The house gave the impression of emptiness even from the outside.
There wasn't really any point at which Cyrus did not dearly wish he had his magic once more, but he felt that longing particularly keenly now, when he would have been able to discern so much more about it than his senses alone could tell him. As he was, however, he only knew that the manor was old, abandoned, and rumored to play host to spirits. Wind whistled through the grounds, returning strangely hollow sounds, though from here, most of the windows seemed intact. The garden was long dead, though whithered plants jutting at strange angles, warped by neglect, and years spent reaching for sunlight that never quite sufficed, perhaps. It had been disturbing enough to those living nearby that they'd asked the Inquisition to look into it, and so here they were.
The thick canopy overhead kept it in gloomy shade; Cyrus supposed the stonework must once have been white, but time and lack of care had turned it a dingy grey hue. The smell of rotting wood and decay was quite thick on the air, though the building itself seemed at least structurally sound enough to enter. The wrought iron gate in the front of it was closed, but that wasn't anything a little percussion didn't fix, and with a strangled squeak, it parted to admit them.
âI suspect that whatever is going on here, it's magical." It almost went without saying, really, though the sense of 'spirit' the people here meant was likely more along the line of 'ghost of the departed' than anything, from the way they'd phrased it. Novel, but likely ultimately to be the work of something more ordinary. Something from the Fade. âWe'll need to get closer to say for sure."
Beside him, Khari frowned, giving the edifice a skeptical once-over. âYou sure it's not just rats? Scuffing around, making noise? People could get the wrong idea, if they already have the ghost story in their heads."
Cyrus shrugged. âHard to say. We'll find out, I suppose."
"It certainly looks the part, doesn't it?" Stellulam spoke up from slightly behind. Her expression was almost troubled, or at least there was a faint flicker of it behind her omnipresent neutrality. Perhaps her magic enabled her to sense something that was undetectable to him, now. Her lips pursed; if there was anything else she thought about it, she kept the observation to herself, stepping forward with the rest of them.
The front door was set back behind a straight path. It had perhaps once been wrought with the same white stone as the exterior, but most of the stones had sunk at least partway into the ground, the mortar between them long cracked and flaked away or faded to greasy brownish dust. The door was not rotted, unlike everything in the garden. In fact, sans a layer of filmy dirt, it seemed perfectly intact.
"Rot didn't hit everything evenly," Estella murmured. This close, the house was indeed obviously still in decent shape itself, despite the ruin of the grounds.
"Saraya's wary of this place, for what it's worth." Vesryn leaned slightly against his axe, the butt of which was planted between two sunken stones of the pathway under their feet. "Subtle dangers are often more concern than the obvious ones." He looked uneasy himself, though he'd been eager enough to answer the call when a group was needed to investigate.
"Well, in we go." He reached out, taking a careful hold of handle and turning. The door they found unlocked, and it swung open with a loud, drawn out creak. Vesryn stepped inside first, and the others followed closely behind, one by one. The air inside felt still, even with the door still open behind them, the sound of the wind still plainly rustling through the trees. The foyer was entirely clean, kept in pristine condition, as though someone had made it their personal mission to see to the upkeep of the house's interior. Clearly that did not also apply to the grounds outside. There was not interior lighting to greet them, though, only what little natural light could filter in through the mostly drawn blinds.
"We may not be alone," Vesryn mused. "Surely a bandit or deserter or two tried to take up residence here at some point. Someone might still be here, given the condition of things."
âDoesn't make any damn senseââ a breathy whisper came out to Vesrynâs left. A little too close. Zahra had been herding in behind them at an unusual distance, right at their heels, as if she hadnât wanted to bring up the rear. She only halted when she had nowhere else to go, or else she wouldâve walked into Stellalumâs back. There was a pinched look to her eyebrows and if Cyrus could guess at it, the level of concern drawn up on her face was more in line with fear than unease.
Her hands hadnât left the pommel of her blades since first coming into view of the eerie house. A sigh sifted from her lips when bandits or squatters were mentioned. Perhaps, she was hoping that it was so. âBetter that than the alternative,â it was clear that she did not quite think that rats were scuffing about. Bereft of magical abilities, or any sense tied to the Fade, it was clear that she had her own set of superstitions. From the way her shoulders were bunched, and her jaw was set, it looked as if she thought something might jump out around the corner and spook them.
Asala was far more twitchy than usual. One hand clutched at the collar of her cloak below her neck, while the fingers of her other were curled to reach for her magic at a moment's notice. As they walked, she kept casting glances around them, like she was trying to find something that was not there. As she was perhaps presently the one most attuned to the fade, the effects of the manor may have been affecting her more. Whatever it was, it was clear that it was making her uncomfortable.
She jerked once more, this time causing her half-turn to her side. "I feel like I am being... watched?" she noted, sounding unsure if that was even the correct word for what she was feeling. Regardless, her eyes darted from one darkened corner of the foyer to the other.
Cyrus wasn't sure he'd ever met a bandit this inclined to cleanliness, but he'd been wrong before. Still... something didn't quite seem right. The place wasn't merely maintained, it was pristine. Almost to the point where he had to wonder if anyone really lived here at all. It reminded him of nothing so much as coming back to the manor house in Minrathous after a summer with Cassius in the country. Servants lingered only as long as it took to dust, oil, and sweep everything, maintaining all the furniture and the house itself, but it had lost the sense of really having occupants.
He doubted that there were any servants out here, dutifully maintaining the home for some long-absent lord. The grounds were proof enough of that.
Before he could venture anything else by way of observation, however, there was a bang from directly behind them. Jumping from the suddenness of the noise, he whirled to face it. He was met with a solid wood panel and naught elseâthe door had shut abruptly behind them. Before he could ask who'd done it, several more clatters followed, and they were plunged into darkness as the shutters over the windows sealed as well. Something between a startled yelp and a scream sounded off behind him. It was difficult to tell who it was, however. There was another sound of someone banging into a table of sorts, and a throaty, embarrassed laugh that didnât seem all that amused.
He could still make out the few feet in front of him, but the light level was too low for much else. What little was filtering in reflected off of some things more than others: Vesryn's armor, Asala's hair, and so on.
âWell." That wasn't quite what he'd been expecting. âI think we can rule out bandits."
Some shuffling and a grunt alerted him to the fact that Khari was trying to push open the shutters. When that was apparently unsuccessful, there was a louder collision soundâmetal on woodâthen nothing.
âDamn things won't budge. Can we get a light in here or something?"
