Denor woke to the sound of someone hissing nearby, “Oh, rebellious child! Just wait, I can tame you...”

Nobody who ever talked about children that way could be considered one of the good guys, even Denor knew that.

He opened his eyes, only to slam them shut again as a thousand colorful sparks exploded above him, their brightness intolerable. “I’ll still make you work for me, my pure, noble, stupid little boy,” came the voice again, closer this time. His increasingly creepy comments progressing him further up the scale of villainy at a rapid rate.

Well, he looked to be in some underground cavern, and the company wasn’t great. Denor had a fair idea knew exactly where he was, he didn't know the position of anywhere else.

Though the intonation was off, the voice was unmistakable. Litarn. Of course, it was Litarn. Omnipresent and revolting. Who else was it going to be? Something was different about him this time, without the presence of villagers or servants, he seemed to have dropped all his collective masks. Before Denor stood the true sorcerer for once, and it wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

“Blasted sorcerer...” Denor muttered, astonished to find his tongue and lips working once more, his words clear as day.

“Awake, awake, my boy!” Litarn giggled, his tone sickeningly cheerful. “Open those pretty green eyes, don’t be afraid!”

Denor cracked his eyelids, squinting against the glare, and turned his head to avoid the dancing sparks. His eyelids, tongue, lips, and neck obeyed him, but no matter how he strained, the rest of his body remained inert. Which could present a problem unless he wanted to chew the evil villain to death. He knew from his grandfather’s stories that sorcerers preferred to be buried in large underground tombs like this, the problem for him was that they did so with great reluctance.

“Don’t squirm,” the old man chortled, noticing Denor’s efforts. “For now, I need you calm. Still as a stone. A big, warm stone, lying where it’s placed. Very soon you’ll be running about, mark my words! And not just on two legs, but on six! Isn’t that grand, my boy? Six marvelous legs, faster than those two scrawny clumsy legs you have now.”

“Hey! I might only have two legs, and they may be scrawny, but… what was the third thing?” Denor asked.

Judging by the musty air and the crazy lighting on the ceiling that would make an interior decorator have a seizure, he was in the depths of the man’s lair. But this was no ordinary, dank mine where the dead toiled like before. The low metallic ceiling was adorned with transparent crystals, reminiscent of spring water in the forest, magnifying the light into a dazzling spectacle worthy of a fairy-tale palace. Provided the fairytale had the evil winning at the end and taking over the establishment.

The walls, lined with polished dark stone and shimmering blue-green crystals, complemented the stone floor and the enormous table on which Denor lay. At the same table, mere inches from Denor’s head, sat Litarn, hunched like an old magpie over his pile of glittering stones. The man feverishly sifted through them with gnarled fingers, muttering to himself. Finally, he picked up an emerald, admiring its pure, joyous green, the color of fresh spring leaves.

“You’re the one I need, my pure little stone,” Litarn crooned. “Join your ruby friends and wait while I find you a partner...”

But the green stone splintered in his fingers, scattering sharp fragments across the table.

“Oh, proud one!” Litarn lamented. “That’s the third stone to kill itself in my hands.” He sighed, turning to Denor with a glare as if expecting the boy to comment. It looked like Denor wasn’t going to get an answer about his legs either.

For once, the boy stifled a potential reply about wishing death after the old fiend pawed at you being a perfectly normal response.

“You are so stubborn, my child. You’ve made it this far on ignorance alone, but someone is going to have to enlighten you eventually.”

Litarn stood next to him as if he owned a controlling interest, patting Denor’s rigid shoulder. “For now, you need simply stay put, my boy. I’ll be back soon. Just need to fetch some more gems from my storeroom. Then you’ll have it all explained to you.”

Well, if he was going to explain his dastardly plan successfully to him, that bought plenty of time at least.

The old man stalked off through a thick automatic door and left. Alone, Denor tried to rise again, but his body refused to cooperate. Desperate, he decided to shout, hoping Sulas might hear and realize he was also a prisoner of the damned sorcerer. The cry, more like the squawk of a dying seagull, was unlikely to spill beyond the thick walls encasing him.

So it was up to Denor to provide the heroics himself then. He was doomed.

The door creaked open a sliver. But it wasn’t Sulas or even Litarn, returned too soon. A thin figure slipped into the room shimmering with a thousand lights, crouching in fear and looking around with a healthy mix of shock and wonderment.

“Gella!” Denor exclaimed. “How did you get here?!”

Her appearance surprised him so much that he managed to lift his head and wave his hands. Gella rushed to him, both thrilled and terrified. She was breathing raggedly, blinking so often her eyes seemed a blur. If her lashes had been actual butterfly wings she would have been on the verge of liftoff.

“Oh, Denor! Try to get up, please! I can’t carry you, but I’ll support you, help you walk. I’ll even listen to you talk! Just get up! Quickly!”

“Do you think I haven’t tried since I woke up?” Denor said, waving his arms again and moving his neck like a demented marionette. “The old man’s poison is wearing off. I can talk, I can move. But I can’t get up yet! My back and legs won’t obey me…”

“You just need to warm them up! They’re frozen numb!” Gella began rubbing Denor’s shoulders, chest, and back with quick, strong fingers. Pleasant warmth flowed and tingled under his skin. “You’ll get up now, you can do it!” She exclaimed, making that at least eight exclamations in less than a minute, which was bordering on insanity.

