Erin Yeats had only just graduated high school, yet her future was still entirely unclear to her. She sat on the bed in her cramped bedroom, a cornucopia of college brochures spread out before her. She reached up, running a hand through her mess of raven hair, and scratched her temple as if hoping to jumpstart her brain. No inspiration came to her.
All things considered, her grades had been... fine. She didn't fail any subjects, blessedly, and had gotten through her stint at New Sutton High School without incident, but she was hardly going to get into any of the more... prestigious courses on a scholarship with grades like hers.
It didn't help that she really had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She'd had guidance councillors and the like tell her over and over again how important it was to plan for the future, and she'd always said to herself that she'd do it later. Later, as it turned out, had snuck up on her when she wasn't looking.
Sighing, the skinny girl rose from her bed and smoothed the creases from her sweater. She had hoped, at some point, that she'd simply stumble upon something she was passionate about. That, as it turned out, was easier said than done.
She left the modest confines of her room and reached the crest of the stairs, before rounding the corner and slowly striding downward. The wall to her left was covered in framed paintings, which Oscar had steadily acquired over the years. Most of them were landscapes but there was always something a little bit off about some of them. The sky being the wrong colour, or the meadows being filled with flowers unlike any Erin had ever seen before. Others were more abstract, paintings that depicted rows of strange symbols.
She never really stopped to dwell on them. Trying to figure out her guardian's taste in art was an exercise in futility.
A strong meaty scent hit her nose as she descended, earning a pleased sigh from her. Oscar may have had a strange taste in art, but he never faltered when it came to cooking. "Spaghetti and meatballs," she said with a dreamy sigh.
Their house, which Erin had lived in for about as long as she could remember, was of a rather modest size. Cramped halls leading into small rooms, where a lot of the clutter cloistered in the corners. She entered the kitchen, smiling warmly. "Smells good," she said.
Oscar turned, grinning broadly at her. He was a tall and skinny man, dressed in worn denim pants and an olive colored shirt rolled up at the sleeves. "Well, it is my specialty."
"You say that about everything you cook."
"Benefits of being a master chef," Oscar boasted. Erin quirked a brow at him. "Anyway, any luck with your college research?" he asked, turning back to the meatballs.
The younger girl shook her head. "Not really. I'll think of something, though." Her eyes swept across the shelves surrounding the counter, laden with spices. "I guess I never stopped to think on how daunting the choice was going to be. There's a lot to take in and consider."
"Well..." Oscar shrugged. "There's no rush. If you want to take some time out, maybe get a temp job and then apply for something next year... You can take your time."
"Taking my time kind of landed me in this position. All that procrastination." Erin sighed. "Never thought it'd be this hard to figure out."
"You'll find that most folks your age don't really know what they want to do in life. There's nothing wrong with taking your time on things like this. Now, set the table." The taller man turned back to the meatballs, waving a spatula as if to emphasize his words. Erin nodded slowly and did so, setting the two plates she'd pulled from the drawers down on the wooden surface.
Maybe he had a point, she told herself. But she envied people who had something they were at least passionate about. She knew Carla planned on becoming a vet, and Marisa wanted to become a doctor. Frankly, Erin couldn't see herself in either role. But what was she going to do?
She had her hobbies, of course. Much of her free time in her teenage years had been spent at MMA and gymnastics classes, at the old man's insistence. She did well enough at them, and enjoyed them as hobbies, but she didn't consider herself good enough at either to try and pursue in a professional career in them.
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They sat down to eat, positioned across the table from each other. But, at about halfway through dinner, a knock sounded at the door. "Hm?" Erin looked up, a few strands of reddened pasta briefly dangling from her lips. She swallowed. "Who the heck could that be?"
They rarely got visitors of any kind. Aside from the mailman, at least.
Oscar bristled where he sat, his eyes widening. Slowly, he turned to regard the hall that led to the front door. "W-what..." he murmured, not noticing as Erin rose from her seat.
"I'll get it," Erin said, breezing past him.
It was only as she was halfway down the hall that Oscar seemed to jolt back to attention, the table rattling from his movement. "E-Erin, wait-" he gasped.
All too late, as the raven-haired girl gripped the handle of the door. She opened it, and for a moment Erin's brain struggled to comprehend what was waiting for her in the doorway.