"Sure," it was Asala's voice that answered. There was a vague shuffling from her direction and the sound of her reaching into the fade to cast her spell before... nothing. The spell did produce a ball of light, but the strangest part what that it did not cast light, only a dim ball lingering above them and nothing more. Silence fell on Asala, undoubtedly as she tried to process what was happening. A surprised murmured followed the snuffing of the ball, before a second and third appeared and were likewise dismissed. As with the first one, the magelight did not cast light.
"Uh...?" Asala muttered, unsure where to go from there.
Well, it was definitely Fade-based interference doing all of this, then. But Cyrus had never heard of anything quite like this. Magic dampening, the apparent control of the house's doors and windows... those things were not typically possible in the waking world, not even for spirits or demons. It was possible that some mage was doing this, or had set the various features of the home to react when wards or traps of some kind were triggered. A pike of frustration stabbed at Cyrus's chest. This would have been much easier to figure out if he could feel anything from the Fade at all.
He tsked under his breath. âSeems we're going to have to find a way out in the dark. Or more likely, find whatever it is that's causing this and deal with it."
"Well..." Estella slid her saber from the sheath she carried it in. Its light wasn't as bright as usual, either, but it at least succeeded in casting a small pool of dim illumination ahead. By the light it provided, Cyrus could see that her face was a little drawn. Anxiety, perhaps, or whatever magic the place was saturated with. "This is the foyer, from the looks of it. That means it's probably public rooms down here, and everything else upstairs... I suppose we'll have to check everywhere."
She turned towards him, eyes narrowed slightly. Squinting to make sure it was him, presumably. "Any idea what we're looking for, exactly?"
Cyrus pursed his lips. âIf we find any demons, that's probably a good start. But in general terms... no. Not really. We'll have to look around. Maybe it will be clearer once we have a better idea what the options are, so to speak. Let's start this way."
On the grounds that no particular room was more or less likely to grant them a clue when he didn't know what the nature of clues would be, Cyrus chose to try and systematically sweep the house. That meant starting down the hallway to their left. His footsteps echoed on the stone tiles of the foyer as he crossed it, the scuffs of other boots reassurance enough that they could see him well enough to follow. The door out to the hallway was of course closed, but unlike the front one, it opened easily enough when he turned the handle, creaking slightly as he pushed it inwards and stepped over the threshold.
He couldn't tell exactly who was behind him, but he did notice when the door slid from his grip with unnatural heaviness, falling shut with a decisive click and cutting off all but one other set of footsteps. He turned around abruptly, able to make out a few of Zahra's features in the dark, and grimaced.
â...I don't suppose that opens anymore, does it?"
âWell, it damn well should, shouldnât it? Itâs just a door.â Zahraâs eyebrow raised a fraction. Though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, a confused expression pinched across her features. The question seemed to be more of an effort to put herself at ease, or else she might have been looking for confirmation that yes, this was simply a door. It could be opened and closed at their leisure. However, by the tone of her voice, lilting into a nervous huff, it didnât seem as if Zahra was taking this eerie expedition well.
She immediately closed the distance to the door, and with both hands on the knob, she pushed her shoulder into it and shoved it open. From the looks of it, the heaviness Cyrus had felt earlier had all but vanished. The door had opened almost too easily. Certainly enough to deposit Zahra on the other side, carried by her momentum, sending her sprawling on her hands in knees in an unfamiliar room. Everyone else was⊠just gone.
So was the hallway theyâd just walked through. They faced another immaculate room that looked sorely out of place. Much larger, with high ceilings. A white balcony ribbed the entire room, as well. A large, bronze chandelier hung from the ceiling and held several freshly lit candles from their flutes, casting long shadows against the walls. A piano was pushed up near the large, shuttered windows; bench left slightly askew, as if someone had left in a hurry.
âBut we were justâ,â her voice trailed off, and a bark of laughter sounded as she pushed herself back to her feet and stomped back towards the door. She held up a finger to him and stepped back through the threshold, slamming the door shut, and reopening it with just as much force. The determined jut to her lip faltered and fell away completely as she released the doorknob. âThis isnât good.â
She certainly wasn't wrong. Cyrus frowned, unsure what to make of the development. âIt seems almost as if... some entity has control of the entire house." Either that, or this was an elaborate illusion, and they were all, in fact, asleep in the foyer even now. But he didn't dream any longer, which was at least some evidence against that hypothesis. The salon remained where it was, just as dark as the rest of their surroundings. He suppressed the flare of worry in his gut.
By now, his eyes had adjusted to the dark as much as they were going to. For a moment, they lingered on the piano, its lacquered surface reflecting what little illumination there was. âI suppose we just... pick a direction and keep going, for now. Don't... open any doors without me. I don't like our chances if we end up alone." He wasn't sure what basis he had for thinking so, only some sort of... impression. A feeling, that he didn't want to find himself without anyone else around, right now. Like that would somehow be... Cyrus shook his head.
A soft chuckle, with a note of exasperation sounded as Zahraâs attention roved towards the upper balcony winding around the chamber. She cleared her throat and took a tentative step closer to his right side, hands still poised over the pommels of her blades or simply resting at her hips, close enough to draw if need be. âNo concerns there, Iâll be on your heels. So, donât⊠uh, leave me behind either, okay?â There was a drawn tone to her voice, a vulnerable lilt. She couldnât have expected him to do any differently, but it appeared as if sheâd certainly felt⊠something as well. What that was, was anyoneâs guess.
There were doors strewn across the room. Only seen by the swiveling shine of candlelight casting subtle glares across their doorknobs. Though, there was no clear indication where they would lead. A kitchen, or library? Back to the foyer, or somewhere else entirely?
She pointed towards the furthest corner of the room and took a few steps ahead of him, âLots of doors. Should be some stairs that lead up there, too. Too many damn choices, if you ask me.â Blathering on seemed to be more for her benefit than anyone else, in order to fill in the noiseless spaces. It didnât last long. There were a few bangs that came from one of the corners of the room; objects clattering off shelves of their own accord. However, there were no sounds of shattering. They were wholesome thumps, and the sound of pages fluttering open. Errant books, perhaps. Left behind by whoever owned this place.
Zahra had stopped mid-step and seemed frozen in place, eyes glued on the piano ahead of themâtoo far to see any movement, if there had been any to see in the first place. What they heard, however, were a few keys being pressed down. High notes drawing out into a playful melody. It sounded like an old chantey. Something played in seaside taverns, like Redcliffe. Its notes dropped into a more somber, destitute tune, but as soon as Zahra took a step backwards, the pianoâs cover slammed down and the tune cut off entirely.