“But how did you get here?” he asked again, twisting to expose every muscle to her hands. “Litarn’s gone for a while. If he finds you, he’ll destroy you. Worse than destroy you,” he corrected himself, remembering the old man’s talk of “six legs.”

“He took me down here too after the incident with your father,” Gella explained, her hands continuing their work. “I guessed what Litarn was up to, and he was so focused on you that he completely forgot about me!”

The efforts of her hands weren’t in vain. Denor’s arms and legs thawed and came to life. Straining, he threw his hand forward, grabbed Gella’s shoulder, and sat up. Then he bent his knee.

“Oh, you’re getting better, Denor!” she exclaimed with delight and without any ulterior motives that the boy was completely oblivious to. It was also the first time anyone had uttered this sentence to him.

But before his self-esteem could register the encouragement, he heard the creak of the door being opened. Denor quickly shoved Gella under the cover of the protruding long slab of the table. Gella curled up into a ball and closed her eyes tight. Denor wanted to return to his previous position, but only managed to fall backward, painfully hitting the back of his head on the cold polished stone of the table.

Why did Litarn have to make the damn table out of stone? If Denor had possessed any brain cells they would have been rattling about his skull at the impact.

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The old man who entered took a quick look at his captive's sprawled form with outstretched arms and a half-bent leg, but instead of anger, he nodded his head in silent understanding.

"Is it boring to lie motionless? Be patient, my boy. Soon you will move, run, crawl. Tomorrow, a new and exciting life will begin for you, my glorious, my darling... If you only knew how much I need your courage, your audacity, your wolfish sparkle in your eyes!"

If creepiness were a national past time, the event would have been cancelled due to Litarn winning in perpetuity.

"Why do you need all this? Why from me?" Denor asked, trying to slowly return to his previous position. He decided to carry on a conversation with the talkative old man. Firstly, Litarn might blurt out something important that would be useful for escape. Secondly, keeping Litarn chatting would hopefully mask any sounds the reckless girl might make.

Failing that, he would try to bite him. He suspected that the man tasted about as good as he looked.

"Every great sorcerer needs a henchman, Denor," Litarn answered readily. “I have been watching Tamet play games with you for years, I knew that you were marked for greatness later in life. So much trickery and misfortune for one so young? It is a matter of time before your luck turns!”

Denor blinked in disbelief. The sorcerer was recruiting him?

“Your power level may not even register on the scanners, but Tamet has blessed you far more than you can possibly realise. He has sent you to me, as a disciple, a pupil of my arts just like I was a student of the one from the north!”

The blank look from the boy did more to coax out the sorcerer’s diatribe than any piercing question ever could.

“You are an unpolished lump of coal!” Litarn cackled to himself. “Your potential levels of luck are greater than any I have seen before, and now with your new body you cannot fail!”

Dnor looked down at his motionless feet, but after careful inspection this did appear to be his regular two-legged body, with nothing new in sight.

“You are like your good friend Charan,” the sorcerer smiled.

“I think it’s Choron,” Denor muttered.

The sorcerer wasn’t listening. “You cannot die, and I have named you my successor!”

The old man was completely insane, Denor saw this now. Not that his previous actions left any doubt to the matter, but there was no way this was happening. Dead? Him? He felt very much alive, thank you very much!

“Think of it my boy, all the luck in the world, every situation turning to the fortuitous in the long run, coupled with the inability to be killed! It’s the kind of broken power that people would write epics about!”

The thought that the old man was serious about turning him into some beetle-like creature made Denor's head spin and nausea rise in his throat. He almost lost consciousness. But it was seemingly impossible to remain silent and, especially, to faint. While Litarn looked like he could continue a conversation over Denor’s unconscious body, he needed to keep the man talking.

Overcoming the chilling disgust, he responded in a weak but interested voice. "So what about the new body? Do I get antenna like the ant?"

"I’ll remake you just as I did with Sulas!" Litarn exclaimed, pride bursting out of his voice. "The main thing is to make the Star Necklace. You need to select twelve pairs of stones that passionately love each other and line them up in a chain according to special signs…"

It should be noted that the sorcerer continued babbling about stones and signs for a lengthy amount of time, but the sake of the tale the narrator has decided not to include it.

Litarn fell silent after the aforementioned lengthy amount of time. He seemed exhausted from his efforts or simply tired of his own villainous diatribe. Carefully and with concentration, he laid out a circle of multi-colored stone pairs on the smooth surface of the table.

Denor heard a rustling sound and a slight sigh from under the table. Apparently, Gella was tired from sitting for so long, hunched over. Litarn looked up warily. Denor yawned and scratched himself, making it clear that he was the source of all potentially suspicious sounds.

The transition from excited talkativeness to focused silence was too abrupt, and Denor was slightly confused, as he hadn’t really been listening. Nevertheless, he made one more attempt to break the dangerous stillness.

"So, do you want to explain the ‘being dead’ bit?"