From the neck down it had the physique of a man, adorned in a finely tailored black suit. Taller than her by a significant margin. His shoes, similarly, were finely made black leather covered by white spats. The tie around his neck was unblemished ivory, contrasting starkly against the dark material of his suit.
The head, however, was what caused Erin's mind to do a somersault. As if, on some primordial level, registering something inherently inhuman about the figure. The back of his head was wreathed in a layer of polished black leather, which glistened in the dull light of the sunset. But his face was concealed entirely by a sculpted ivory mask, which had been shaped to resemble a placid human expression.
Erin looked into the eyeholes of the mask, but saw nothing in them but black voids that seemed to stretch on for infinity.
She took a nervous step back from the silent, looming figure, while Oscar dashed to her side. "Can I... can I help you?" she asked, dumbstruck. It was all she could think to say.
Oscar positioned himself between her and the masked figure. The stranger didn't budge.
"Daughter of the Fulcrum," he said, his voice a rasping hiss that echoed in the back of her mind. "Your father has perished. You are the sole heir to his contract. Take up his duties and become the new Fulcrum."
Silence lingered between them.
"What?" Erin asked, her voice an incredulous hiss. "What... what in the world are you talking about? F-Fulcrum? Contract? And... and my father died years ago! That’s... that’s a fact. Tell him Oscar!"
Oscar had gone as white as a sheet, his pupils turning into pinpricks. "James is... James is dead?" he murmured.
"Yes," the stranger said in a low, stern voice. "The contract dictates that she must assume his responsibilities."
Oscar swallowed hard. "Now... now listen here, Conviction," he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. The stranger, Conviction, pushed inside. The door shut behind him without anyone touching it. "This is... you can't just barge in like this!" He was sweating heavily now. "And... and how did you even find her? We... you never had any contact with us before now!"
"Foolish creature," Conviction said, snapping his eyeless gaze toward Oscar who flinched under his scrutiny. "Did you believe you could hide the girl away, never to be seen by us? Her presence was never hidden to us, such is her blood."
Erin stared at the two. "H-hold on a second!" she shouted, stamping a foot on the floor. "Slow down and tell me exactly what this is all about! You two are talking complete nonsense! Who... who even are you?!" She jammed a finger toward the stranger, against her own better judgement.
Trembling, Oscar guided her hand back down. "He... is Conviction of the Dagda. But everyone calls him Conviction for short."
"Everyone?! Who is everyone?!" Erin growled, wide eyed and manic. Only a few minutes ago she had been enjoying dinner, just as she would on any normal Thursday evening, and now all of a sudden she'd been thrown headfirst into a briar of madness.
"You truly have not told her anything?" Though his mask remained unmoving, Erin could somehow feel Conviction glaring. "Foolish. You have put a great deal in jeopardy from your selfishness, lowly fylgja."
"It wasn't... it wasn't selfishness," he admitted in a low voice.
"Do not try to contradict me," Conviction growled. "And take off your ridiculous glamour." He lifted a gloved hand, and Erin briefly noticed something flicker into existence above his shoulder, a semi-transparent symbol that emitted a faint golden hue: An eyeball framed by a pair of brackets.
Oscar let out a frantic gasp, sweat pouring down his face. "Wait," he cried, "don't-"
A white flash burst from Conviction's palm, so intense that it was nearly blinding. She sharply raised her arm, trying to cover her eyes. A cry rose in her throat, muffled by the hissing roar of Conviction's power. The blinding light faded away, Erin rapidly blinking the spots from her eyes.
Oscar, the man who had raised her for the entirety of her life, was gone. In his place stood, or, rather, floated, a hovering serpentine shape covered in luminous white fur, with a wedge-shaped fox head and two small antlers on the sides of his head. It was roughly as tall as Oscar, and had a pair of stubby clawed paws.
The creature looked at her with sorrowful, ruby eyes. "Erin, I..." He spoke with Oscar's voice. The surreal nature of it all made her reel, the raven-haired girl swaying unevenly on her feet.
"She has never even seen your true face," Conviction said, clasping his hands behind his back. The symbol at his side vanished in a puff of luminous red smoke. "You truly are a fool. And you have made everything much more difficult."
"Conviction," Oscar pleaded, raising his glowing paws.
Erin looked from the furry creature who was apparently still her legal guardian, and the masked man who had so suddenly barged into her home and performed what could only be described as magic with a single gesture, and did the only sane thing she could do in such an impossibly bizarre situation:
She fainted.