The silence that followed was more than disconcerting. A heavy blanket cast over their heads, all but constricting the walls against them. From what they could see, there was no one else in the room; it was empty⊠they were alone. There were a few more steps backwards, clumsy and hurried, until she bumped into Cyrus's chest and leaped away with an audible yell. It took her a moment to compose herself before she straightened her shoulders and let out a shaky breath, âB-bloody hell, sorry, I thought you were, I didn't see⊠donât you hear that?â
âYâ"
Donât you want to show them who you really are?
Ah, yes. You are less now. A powerless child. Alone.
It was soft. Barely audible. A voice that sounded all too familiar, but alien; all at once. It came from the left. Or, perhaps, the right. Inside, or outwards. Above, or below. Had he even heard it? Or imagined it? In any case, it appeared as if Zahra had heard it as well.
A soft breath hissed out from between Cyrus's teeth. He wasn't half as jumpy as Zahra, but that didn't mean he wasn't on-edge. Given that objects in the room seemed to move at the behest of some unseen will, he couldn't let his eyes settle on one place for too long, lest something strike him in the back or who knew what. With a rasp, he drew one of his swords. At the very least, he could make the attempt to fend off anything that came directly for him.
âAre you hearing that, or is it just me?" His voice came out lower than he intended, like he couldn't bring himself to say anything too loud. He thought she was, but he wanted to be sure. Carefully, he settled his free hand at Zahra's shoulder. âPut your back to mine. I'll watch in front if you watch behind. We'll head for the leftmost door." Zahra obliged without question, pressing her back to his for a moment before drawing her own blade, and setting her sights to where theyâd just come from.
Up and down, spun all around.
And the other ran her ship aground.
It sounded, if anything, like a child's voice. A whisper. Too soft to really decide if he recognized it or not. Cyrus doubted it mattered. It had to be whatever was here interfering with them. Shifting positions so he was facing forward, he kept himself half-turned so he could maintain solid physical contact with Zahra. Normally, he wouldn't have, but given that they'd already been separated from the others, he wasn't going to take the chance.
âThis way."
âLead on,â Zahraâs voice was, if anything, a little stronger this time. Perhaps, having some sort of physical proximity was as good as any a promise that she was not alone. It appeared as if sheâd seen something a moment beforeâor at least believed so. A brief moment before sheâd blustered into him, she had looked in his direction⊠and almost looked as if she were looking straight through him.
She hadnât commented on it any further. Though the hitch of her shoulders and back, meeting just below his shoulder blades, bellied a reproach that may have been caused by whatever sheâd seen. There was a soft exhale as she mimicked his footsteps and continued scanning every inch they left behind. âI heard it too,â she glanced over her shoulder at him, âBut I canât tell where itâs coming from.â
There was another unusual sound. A small, tinny sound of iron bouncing off the linoleum floors. A portrait that had been hung by the door theyâd recently vacated creaked against the wall and finally clattered to the ground behind them. Then another, and another. Closer, each time. The uncomfortable silence that followed hung heavier. This time, Zahra had managed to bite down her yelp and only startled slightly against Cyrusâ back as they retreated.
âWe should get out of here.â It sounded more like a plea than a suggestion.
Either way, he agreed. Cyrus picked up the pace as much as he could while remaining in contact with Zahra, jogging towards the door. He'd have to give up either the sword or his companion to work the knob, and he wasn't about to let her go, so he sheathed the blade, turning the handle and putting his shoulder into it when he met resistance. As though rust were breaking away from the hinges, it suddenly gave, but he was prepared for something like that. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Zahra's shirt; he refused to let go, and pulled her after him over the threshold.
This time, they emerged into dim light. The door behind them was closed despite never having clicked shut. He was willing to bet that whatever was behind it wasn't the room they'd come from either. Here, things were lit with several inset torches, burning an eerie bluish color. Magelight. The room was little more than bare stone walls and a bare stone floor, rows of bookshelves reaching as high as Cyrus could see, and then higher. Each was lined with neat rows of dusty tomes, their titles blurry and indistinct to his eyes, even when he ventured slightly closer. From the way their footsteps echoed, the ceiling of the room must have been at least two stories up.
There weren't any immediately-visible doors, but there might be on the other side, blocked from view by the towering shelves. It was hard to say. From somewhere deeper in, a thud reverberatedâexactly the sound he would expect from a book falling off a shelf. âSomeone's playing games with us." He was almost certain of it.
The thing was, he wasn't sure if the thing to do was play along or ignore the games entirely.
âNot the type of games I like playing,â Zahra quipped at his back. Not one anyone would enjoy playing if it meant tossing objects on the floor and whispering ominous things in their ears. However, leaving the salon and having the door firmly shut behind them had soothed some of her nerves. The light, as dim as it was, seemed to lend her some bravery as well. She emerged from behind his back and stood in front of one of the many shelves, squinting close enough that her nose nearly touched one of the dusty tomes.
âWhat should we do? What can we do?â There was a pause, before she straightened her back and rounded her shoulders, âDemons arenât really my specialty.â What could they do when they had nothing to strike? An unseen enemy toying with them from the shadows. A hand that seemed to focus on manipulation rather than outright injury. It appeared as if she didnât know what to do with herself, holding her rapier loosely in her hand and busying herself by prodding the spines of the books in front of her.
âDepends on the type of demon." Unfortunately, he didn't know what sort this was, or how it was doing the things it made sense to attribute to it. âI've never heard of a demon being in command of an area outside the Fade like this." Even Nightmare's control over its dominion was somewhat limited. This one had yet to speak to them directly or identify itself. He needed more information before he had a hope of understanding what needed to be done.
But the only way to get that information was probably to go along with things, for now. âLet's figure out what it wanted us to see, first of all." If a book had fallen somewhere, they could at least figure out which one. It could be useful information.
Working his way down the narrow gap at the ends of all the rows of shelving, Cyrus peered down each as he passed, looking for any conspicuous dark objects on the floors. Just when he was resigned to making a more thorough inspection of each, he found what he was looking for. âThere, this way." The second-to-last row contained a toppled book, fallen open upside down. From where they stood, the title was visible, standing out in sharp, almost luminous golden relief: Daedalus and Auriel.
Cyrus's brows descended over his eyes. Bending down, he picked the book up, careful to keep it open to the same page, and then turned it over in his hands. He sucked in a sharp breath. On the left was a full-page illustration. To the right, the words written out in familiar handwritingâhis own. The image itself was recognizably him as well, save that he was a child and dressed in the manner of Auriel from the tale, the ragged garments of a slave, cut in a manner long obsolete in the Imperium. He sat at the knee of a man, dressed much the same, face obscured and blurry like the titles of all the other books.
