician? Will he be able to cure her disease?" Trevor asked, his voice a measured blend of hope and apprehension. This calm yet worried inquiry hung in the air, an echo of concern that coloured the room with an undertone of anxiety.
The physician, responding with a tone brimming with admiration and confidence, assured Trevor of the Great physician's expertise. "He comes from a renowned Sect, specializing in poisons and medicine. His reputation precedes him, especially when it comes to ailments such as this," the physician remarked, words suffused with a sense of reassurance.
A smile, wide and sincere, blossomed across Trevor's face, gratitude evident in his expression. "Such wonderful news," he breathed, the words carrying a hopeful resonance. With that assurance, he turned his attention back to Alicia, his fingers once again caressing her face with a tenderness that echoed relief.
"Sister, did you hear that?" Trevor's voice, tinged with excitement, reached out to the stillness of the room. "A great person will come to heal you soon, isn't that wonderful?" he exclaimed, the words carrying a note of optimism that permeated the air.
With a gentle kiss on her cheek, Trevor stood up and walked to the window, his gaze shifting towards the moonlit sky. As he gazed into the expanse beyond, a subtle yet undeniable sense of hope enveloped the room.
In the tranquil room, as Trevor faced the window, a sudden call broke the stillness. "Oberon," he uttered, his voice carrying a subtle command. A subtle gesture followed – a mere tilt of his head, directing Oberon's attention toward the physician who stood by.
Oberon, well-versed in Trevor's unspoken cues, began to walk towards him, only to change direction abruptly as he approached the physician. In a swift, unexpected move, Oberon knocked the physician unconscious with a well-practiced efficiency, the unceremonious act executed with a precision that hinted at a strategized plan.
Still facing the outside, Trevor's voice cut through the silence, issuing a directive to his trusted companion. "Leave him on that chair," he commanded, the words carrying an authority that Oberon, akin to a dutiful servant, acknowledged without a word.
Obediently, Oberon lifted the unconscious physician and positioned him against a chair in the room, the unassuming piece of furniture now serving as an unwitting seat for the healer.
Afterwards, Oberon assumed a stance of duty, ready to carry out the next directive in this unexpected turn of events.
"Three wishes..." Trevor's words hung in the air, casting a shadow of tension across the room.
..
"Do you remember?" Trevor's question, delivered with a deliberate pause, pierced through the quiet thickening atmosphere.
Taken aback, Oberon's response was measured, a simple yet affirmative "Yes." His gaze, directed downward, vividly recalling the day when Trevor had offered him a solution to his trouble, a pact sealed with the promise of three wishes to be fulfilled.
"This so-called Great Physician," Trevor began, the words laced with a mocking tone, "truly a beacon of hope, wouldn't you say?" he continued, feigning enthusiasm, "I mean, what a joyous occasion it is to have someone of such unparalleled skill grace us with their presence. Don't you think, Oberon?"
The rhetorical question hung in the air, an insincere inquiry that only deepened the discomfort in the room. Trevors voice took on a caustic edge.
"Of course, we would! because who wouldn't be overjoyed to have a savior on the way?" he continued, a smirk playing on his lips. "I can hardly contain my excitement, Oberon. Can you?"
The atmosphere grew increasingly sinister as Oberon sensed Trevor's displeasure beneath the facade. Trevor's clenched fists spoke volumes, and his mutterings hinted at a darker truth lurking beneath the surface.
"What a joke," Trevor muttered, the words mingled with suppressed fury.
..
"Just as things were going too well." His sardonic tone painted a picture of discontent towards fate.
"But, of course, our dear Alicia's misfortune wasn't part of the grand plan," Trevor mused, the air thick with insinuation. Oberon, sometimes life throws us surprises. And I do so love surprises, don’t you agree?"
"You see fate can be quite the unpredictable companion, can't it?" The words lingered, emphasizing the sinister dance of events.
The tension escalated as Trevor's dissatisfaction with the situation became palpable. "I truly need to thank that unknown perpetrator," he muttered with genuine gratitude that contrasted his venom.
"One wish," Trevor declared, his voice devoid of any warmth it was laced with an unsettling calm as it hung in the air, resonating with a gravity that sent a shiver down Oberon's spine.
Oberon watched as he observed Trevor turning around to face him, and in that moment, he felt that the expression on Trevor’s face metamorphosed. It was an expression that could only be described as demonic, , a mask of cold indifference to which he wasn’t familiar with.
Oberon felt an unease clawing at the edges of his consciousness. He could almost perceive the air crackling with an oppressive aura as he locked eyes with Trevor further feeling that emptiness that was both cold and devoid of humanity, as if windows into a void. The next set of words almost caused him to stagger in place.
..
"Kill her," Trevor's command sliced through the air like a chilling wind, each word carrying the weight of malevolence. The room itself seemed to recoil from the sheer darkness that emanated from his words.
Oberon, uneasy and paralyzed by the gravity of the command, stared back into those empty eyes, his own gaze reflecting the internal struggle between morality and the sinister forces at play.
For a moment, Oberon found himself plunged into a realm of unsettling introspection. His internal monologue echoed through the corridors of his mind, a tumultuous storm of realization and regret.
The unsettling unease that had gnawed at him during Trevor's seemingly caring gestures toward Alicia now unfurled its true form.
‘Yes, this is the answer, the care Trevor had shown for Alicia, the gentle caresses and his supposed concern for her…it was nothing more than a macabre performance.’
‘Those eyes…’ he continued. ‘That emptiness, it…it mirrors the hollowness in his supposed act of compassion, Yes…this is exactly what I felt in that instance.’
