It is from this point on that Abigail's narrative undergoes a radical change. Her renowned adventure books had garnered fans from all over the world until then. Her early works had been well received by the public, those fictional stories about travelers from distant worlds, but her fame skyrocketed as soon as she began writing about her master's adventures.

Her narrative style had been characterized until then by the colorful way in which she portrayed people, landscapes, and situations; books full of dialogues and memories of the past that adorned —while contrasting— her master's detailed, precise, and analytical approach. After her book 'The Adventure of the Assassin's Guild,' her narrative style changed quite a bit. It was for the worse, if you ask me, but I don't blame her.

Abigail was a girl facing events that no one her age should know, understand, let alone solve. 'What Happened by the River' was the title she chose to recount what occurred. It sold well and was equally well-received among Asmodeus' followers, but I consider it the sad evidence of how much that adventure took from poor Abigail.

***

The fourth storm of the season was crueler than the previous ones. Its winds whistled through the walls and its rains echoed on the roof. Asmodeus had climbed to the rooftop to install a new device of his creation. It served to capture lightning. Abigail had no idea what use could be found for lightning, nor did she like the idea of using it, but she accompanied her master nonetheless.

A system of gears on one side of the house allowed Asmodeus to raise a metal needle several meters above the roof. It was made of an orange-colored metal. It came from the depths of the earth, and Abigail imagined it was connected to her master's laboratory.

When Abigail revealed this part of the story to me, she made an effort to portray the warmth of the moment she shared with her master while talking about the fearsome lightning that emerged from the clouds and snaked across the sky. However, what intrigued me much more was the conversation that ensued.

The two of them were sitting, watching the storm's spectacle, sheltered by a roof projection that Abigail had created. Asmodeus admired the landscape with great attention, but his gaze was deeper than usual. It was as if he was looking beyond, something among the clouds that was invisible to Abigail.

—My civilization controlled the weather —he said in a whisper. The magnitude of those words instantly caught her attention.

Rarely did her master talk about his world. He didn't want to. He didn't seem to like it or think of it as useful. What he said that day, however, was one of the grandest things he had revealed since they had known each other.

How was it possible to "control" the weather? Aradel's armies could barely contain the fury of tsunamis. Cassinger's masters also couldn't prevent the northern infernal lightning from burning entire forests. "Controlling" the weather was not something that fit into her understanding, nor anyone else's on Norus. The rain, the thunder, and Abigail's fear of the storm faded into the background of her mind to listen to her master.

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Asmodeus turned to look at her to check her reaction. He smiled with a pure gaze, then focused again on the metal needle rising above the sky.

—Every cloud, every wind, even the hue of the sky... all are reflections of variables in a chaotic system.

His gaze was completely lost in the darkness of the storm, while the iris of his eyes began to glow with a spectral blue. His pupils trembled softly —moving slightly from side to side as if he were reading a thousand books at once— and his voice had become so deep that his whispers made Abigail's chest vibrate. This was no longer Asmodeus, her master, but the man who had fallen onto our world.

—You cannot control chaos —he said—, but you can orchestrate it. If you want rain here, you must endure droughts there. Nature has a balance that cannot be broken. Lightning is one of its most powerful manifestations, a weapon that can reach millions of volts in a few seconds.

He placed a hand on the metal needle.

—If you try to enslave nature, it will strike you —he said, then looked at her warmly—. But if you understand it, you can work alongside it.

He extended his other arm to offer her his hand, as a part of his and her hair began to float in the air.

He had already talked to her about electricity. Positive and negative charges, invisible fields that determine the movement of energy. Abigail didn't fully understand them, but she knew that millions of volts were too much power to risk crossing through her body.

Asmodeus looked as calm as ever.

Abigail thought about taking his hand, but uncertainty kept her indecisive. As much as she trusted him, what he was asking seemed like suicide. But what worried her the most was what would happen to him if he received that lightning strike. She thought about tackling him to get them away from that place, but his peaceful face prevented her from attacking him in such a way.

Those thoughts were buried in Abigail's mind as an electrifying sensation began to run through her face. First, her hair stood up in the air, then the hairs on her arms began to bristle.

She instinctively stepped back as blue serpents began to dance on the tip of the lightning rod. She wanted to protect herself as much as her master, but ended up blinded by an intense light that swallowed him in the midst of an explosion.

She jumped forward as soon as the flash faded from her eyes. She hugged her master to lay him on the floor. Healing him was harder than anyone else. His body was different, his organs too. She had rarely practiced with him. She had no idea how to start my procedure, and stress was already eating away at her mind when a hand slipped onto her shoulder.

Some blue threads snaked from the top of the metal needle to seep into the floor of the house. The air had stopped buzzing, and smoke began to emanate from the surface of the needle. Her master smiled.

—What was that? —asked Abigail, concerned. Sometimes he could be strangely playful, but that recklessness seemed very unlike him.

—It's chaos, Abigail —he said, smiling as radiant as the sun—. It will kill you if you don't know how to seduce it.

Her master was quite objective and direct. Language was made for communication, not for showing off your vocabulary; that's what he used to say. He only used metaphors as a way of speaking in code. "Chaos will kill you if you don't seduce it," were words Abigail would continue to ponder for a long time.

Asmodeus withdrew his hand from the metal needle, and Abigail was alarmed by the terrible burn he had suffered. She took his wrist and pulled him away from his invention, then began to restore the tissue of his hand.

A flash alarmed her. She thought it was another lightning strike, but when she looked up, she realized it came from the mountains. Her master already had his eyes fixed on the source. It was a pattern of flashes in the distance. They had rarely seen anyone use that signal. They both walked on instinct and noticed it came from the path of a hill. Three long flashes, three short ones, three long ones again, and the pattern repeated; three long, three short, and three long again. Two riders galloped at full speed along the path. It was an emergency.