Grimacing, he flipped the page, and then another. The story played out exactly like it was supposed to, except for the uncanny resemblance of the ill-fated protagonist to himself. When he reached the last page, his gut lurched. Auriel had fallen, alone, to earth in a heap of smoking feathers, his body broken on stones.
âThat's... quite unpleasant." His attempt to sound dry only worked halfway. It just looked like him. But somehow that wasn't the terrible part.
Zahra was hot on his heels as he rounded the bend. She sidled at his elbow when he had stooped to retrieve the fallen tome. Seeing how short she was in comparison, she was not quite reading over his shoulder. Instead, sheâd chosen a spot at his side, murky eyes following the familiar depictions as he flipped through the pages. By the pinch of her brows, she appeared justifiably confused. She wouldnât have understood the relevance of the tale. Though she bent over a little further when he reached the last page.
âThat looked a little like...â her voice trailed off uneasily as she took a step backwards and gave him breathing room. She cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder, scanning the room once more. Itâd do them no good if something crept up behind them as they perused the books. Her mouth was set into a fine line, assured. Her hand had been resting on his shoulder the entire time, and it took her a moment to retract it, as if she hadnât realized sheâd been grabbing onto him in the first place.
âUh⊠so, what was that? You donât look so good.â
âA clue." To the nature of their tormentor, this time. He wasn't sure it was enough, though. Perhaps venturing further in would be more definitive. âI'll... explain it later." Just at this moment, he didn't really want to get into the details. It was hardly the time or the place for that.
Their journey down the row of shelving, however, had made evident another door. âI think that might be our only way out." He nodded at it carefully, still unable to banish the thick something that had settled in the hollow of his chest. An ache, maybe. Something evoked without being named. He needed to give it a name. Somehow, he couldn't help but feel that doing so would loosen the hold it was slowly gaining over him, over them. Separating them like this, playing upon their fears in the dark and the unknown.
They stuck close together as they reached the next door; Cyrus waited until they were in physical contact again before he opened it and stepped through.
Zahra had been clinging onto the hem of his shirt as they crossed the threshold. Seeing how theyâd been separated in the first place, it was an understandable concern. However, she seemed perplexed that sheâd been doing it in the first place, retracting her fingers as soon as the door gently clicked behind them. She paused and looked over her opened palm, before huffing out a sigh, âHow big is this damn houseââ
Her words were smothered into a trembling hitch. The room theyâd entered looked as if it had been designed by a completely different hand. One that was much more deliberate. Intentional. Wholly unlike all of the gaudy rooms theyâd come across so far. There were no crystal chandeliers. No plush cushions or lacquered pianos; no lengthy portraits or intricate vases arranged atop freshly-varnished tables.
âImpossible.â A much older, outdated room sat in front of themâa fishermanâs cabin from the looks of it. The windows were still shuttered and only oil lanterns, hoisted onto metal fastenings in between the wooden slats of the walls, offered any light. Shadows danced and licked across the walls. At times, it appeared as if they took shape, though they soon disappeared. Slits of light reflected across the hooks of fishing rods tucked neatly beside a wood stove.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean
My Bonnie lies over the sea
She took a few steps forward; her movements wooden. Though it may have escaped Cyrusâ notice before, it was certainly apparent now that Zahra was walking towards it, the furthest window was latched, but had no shutters covering its pane. It did not, however, look normal. Instead of allowing a view of the grounds below, only an inky blackness remained. There was a residual shudder across the surface, as if rocks were being thrown into water. A silhouette began to take shape; first shoulders, then horns.
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me
A soft-spoken lullaby. A motherly tone; happy. The voice belonged to a woman that he did not recognize, though it appeared as if Zahra had heard this particular one as well. Sheâd initially reacted by pressing the palms of her hands to her ears, smothering them against her wild curls. There was another noise, coming from her mouth. Something that sounded like a desperate no, no, no. It didnât appear as if she were aware that sheâd left Cyrus by the door. That she continued leaving him there; on his own. Focusing only on the window ahead of her, stumbling through the darkness as if she were swimming to shore.
âI have to let him in. I have to. Heâs right thereââ
Cyrus admittedly wasn't really sure what to do here. Unlike the last time they'd been in a similar position, he didn't have the power to simply banish the illusion before them. Nor did he think he'd be able to do much to break its hold on Zahra. Leon had been around last time, and he rather thought that had made all the difference between success and failure. Especially since she didn't even seem to notice that he was present.
Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he followed her across the room. That in itself was hardly a difficult choiceâthe overwhelming desolation he felt in this place seemed to be staved off only by her proximity. He was fairly sure he knew what that meant, at this point, but it wasn't the most obvious answer, and he didn't want to get it wrong.
The choice to reach out and grasp her wrist, halting her progress, was admittedly the harder one. âZahra. Zahra, stop. This isn't real. Like the dream wasn't real." He paused, hesitating, then ventured his guess. If he was right, and he could get it through to her, knowing what it was should help her see through its tricks. âThis is a demonâLoneliness. It just wants to make you feel alone and hopeless." Cyrus enunciated carefully, searching her face for any sign that she so much as recognized his presence.
At first, Zahra only tugged against the restraint on her wrist and reached out her own hand towards the rippling reflection in the window. She made a small noise in the back of her throatâhalfway between an intake of breath and a whine. What sheâd do once she reached the window was anyoneâs guess⊠but the desperate pull seemed to have her entranced: frantic. âHeâs right thereâAslan, I have to, I have toâŠâ
There was a choked noise, and her pulling suddenly stopped. The ripples suddenly ceased and the silhouette began to lose its shape. Until it was nothing more than a formless blob. A shadow, unfamiliar darkness. Like all of the other windows, shutters abruptly slammed down in its place, covering it completely. She simply stood there, stock-still. For a moment, at least, until she let out a shaky breath.
âShit.â Zahra pressed her free hand to her eyes, angrily wiping with the heel of her palm. It took her a moment to look at him, but eventually she did. The frenzy mightâve left her gaze, but her eyes still burned. What sheâd seen had clearly left an impression on her. She nodded her head as if she were shaking off the remnants of sleep; resolute, bristling. âAlright. Letâs kill this fucking thing. No more games. Not with us.â
Cyrus nodded, carefully releasing her. âMy sentiments exactly." With the closing of the shutters, a new door had appeared at the end of the room. That seemed like the best way forward.