"Dissonant Spiritual Root", Trevor suddenly mentioned as he stared at Oberon. His tone, like a venomous arrow, pierced the air and struck Oberon's very core.
"You see, Oberon," Trevor's voice carried a chilling satisfaction, "I've come across some valuable information. It seems your loved one's ailment is quite the conundrum, a rare malady indeed." A predatory gleam flickered in his eyes, acknowledging the vulnerability he held over Oberon.
His words became a cruel dance of mockery. "A cure exists of course, hidden within the secrets of nature. A combination of unique herbs, meticulously crafted to counteract the Dissonant Spiritual Root." Trevor's taunts reverberated in the room, each syllable calculated to tighten the invisible noose around Oberon's conscience.
A sardonic smile played on Trevor's lips as he dangled the prospect of a solution before Oberon. "Interestingly," he continued, "I happen to possess one of those elusive herbs. A simple wish my dear Oberon, and this precious remedy could be yours." The weight of the moment hung in the air as Trevor reveled in the power he held over the tormented guard.
“What do you say, protector?”, he mocked.
Oberon felt the walls closing in around him, trapping him in a web of despair. His mind, a battleground of conflicting emotions, wrestled with the gravity of the choices before him. The prospect of a cure for his loved one, tantalizingly close yet veiled behind Trevor's nefarious demands, tugged at the strings of his deepest fears and hopes.
‘Is this what it comes down to?’, he asked himself. ‘Trevor holds the key to her cure…but is it worth it?’
His internal struggle unfolded like a storm, each option a lightning bolt illuminating the path ahead. ‘Do I sacrifice my principles for the chance to save her?’ This question reverberated in Oberon's mind.
‘What if he goes back on his words?’, he suddenly thought as he stared back into Trevor’s haunting eyes.
s if sensing Oberon's wavering resolve, Trevor decided to unleash another shard of despair, a cruel piece of information that cut through the air with a chilling certainty.
"And here's the interesting part, Oberon," Trevor's voice dripped with a venomous mix of amusement and sadism. "Those afflicted with the Dissonant Spiritual Root are said to have their lives tethered to a mere fifteen years. Borrowed time, if you will."
The words echoed through the dimly lit room, each syllable laden with the weight of impending doom. Oberon, already ensnared in the web of Trevor's demands, felt the revelation strike like a physical blow.
‘Fifteen years…no, no that can’t be she-she’s almost...’, Oberon’s eyes widened in a panic.
In a moment of desperate surrender, Oberon, with a voice that quivered under the weight of despair acquiesced to Trevor's sinister command, whispering a reluctant agreement.
“I’ll do it…”
Trevor, without uttering a single word or a glance, extended his hand toward Alicia, a silent command that spoke volumes. It was a sinister gesture, a permission granted for Oberon to carry out the unthinkable.
Shame gripped Oberon as he approached Alicia's bedside, an inner conflict raging within him. The weight of his decision bore down on him, and as he gazed at the unconscious woman before him, he couldn't help but conjure the image of his own loved one in his mind. The resemblance haunted him, and in a whispered admission of guilt, he uttered two words apologetically,
"I'm sorry."
With a sinking heart, Oberon lifted the pillow from beneath Alicia's head and began to smother her. At first, her still form betrayed no signs of distress, but as the seconds ticked away, her limbs convulsed in a futile struggle for breath. Oberon, eyes tightly shut, continued the shameful act, a desperate bid to distance himself from the monstrous reality unfolding.
Time seemed to stretch, the room becoming a theatre of anguish, until Alicia's struggles gradually waned into stillness, the final gasps of life extinguished. Oberon, burdened by the weight of his actions, checked for signs of life in vain, confirming Alicia's demise.
Placing the pillow back beneath her lifeless head, Oberon turned away from the irrevocable act he had committed. Facing Trevor with a voice tainted by the depths of despair, he uttered two words once more,
"It's done."
The words hung in the air, echoing the shattering of Oberon's humanity in the face of an unforgiving bargain.
Trevor remained indifferent to the tragedy that had unfolded before him. His gaze, untouched by remorse, hadn't once graced Alicia's lifeless form ever since he stared at the sky outside. Perhaps, in that fleeting glance at the sky, he sought solace or absolution for a crime he orchestrated, hiding behind a veil of detachment that only deepened the revulsion that Oberon felt.
“Good”, he finally said.
Trevor's voice remained a monotone void, devoid of empathy. A hollow "Good" marked the culmination of the grim pact they'd sealed.
As if to further sully the already stained act, Trevor bestowed upon Oberon a choice of narratives—"Blame her death on the poison, Oberon," Trevor suggested, a cold directive issued with unsettling calmness.
"Or you could pin it on the unconscious physician. It matters little to me."
The decision was left in Oberon's hands, an unsettling freedom that only deepened the depravity of the situation. Just before disappearing from sight, Trevor uttered his chilling farewell, a foreboding promise veiled in uncertainty.
"Your reward will find its way to you, Oberon," he declared, his voice trailing off into the shadows.
The room, tainted by the recent atrocity, seemed to exhale a silent sigh of despair as Trevor left its confines. Unbeknownst to both Oberon and Trevor, a shadow detached itself from the dimly lit corners, slinking after Trevor as if an unseen spectre with a purpose of its own. This subtle, mysterious presence remained unnoticed, eclipsed by the weight of the tragic events that had just transpired.
Meanwhile, Oberon, standing amidst the aftermath of his own moral unraveling, appeared physically drained and emotionally shattered. If a loved one were to witness him in this moment, they would discern a profound transformation—a mere shadow of the once-vibrant and resilient guard.
The haunting question, "What have I done?" echoed through his mind, a desperate plea for absolution in a moment stained by treachery and despair.