“Why?” Seth groaned.

Pain slithered through his head as if someone slipped wires through it. It wasn’t a pain that was unbearable but it was pain, regardless.

It had been three days since Jabari had left him in the mist. Three days of constant visitations from the priest whose name he did not know. Each time the man would come morning and evening, too early and too late. Each time he would bring questions with him. Seth would never answer. Then he would bring the odd pain. Every day the pain was different. One moment it would be a piercing pain in his mind like being stabbed with a very thing needle, the next moment it would be an encompassing force that would attack him from all sides.

It was as though the priest had given up on getting answers from him and was now experimenting with whatever it was he was doing. Each time he came he would ask his questions with lesser zeal than the last. Then he would cast runes written in pink mana and Seth would feel an uncomfortable pain. Each time the rune was different. Each time the priest would leave with a frown on his face and worry on his mind.

Tonight Seth struggled as the world pressed around him, grinding against his mind. It was akin to a drill in soft tissue. At some point Seth had tried to fight the pain; refuse the priest any form of satisfaction he would take in any sign of discomfort. Now, he cared for little else. A soul mage did not need to see pain to know his victim was in pain, especially one as unsouled as him. So tonight Seth screamed in a thousand voices whenever the pain rose too high, writhing in his prison of a bed. Sometimes, if he got loud about it, the pain would let up, but it would never leave. The priest never stopped until it was time for him to leave.

Tonight the man stood to the side, watching. His face was without notable expression. He could’ve been enjoying what he was doing or been repulsed by it and no one would know which one it was. Tonight he’d asked the same questions. Who sent you? What do you want? Where did you come from? How do you know my name?

Each time Seth had given the same answer. He would speak only to Dante Faust.

It was a lie. He would not speak only to Dante Faust. In fact, he would speak to the wind if he was allowed. But every time… every gods damned time, his answer was the same. His minds echoed it and his mouth obeyed. Wish all he could, Jabari had done something to him that he did not understand; something that even now in the man’s absence, he could not disobey.

“I… will sp… speak… only… to Dante… Faust,” Seth mumbled through his daze.

Beside him the priest sighed. “That you haven’t spoken to me implies you are lying. Did whoever sent you even tell you what I look like. I swear these spies get dumber each time.”

Seth was barely listening through the muffle of pain that clouded his mind. He was at least pleased with the silence in his head, though. The voices had screamed with him once before, but at least they fell silent after.

“You understand you are the distraction, do you not?” the man that was not Dante continued. “You’re most likely the distraction, while someone else does something else somewhere else. While I must commend whatever training you’ve had, you must know it is for naught. What are you, twelve, eleven…”

Thirteen, you arsehole, a piece of Seth’s mind snarled.

Seth couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought and pain lanced through his mind once more a spit. He’d thought his mind would stay silent longer. It seemed he was wrong.

“You guys keep quiet through everything and that’s the one that gets you,” he mumbled, taking advantage of the strength he could feel returning.

Be quiet, another one of his minds whispered. We’re making him use up strength he doesn’t have. And we all know he’ll need it.

“For… what?” Seth drawled, spittle dripping from the edge of his lips., pain ever present even in his daze. Strangely, the pain seemed to addle his mind. Perhaps it was the reason his other minds thought less than usual.

Even now it was difficult to focus.

“This game you play will not work, child,” the priest spat, his façade cracking momentarily before he schooled it. “I have done no lasting damage to you not simply because you’re young. I have done it for other reasons. Considering your training in resisting mind magic, you must know that priests have ways of getting the knowledge they seek from whoever they seek, in whatever way is necessary.” He stepped forward, towering over Seth’s lying form. “You have not even begun to experience the precipice of what a priest is capable of… of what I am capable of. But considering you’re young, you still have time to experience it. Should you tell me the truth, however, I will sponsor you—make you a seminarian under my protection. What do you say?”

We say fuck you… wait, panic laced the thought, can Barons read minds?

Don’t think so, another mind answered. If not, baldie there wouldn’t keep looking at us like we’re crazy.