There wasn't really any point at which Cyrus did not dearly wish he had his magic once more, but he felt that longing particularly keenly now, when he would have been able to discern so much more about it than his senses alone could tell him. As he was, however, he only knew that the manor was old, abandoned, and rumored to play host to spirits. Wind whistled through the grounds, returning strangely hollow sounds, though from here, most of the windows seemed intact. The garden was long dead, though whithered plants jutting at strange angles, warped by neglect, and years spent reaching for sunlight that never quite sufficed, perhaps. It had been disturbing enough to those living nearby that they'd asked the Inquisition to look into it, and so here they were.
The thick canopy overhead kept it in gloomy shade; Cyrus supposed the stonework must once have been white, but time and lack of care had turned it a dingy grey hue. The smell of rotting wood and decay was quite thick on the air, though the building itself seemed at least structurally sound enough to enter. The wrought iron gate in the front of it was closed, but that wasn't anything a little percussion didn't fix, and with a strangled squeak, it parted to admit them.
âI suspect that whatever is going on here, it's magical." It almost went without saying, really, though the sense of 'spirit' the people here meant was likely more along the line of 'ghost of the departed' than anything, from the way they'd phrased it. Novel, but likely ultimately to be the work of something more ordinary. Something from the Fade. âWe'll need to get closer to say for sure."
Beside him, Khari frowned, giving the edifice a skeptical once-over. âYou sure it's not just rats? Scuffing around, making noise? People could get the wrong idea, if they already have the ghost story in their heads."
Cyrus shrugged. âHard to say. We'll find out, I suppose."
"It certainly looks the part, doesn't it?" Stellulam spoke up from slightly behind. Her expression was almost troubled, or at least there was a faint flicker of it behind her omnipresent neutrality. Perhaps her magic enabled her to sense something that was undetectable to him, now. Her lips pursed; if there was anything else she thought about it, she kept the observation to herself, stepping forward with the rest of them.
The front door was set back behind a straight path. It had perhaps once been wrought with the same white stone as the exterior, but most of the stones had sunk at least partway into the ground, the mortar between them long cracked and flaked away or faded to greasy brownish dust. The door was not rotted, unlike everything in the garden. In fact, sans a layer of filmy dirt, it seemed perfectly intact.
"Rot didn't hit everything evenly," Estella murmured. This close, the house was indeed obviously still in decent shape itself, despite the ruin of the grounds.
"Saraya's wary of this place, for what it's worth." Vesryn leaned slightly against his axe, the butt of which was planted between two sunken stones of the pathway under their feet. "Subtle dangers are often more concern than the obvious ones." He looked uneasy himself, though he'd been eager enough to answer the call when a group was needed to investigate.
"Well, in we go." He reached out, taking a careful hold of handle and turning. The door they found unlocked, and it swung open with a loud, drawn out creak. Vesryn stepped inside first, and the others followed closely behind, one by one. The air inside felt still, even with the door still open behind them, the sound of the wind still plainly rustling through the trees. The foyer was entirely clean, kept in pristine condition, as though someone had made it their personal mission to see to the upkeep of the house's interior. Clearly that did not also apply to the grounds outside. There was not interior lighting to greet them, though, only what little natural light could filter in through the mostly drawn blinds.
"We may not be alone," Vesryn mused. "Surely a bandit or deserter or two tried to take up residence here at some point. Someone might still be here, given the condition of things."
âDoesn't make any damn senseââ a breathy whisper came out to Vesrynâs left. A little too close. Zahra had been herding in behind them at an unusual distance, right at their heels, as if she hadnât wanted to bring up the rear. She only halted when she had nowhere else to go, or else she wouldâve walked into Stellalumâs back. There was a pinched look to her eyebrows and if Cyrus could guess at it, the level of concern drawn up on her face was more in line with fear than unease.
Her hands hadnât left the pommel of her blades since first coming into view of the eerie house. A sigh sifted from her lips when bandits or squatters were mentioned. Perhaps, she was hoping that it was so. âBetter that than the alternative,â it was clear that she did not quite think that rats were scuffing about. Bereft of magical abilities, or any sense tied to the Fade, it was clear that she had her own set of superstitions. From the way her shoulders were bunched, and her jaw was set, it looked as if she thought something might jump out around the corner and spook them.
Asala was far more twitchy than usual. One hand clutched at the collar of her cloak below her neck, while the fingers of her other were curled to reach for her magic at a moment's notice. As they walked, she kept casting glances around them, like she was trying to find something that was not there. As she was perhaps presently the one most attuned to the fade, the effects of the manor may have been affecting her more. Whatever it was, it was clear that it was making her uncomfortable.
She jerked once more, this time causing her half-turn to her side. "I feel like I am being... watched?" she noted, sounding unsure if that was even the correct word for what she was feeling. Regardless, her eyes darted from one darkened corner of the foyer to the other.
Cyrus wasn't sure he'd ever met a bandit this inclined to cleanliness, but he'd been wrong before. Still... something didn't quite seem right. The place wasn't merely maintained, it was pristine. Almost to the point where he had to wonder if anyone really lived here at all. It reminded him of nothing so much as coming back to the manor house in Minrathous after a summer with Cassius in the country. Servants lingered only as long as it took to dust, oil, and sweep everything, maintaining all the furniture and the house itself, but it had lost the sense of really having occupants.
He doubted that there were any servants out here, dutifully maintaining the home for some long-absent lord. The grounds were proof enough of that.
Before he could venture anything else by way of observation, however, there was a bang from directly behind them. Jumping from the suddenness of the noise, he whirled to face it. He was met with a solid wood panel and naught elseâthe door had shut abruptly behind them. Before he could ask who'd done it, several more clatters followed, and they were plunged into darkness as the shutters over the windows sealed as well. Something between a startled yelp and a scream sounded off behind him. It was difficult to tell who it was, however. There was another sound of someone banging into a table of sorts, and a throaty, embarrassed laugh that didnât seem all that amused.
He could still make out the few feet in front of him, but the light level was too low for much else. What little was filtering in reflected off of some things more than others: Vesryn's armor, Asala's hair, and so on.
âWell." That wasn't quite what he'd been expecting. âI think we can rule out bandits."
Some shuffling and a grunt alerted him to the fact that Khari was trying to push open the shutters. When that was apparently unsuccessful, there was a louder collision soundâmetal on woodâthen nothing.
âDamn things won't budge. Can we get a light in here or something?"