"All in due time," muttered the old man to himself, not answering the question.

It seemed something was amiss with the necklace he was working on, and that’s why he frowned and bit his thin lips. Litarn shuffled the stones around, muttering curses at them like they were misbehaving children. Finally, he sighed with satisfaction, rubbed his fingers, and looked at the boy.

“I have my ways,” he finally answered. “The ant you so cleverly rode last time was a small, inconspicuous bug that came from a curse, so not entirely brainless like all other insects. I released it into a cage that shimmered with all the colors. And what a handsome creature it grew into! In just three cycles I was able to augment its growth into a new form of hardened metal.”

Litarn admired the beautiful multi-colored circle laid out on the table, then pulled out a flexible metal thread from somewhere nearby.

For a while, he worked in silence. Denor tried his best to come up with a question that would get the old man talking again, but nothing suitable came to mind. Fortunately, Gella no longer sighed or rustled. Maybe she had lost consciousness from fear? Or dozed off from boredom at having to listen to the man talk about his stones.

Suddenly, the old man jumped up and clapped his hands in a jarring fashion. The sound bounced off the walls like a ringing ball.

“Done!” he announced joyfully. “Well, isn’t that impressive? I created a Star Necklace in just half a night!”

He spun around and then jumped high, jingling all his amulets and trinkets like a mischievous boy.

“I did a good job and now I’m happy, this is a merry time between master and pupil.”

He made a face at the boy and jumped again. Then he walked up to the wall and ran his palm over the polished surface.

“Thank you, thank you, my good friends. You might not have gifted immortality, but invincibility will do for now,” he said to the gems adorning the ceiling of the room.

Litarn then came closer to the boy and fixed his half-crazy eyes on him.

“Get up!” he ordered unexpectedly loudly and sharply.

“Why?” Denor asked, surprised at the shift in tone.

“Get up! I command you to stand up!” the sorcerer snapped, his tone utterly changed now from commanding to genuinely terrifying. The man was unhinged, veering wildly like an aurox trying to pilot a starship.

Denor felt an almost irresistible urge to stand up. He nearly sprang to his feet, obedient as a well-trained dog. He fought it with what little free will he had left, because Denor was one of life’s natural contrarians.

"But I can’t," he said as pitifully as he could manage. "Only my neck and fingers obey me."

Litarn eyed him with suspicion, then nodded. "Yes, well, I suppose my poison works very well. If not for it, you’d have jumped up like a loyal little soldier."

The boy stayed silent, which was inadvertently the right choice, turning his head to press his face against the cold stone table and trying to escape the dazzling glare from above. Noticing this, the old man smirked proudly.

"Yes, my stones shine brilliantly! Just as splendid as the sun, but far less capricious. They don’t just shine; they enlighten my mind, show me the future, and stave off the hand of the trickster himself."

Litarn lifted his head, gazing upwards with self-satisfaction and basking in their light, but then he frowned, as if reading something unpleasant in the sparkling tints—perhaps a warning or a menacing hint. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm tired. These damn stones have blinded me. It seems I need to rest before I finish what I've started. But look, my boy, isn't it magnificent?"

He took the necklace from the table and tossed it onto Denor's chest. The stones struck his ribs, making him flinch.

"Look, look," Litarn repeated. "Admire them, if you can see!"

The boy touched the cool stones, feeling them shift under his fingers. Litarn leaned over, pointing out various gem pairs in a tired, gentle voice.

"You’ll wear the necklace so the ruby sits at the base of your throat, ensuring your courage and battle rage never wane. This courage will be very, very useful to us in our future conquest of the stars, like the great Vernian sorcerers of old!"

He continued, his voice softening. "It is not entirely a gift I have bestowed upon you, this inability to be killed. You can be hurt, and you can be destroyed utterly, and you will feel every pain of that. But at the end of it all, you will return unharmed and to your default state soon enough."

The old man leaned closer, his muttering growing more indistinct. His breath was hot and stuffy, making Denor's nose twitch until he sneezed loudly. Litarn straightened up, seemingly startled back to alertness.

"Come on, stand up," he ordered. "I’ll put it on you."

Denor reached forward but, catching himself in time, groaned weakly. "No! I still can't."

"The poison must have been stronger than I anticipated," the old man muttered, then his eyes widened.

“Yes?” Denor enquired, wondering what he had done to cause this reaction.

“Denor… are you holding on to the table with your right hand?”

Denor slowly looked down at his hand as if it had a mind of its own, then back up at the sorcerer. “Yes, where are you going with this?”

He scowled, and roughly lifted the boy's head, fastening the necklace around his neck with a copper thread. "That's it, let’s just affix it there. It's good for you too, my boy. This means you won’t feel pain during the joining. It will be a little scary, a little unpleasant, but nothing more. Wear these wonderful stones. They are your life now."

The old man shuffled to the door and turned before opening it.

"I’ll be gone for a while; it's time to find your friend. Your future legs—six agile, golden legs. Your future back with excellent armor grown into it. Perhaps I’ll rest when it’s all over. Don’t get too lonely without me, my boy."

Denor shuddered. He had to get out of here, before something even worse happened.