In his defense…

“Please,” Seth begged them, tired and disoriented. “Please no more.”

He was struggling to pay attention to the priest already, but the voices and his daze wouldn’t let him. Everything was getting harder to focus on. The man had made him an offer of admission. Why he had to be sponsored was a different subject, but it sounded like a good proposition. All he had to do was answer. But did he want to join the seminary this way? Hadn’t Jabari already promised him? So why all this; why the need to go through this insanity? Why did he have to suffer whatever this was? And why did the priest think he had a resistance to mind magic? All he had were noise makers in his head.

Seth opened his mouth with the little energy he had and wasn’t surprised at the words that came forth.

“I will speak only to Dante Faust.”

Pain lanced through his mind again. This time it came too suddenly and a shriek escaped his lips. It dug in, burrowing like a spider into his mind, biting and scraping and chewing. Tears filled his eyes this time and his screams blurred his thoughts so that he heard nothing. Still, he felt his minds’ discontent, their discomfort at his pain. It was as if they felt it too, but they did not scream today. Not as they had done on the first day. Strangely, he took some form of consolation in that. It was enough to present the delusion that they didn’t feel it, even though he knew better.

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“To only Dante Faust, right?” the priest asked, though his face gave nothing away. “Or die waiting. It’s a shame you have been chosen to be discarded. But rest easy knowing that I will find your associates and bring them the same pain after you are gone.”

Seth did not give an answer. He did not offer words, though he wished to. His mind was clouded in pain, a haze settling over it. His mind felt sore even without knowledge of how exactly the priest did whatever he did. Clearly, the man was using whatever pink runes he kept on casting to inflict the pain Seth was feeling. It reminded Seth that magic remained a weapon no matter what it was used for.

Suddenly another voice joined the room, and it brought peace with it.

“That’s quite enough of that, John.”

The voice was old, and quite honestly weary. When it spoke, the pain in Seth’s mind ended abruptly.

Seth tried to move his head but was too tired, not that it would’ve made any difference. It was still strapped to the bed, the harness running across his forehead holding it down.

The new arrival, whoever he was, walked around the room first, studying nothing in particular. He was an old man, the kind that was bent over from age. He was hunched so that he appeared shorter than he actually was, and moved with a walking cane.

“Are you sure about this?” the younger priest asked. “There are still—”

The old man cut him off with a raised hand. “Contrary to what the seminarians believe, Reverend John, we train the children here. We do not torture them with mind magic simply because we have failed to pierce the protection of their mind. Seeing as you have achieved nothing despite how many different methods you have used, it is safe to say that whatever is protecting his mind is of a higher authority than you.”

“But that’s the problem,” John returned. “There is no protection over his mind.”

The old man paused, then turned to look at him. “None?”

“None. His mind just feels different. It’s like a rubik’s cube if the colors are always moving on their own. It’s annoying.”

“I see,” the old man mused. “Regardless, it doesn’t justify all this pain.”

“Perhaps,” John answered, chastised. “However,” he pushed on, regardless. “We must observe him—learn how he has gotten his mind to work this way. I can assure you Rec—I can assure you that his mind works differently from ours, sir. If we can figure out how he does it, then we can—”

“No,” the old man cut him off. “You will agree that I have allowed this your…” his hand made a disgusted gesture. “…experiment, go on long enough, would you not?”

John straightened where he was, expression schooled as he answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now leave us.”

John left without question. The door’s groaning hinges announced his departure as it had always done. Hidden in the relief that came from his release Seth wondered how the old man had come in without the door making a sound. It was always loud whenever the priest, John, came and went.

“I swear, they really should learn how to open doors,” the old man said as he turned to Seth. “Now, what would you like to say to Dante Faust, child?”

Seth’s mind was quiet as he looked at the man. The was older than he had thought. The crinkles at the edge of his eyes reminded him of thoroughly rumpled clothes. While he didn’t seem to struggle as he leaned on the walking cane that came up to just above his waist, his face looked as if it strained just to remain animated. It was gravely hollow at the cheeks. The man’s hair was a polished grey, thinning severely from age, and he spotted a bushy beard on his sharp features.