"Sure," it was Asala's voice that answered. There was a vague shuffling from her direction and the sound of her reaching into the fade to cast her spell before... nothing. The spell did produce a ball of light, but the strangest part what that it did not cast light, only a dim ball lingering above them and nothing more. Silence fell on Asala, undoubtedly as she tried to process what was happening. A surprised murmured followed the snuffing of the ball, before a second and third appeared and were likewise dismissed. As with the first one, the magelight did not cast light.
"Uh...?" Asala muttered, unsure where to go from there.
Well, it was definitely Fade-based interference doing all of this, then. But Cyrus had never heard of anything quite like this. Magic dampening, the apparent control of the house's doors and windows... those things were not typically possible in the waking world, not even for spirits or demons. It was possible that some mage was doing this, or had set the various features of the home to react when wards or traps of some kind were triggered. A pike of frustration stabbed at Cyrus's chest. This would have been much easier to figure out if he could feel anything from the Fade at all.
He tsked under his breath. âSeems we're going to have to find a way out in the dark. Or more likely, find whatever it is that's causing this and deal with it."
"Well..." Estella slid her saber from the sheath she carried it in. Its light wasn't as bright as usual, either, but it at least succeeded in casting a small pool of dim illumination ahead. By the light it provided, Cyrus could see that her face was a little drawn. Anxiety, perhaps, or whatever magic the place was saturated with. "This is the foyer, from the looks of it. That means it's probably public rooms down here, and everything else upstairs... I suppose we'll have to check everywhere."
She turned towards him, eyes narrowed slightly. Squinting to make sure it was him, presumably. "Any idea what we're looking for, exactly?"
Cyrus pursed his lips. âIf we find any demons, that's probably a good start. But in general terms... no. Not really. We'll have to look around. Maybe it will be clearer once we have a better idea what the options are, so to speak. Let's start this way."
On the grounds that no particular room was more or less likely to grant them a clue when he didn't know what the nature of clues would be, Cyrus chose to try and systematically sweep the house. That meant starting down the hallway to their left. His footsteps echoed on the stone tiles of the foyer as he crossed it, the scuffs of other boots reassurance enough that they could see him well enough to follow. The door out to the hallway was of course closed, but unlike the front one, it opened easily enough when he turned the handle, creaking slightly as he pushed it inwards and stepped over the threshold.
He couldn't tell exactly who was behind him, but he did notice when the door slid from his grip with unnatural heaviness, falling shut with a decisive click and cutting off all but one other set of footsteps. He turned around abruptly, able to make out a few of Zahra's features in the dark, and grimaced.
â...I don't suppose that opens anymore, does it?"
âWell, it damn well should, shouldnât it? Itâs just a door.â Zahraâs eyebrow raised a fraction. Though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, a confused expression pinched across her features. The question seemed to be more of an effort to put herself at ease, or else she might have been looking for confirmation that yes, this was simply a door. It could be opened and closed at their leisure. However, by the tone of her voice, lilting into a nervous huff, it didnât seem as if Zahra was taking this eerie expedition well.
She immediately closed the distance to the door, and with both hands on the knob, she pushed her shoulder into it and shoved it open. From the looks of it, the heaviness Cyrus had felt earlier had all but vanished. The door had opened almost too easily. Certainly enough to deposit Zahra on the other side, carried by her momentum, sending her sprawling on her hands in knees in an unfamiliar room. Everyone else was⊠just gone.
So was the hallway theyâd just walked through. They faced another immaculate room that looked sorely out of place. Much larger, with high ceilings. A white balcony ribbed the entire room, as well. A large, bronze chandelier hung from the ceiling and held several freshly lit candles from their flutes, casting long shadows against the walls. A piano was pushed up near the large, shuttered windows; bench left slightly askew, as if someone had left in a hurry.
âBut we were justâ,â her voice trailed off, and a bark of laughter sounded as she pushed herself back to her feet and stomped back towards the door. She held up a finger to him and stepped back through the threshold, slamming the door shut, and reopening it with just as much force. The determined jut to her lip faltered and fell away completely as she released the doorknob. âThis isnât good.â
She certainly wasn't wrong. Cyrus frowned, unsure what to make of the development. âIt seems almost as if... some entity has control of the entire house." Either that, or this was an elaborate illusion, and they were all, in fact, asleep in the foyer even now. But he didn't dream any longer, which was at least some evidence against that hypothesis. The salon remained where it was, just as dark as the rest of their surroundings. He suppressed the flare of worry in his gut.
By now, his eyes had adjusted to the dark as much as they were going to. For a moment, they lingered on the piano, its lacquered surface reflecting what little illumination there was. âI suppose we just... pick a direction and keep going, for now. Don't... open any doors without me. I don't like our chances if we end up alone." He wasn't sure what basis he had for thinking so, only some sort of... impression. A feeling, that he didn't want to find himself without anyone else around, right now. Like that would somehow be... Cyrus shook his head.
A soft chuckle, with a note of exasperation sounded as Zahraâs attention roved towards the upper balcony winding around the chamber. She cleared her throat and took a tentative step closer to his right side, hands still poised over the pommels of her blades or simply resting at her hips, close enough to draw if need be. âNo concerns there, Iâll be on your heels. So, donât⊠uh, leave me behind either, okay?â There was a drawn tone to her voice, a vulnerable lilt. She couldnât have expected him to do any differently, but it appeared as if sheâd certainly felt⊠something as well. What that was, was anyoneâs guess.
There were doors strewn across the room. Only seen by the swiveling shine of candlelight casting subtle glares across their doorknobs. Though, there was no clear indication where they would lead. A kitchen, or library? Back to the foyer, or somewhere else entirely?
She pointed towards the furthest corner of the room and took a few steps ahead of him, âLots of doors. Should be some stairs that lead up there, too. Too many damn choices, if you ask me.â Blathering on seemed to be more for her benefit than anyone else, in order to fill in the noiseless spaces. It didnât last long. There were a few bangs that came from one of the corners of the room; objects clattering off shelves of their own accord. However, there were no sounds of shattering. They were wholesome thumps, and the sound of pages fluttering open. Errant books, perhaps. Left behind by whoever owned this place.
Zahra had stopped mid-step and seemed frozen in place, eyes glued on the piano ahead of themâtoo far to see any movement, if there had been any to see in the first place. What they heard, however, were a few keys being pressed down. High notes drawing out into a playful melody. It sounded like an old chantey. Something played in seaside taverns, like Redcliffe. Its notes dropped into a more somber, destitute tune, but as soon as Zahra took a step backwards, the pianoâs cover slammed down and the tune cut off entirely.