Seth knew what his minds would say if they weren’t silent. Perhaps they would bicker about this too, he thought, looking at the man’s eyes the color of blood.

“Dante Faust,” Seth said after a moment of exchanged silence.

The old man spread his arms out on both sides, the cane of black wood dangling from one. “In the flesh,” he replied. “Now, how may I be of service to you, young one?”

Seth took in a deep breath in preparation, but exhaled it rather than speak. That breath, he had needed. Something told him he would need the next, too. So it was no surprise when he exhaled the next as well.

“Take your time,” Dante chuckled. “It’s not easy for an unsouled surviving a Baron’s mind magic, no matter how little. But John was right, we might have to pay attention to you, child. Study you to understand how your mind is so complex that even a Baron would be stumped at reading it with runes.”

Seth took his time, ignoring the path about the mind. He had a feeling John had only had a tough time with his because he had four when everybody had one. It seemed there were perks to having a fragmented mind. Each breath Seth took was sweeter than the one before it and he felt like a hungry man finally devouring his first meal. The thought reminded him of his hunger and he felt nothing but anger at the seminary. They had kept him three days with no food or water, perhaps it had been an attempt to weaken him so that John’s mind magic would work better. How he had survived for so long without it baffled him. After all, living without needing food or water for a long period of time was the purview of soul mages. His hunger reminded him of his anger.

After all, even Jabari had known to feed him.

When time had elapsed significantly, Dante spoke again, his tone jovial.

“I am beginning to find myself inclined to believe Reverend John,” he said. “You do seem to be stalling for time. Should I be worried?”

“I was told to tell you—” Seth paused. He had uttered words of his choosing to someone else, something besides the seven words he had grown to hate. It brought a smile to his face.

“You’re an odd fellow, aren’t you?” Dante mused.

Seth wasn’t sure if it was amusement he heard in the man’s voice. And he didn’t want to know.

“I have been told to tell you that the soul arts are practiced by the dying to stay the hand of death in search for the path of the immortal,” he said finally.

Seth knew the moment the man deciphered whatever meaning was hidden within the words. Dante froze like a statue, his oddly jovial façade gone. Even his amusement fell from his face like a dead thing. He was now, more than Seth had ever seen anyone, in the arms of dread.

Slowly, like paint drying that it almost seemed to take forever, his blood red irises turned to Seth. “Where did you hear those words, child?” Though calm, his voice was deep and ominous, sending a shiver through Seth’s brain.

In this moment Seth knew with childlike certainty that he would not die. But he also knew the old man would not display the same level of restraint as he now realized Reverend John had in his search for the answer.

“A priest named Jabari told me,” Seth answered hurriedly. “He said I should ask for you and tell you that once I was here.”

A sliver of the tension left the room at his words, but not all of it. The dread was gone but in its place was a curious panic.

“And what is your relationship with this man called Jabari?” Dante asked.

Seth hesitated only a moment before answering. “He… adopted me.”

“Adopted you?”

“Yes… sir.”

The sound of wood clacking against stone filled the room as Dante beat the butt of his cane on the floor. He took three steps closer to Seth. “And what, pray tell, is your name, child?”

This is our chance, a piece of his mind chimed in immediately, interrupting Seth.

Our chance to what? Another mind asked.

Reinvent ourselves, of course. Personally, we find we’ve always liked the name Jackson.

Another mind disagreed with it. Our only options are Seth or Oden, dipshit. Let’s do Oden. We will become the fury.

Why did they have to bicker over the unimportant things, Seth found himself wondering before he answered.

“Seth Al Jabari,” he said.

“Al Jabari,” Dante nodded. “Is it a sort of middle name of the new age or is it short for something?”

Seth opened his mouth to tell him it meant first son but the priest silenced him.

“It doesn’t matter,” the old man said.

With a slow shake of his head, the old man turned and walked out of the room, terminating the conversation abruptly. He opened the door without making a sound and left the room, leaving Seth to wonder at his own fate.