The silence that followed was more than disconcerting. A heavy blanket cast over their heads, all but constricting the walls against them. From what they could see, there was no one else in the room; it was empty⊠they were alone. There were a few more steps backwards, clumsy and hurried, until she bumped into Cyrus's chest and leaped away with an audible yell. It took her a moment to compose herself before she straightened her shoulders and let out a shaky breath, âB-bloody hell, sorry, I thought you were, I didn't see⊠donât you hear that?â
âYâ"
It was soft. Barely audible. A voice that sounded all too familiar, but alien; all at once. It came from the left. Or, perhaps, the right. Inside, or outwards. Above, or below. Had he even heard it? Or imagined it? In any case, it appeared as if Zahra had heard it as well.
A soft breath hissed out from between Cyrus's teeth. He wasn't half as jumpy as Zahra, but that didn't mean he wasn't on-edge. Given that objects in the room seemed to move at the behest of some unseen will, he couldn't let his eyes settle on one place for too long, lest something strike him in the back or who knew what. With a rasp, he drew one of his swords. At the very least, he could make the attempt to fend off anything that came directly for him.
âAre you hearing that, or is it just me?" His voice came out lower than he intended, like he couldn't bring himself to say anything too loud. He thought she was, but he wanted to be sure. Carefully, he settled his free hand at Zahra's shoulder. âPut your back to mine. I'll watch in front if you watch behind. We'll head for the leftmost door." Zahra obliged without question, pressing her back to his for a moment before drawing her own blade, and setting her sights to where theyâd just come from.
It sounded, if anything, like a child's voice. A whisper. Too soft to really decide if he recognized it or not. Cyrus doubted it mattered. It had to be whatever was here interfering with them. Shifting positions so he was facing forward, he kept himself half-turned so he could maintain solid physical contact with Zahra. Normally, he wouldn't have, but given that they'd already been separated from the others, he wasn't going to take the chance.
âThis way."
âLead on,â Zahraâs voice was, if anything, a little stronger this time. Perhaps, having some sort of physical proximity was as good as any a promise that she was not alone. It appeared as if sheâd seen something a moment beforeâor at least believed so. A brief moment before sheâd blustered into him, she had looked in his direction⊠and almost looked as if she were looking straight through him.
She hadnât commented on it any further. Though the hitch of her shoulders and back, meeting just below his shoulder blades, bellied a reproach that may have been caused by whatever sheâd seen. There was a soft exhale as she mimicked his footsteps and continued scanning every inch they left behind. âI heard it too,â she glanced over her shoulder at him, âBut I canât tell where itâs coming from.â
There was another unusual sound. A small, tinny sound of iron bouncing off the linoleum floors. A portrait that had been hung by the door theyâd recently vacated creaked against the wall and finally clattered to the ground behind them. Then another, and another. Closer, each time. The uncomfortable silence that followed hung heavier. This time, Zahra had managed to bite down her yelp and only startled slightly against Cyrusâ back as they retreated.
âWe should get out of here.â It sounded more like a plea than a suggestion.
Either way, he agreed. Cyrus picked up the pace as much as he could while remaining in contact with Zahra, jogging towards the door. He'd have to give up either the sword or his companion to work the knob, and he wasn't about to let her go, so he sheathed the blade, turning the handle and putting his shoulder into it when he met resistance. As though rust were breaking away from the hinges, it suddenly gave, but he was prepared for something like that. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Zahra's shirt; he refused to let go, and pulled her after him over the threshold.
This time, they emerged into dim light. The door behind them was closed despite never having clicked shut. He was willing to bet that whatever was behind it wasn't the room they'd come from either. Here, things were lit with several inset torches, burning an eerie bluish color. Magelight. The room was little more than bare stone walls and a bare stone floor, rows of bookshelves reaching as high as Cyrus could see, and then higher. Each was lined with neat rows of dusty tomes, their titles blurry and indistinct to his eyes, even when he ventured slightly closer. From the way their footsteps echoed, the ceiling of the room must have been at least two stories up.
There weren't any immediately-visible doors, but there might be on the other side, blocked from view by the towering shelves. It was hard to say. From somewhere deeper in, a thud reverberatedâexactly the sound he would expect from a book falling off a shelf. âSomeone's playing games with us." He was almost certain of it.
The thing was, he wasn't sure if the thing to do was play along or ignore the games entirely.
âNot the type of games I like playing,â Zahra quipped at his back. Not one anyone would enjoy playing if it meant tossing objects on the floor and whispering ominous things in their ears. However, leaving the salon and having the door firmly shut behind them had soothed some of her nerves. The light, as dim as it was, seemed to lend her some bravery as well. She emerged from behind his back and stood in front of one of the many shelves, squinting close enough that her nose nearly touched one of the dusty tomes.
âWhat should we do? What can we do?â There was a pause, before she straightened her back and rounded her shoulders, âDemons arenât really my specialty.â What could they do when they had nothing to strike? An unseen enemy toying with them from the shadows. A hand that seemed to focus on manipulation rather than outright injury. It appeared as if she didnât know what to do with herself, holding her rapier loosely in her hand and busying herself by prodding the spines of the books in front of her.
âDepends on the type of demon." Unfortunately, he didn't know what sort this was, or how it was doing the things it made sense to attribute to it. âI've never heard of a demon being in command of an area outside the Fade like this." Even Nightmare's control over its dominion was somewhat limited. This one had yet to speak to them directly or identify itself. He needed more information before he had a hope of understanding what needed to be done.
But the only way to get that information was probably to go along with things, for now. âLet's figure out what it wanted us to see, first of all." If a book had fallen somewhere, they could at least figure out which one. It could be useful information.
Working his way down the narrow gap at the ends of all the rows of shelving, Cyrus peered down each as he passed, looking for any conspicuous dark objects on the floors. Just when he was resigned to making a more thorough inspection of each, he found what he was looking for. âThere, this way." The second-to-last row contained a toppled book, fallen open upside down. From where they stood, the title was visible, standing out in sharp, almost luminous golden relief: Daedalus and Auriel.
Cyrus's brows descended over his eyes. Bending down, he picked the book up, careful to keep it open to the same page, and then turned it over in his hands. He sucked in a sharp breath. On the left was a full-page illustration. To the right, the words written out in familiar handwritingâhis own. The image itself was recognizably him as well, save that he was a child and dressed in the manner of Auriel from the tale, the ragged garments of a slave, cut in a manner long obsolete in the Imperium. He sat at the knee of a man, dressed much the same, face obscured and blurry like the titles of all the other books.
Grimacing, he flipped the page, and then another. The story played out exactly like it was supposed to, except for the uncanny resemblance of the ill-fated protagonist to himself. When he reached the last page, his gut lurched. Auriel had fallen, alone, to earth in a heap of smoking feathers, his body broken on stones.
âThat's... quite unpleasant." His attempt to sound dry only worked halfway. It just looked like him. But somehow that wasn't the terrible part.
Zahra was hot on his heels as he rounded the bend. She sidled at his elbow when he had stooped to retrieve the fallen tome. Seeing how short she was in comparison, she was not quite reading over his shoulder. Instead, sheâd chosen a spot at his side, murky eyes following the familiar depictions as he flipped through the pages. By the pinch of her brows, she appeared justifiably confused. She wouldnât have understood the relevance of the tale. Though she bent over a little further when he reached the last page.
âThat looked a little like...â her voice trailed off uneasily as she took a step backwards and gave him breathing room. She cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder, scanning the room once more. Itâd do them no good if something crept up behind them as they perused the books. Her mouth was set into a fine line, assured. Her hand had been resting on his shoulder the entire time, and it took her a moment to retract it, as if she hadnât realized sheâd been grabbing onto him in the first place.
âUh⊠so, what was that? You donât look so good.â
âA clue." To the nature of their tormentor, this time. He wasn't sure it was enough, though. Perhaps venturing further in would be more definitive. âI'll... explain it later." Just at this moment, he didn't really want to get into the details. It was hardly the time or the place for that.
Their journey down the row of shelving, however, had made evident another door. âI think that might be our only way out." He nodded at it carefully, still unable to banish the thick something that had settled in the hollow of his chest. An ache, maybe. Something evoked without being named. He needed to give it a name. Somehow, he couldn't help but feel that doing so would loosen the hold it was slowly gaining over him, over them. Separating them like this, playing upon their fears in the dark and the unknown.
They stuck close together as they reached the next door; Cyrus waited until they were in physical contact again before he opened it and stepped through.
Zahra had been clinging onto the hem of his shirt as they crossed the threshold. Seeing how theyâd been separated in the first place, it was an understandable concern. However, she seemed perplexed that sheâd been doing it in the first place, retracting her fingers as soon as the door gently clicked behind them. She paused and looked over her opened palm, before huffing out a sigh, âHow big is this damn houseââ
Her words were smothered into a trembling hitch. The room theyâd entered looked as if it had been designed by a completely different hand. One that was much more deliberate. Intentional. Wholly unlike all of the gaudy rooms theyâd come across so far. There were no crystal chandeliers. No plush cushions or lacquered pianos; no lengthy portraits or intricate vases arranged atop freshly-varnished tables.
âImpossible.â A much older, outdated room sat in front of themâa fishermanâs cabin from the looks of it. The windows were still shuttered and only oil lanterns, hoisted onto metal fastenings in between the wooden slats of the walls, offered any light. Shadows danced and licked across the walls. At times, it appeared as if they took shape, though they soon disappeared. Slits of light reflected across the hooks of fishing rods tucked neatly beside a wood stove.
My Bonnie lies over the sea
She took a few steps forward; her movements wooden. Though it may have escaped Cyrusâ notice before, it was certainly apparent now that Zahra was walking towards it, the furthest window was latched, but had no shutters covering its pane. It did not, however, look normal. Instead of allowing a view of the grounds below, only an inky blackness remained. There was a residual shudder across the surface, as if rocks were being thrown into water. A silhouette began to take shape; first shoulders, then horns.
Bring back my Bonnie to me
A soft-spoken lullaby. A motherly tone; happy. The voice belonged to a woman that he did not recognize, though it appeared as if Zahra had heard this particular one as well. Sheâd initially reacted by pressing the palms of her hands to her ears, smothering them against her wild curls. There was another noise, coming from her mouth. Something that sounded like a desperate no, no, no. It didnât appear as if she were aware that sheâd left Cyrus by the door. That she continued leaving him there; on his own. Focusing only on the window ahead of her, stumbling through the darkness as if she were swimming to shore.
âI have to let him in. I have to. Heâs right thereââ
Cyrus admittedly wasn't really sure what to do here. Unlike the last time they'd been in a similar position, he didn't have the power to simply banish the illusion before them. Nor did he think he'd be able to do much to break its hold on Zahra. Leon had been around last time, and he rather thought that had made all the difference between success and failure. Especially since she didn't even seem to notice that he was present.
Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he followed her across the room. That in itself was hardly a difficult choiceâthe overwhelming desolation he felt in this place seemed to be staved off only by her proximity. He was fairly sure he knew what that meant, at this point, but it wasn't the most obvious answer, and he didn't want to get it wrong.
The choice to reach out and grasp her wrist, halting her progress, was admittedly the harder one. âZahra. Zahra, stop. This isn't real. Like the dream wasn't real." He paused, hesitating, then ventured his guess. If he was right, and he could get it through to her, knowing what it was should help her see through its tricks. âThis is a demonâLoneliness. It just wants to make you feel alone and hopeless." Cyrus enunciated carefully, searching her face for any sign that she so much as recognized his presence.
At first, Zahra only tugged against the restraint on her wrist and reached out her own hand towards the rippling reflection in the window. She made a small noise in the back of her throatâhalfway between an intake of breath and a whine. What sheâd do once she reached the window was anyoneâs guess⊠but the desperate pull seemed to have her entranced: frantic. âHeâs right thereâAslan, I have to, I have toâŠâ
There was a choked noise, and her pulling suddenly stopped. The ripples suddenly ceased and the silhouette began to lose its shape. Until it was nothing more than a formless blob. A shadow, unfamiliar darkness. Like all of the other windows, shutters abruptly slammed down in its place, covering it completely. She simply stood there, stock-still. For a moment, at least, until she let out a shaky breath.
âShit.â Zahra pressed her free hand to her eyes, angrily wiping with the heel of her palm. It took her a moment to look at him, but eventually she did. The frenzy mightâve left her gaze, but her eyes still burned. What sheâd seen had clearly left an impression on her. She nodded her head as if she were shaking off the remnants of sleep; resolute, bristling. âAlright. Letâs kill this fucking thing. No more games. Not with us.â
Cyrus nodded, carefully releasing her. âMy sentiments exactly." With the closing of the shutters, a new door had appeared at the end of the room. That seemed like the best way forward.