Indra smiled back at Sophie, a tired but genuine gesture. Her mere presence was a balm to the chaos churning in his mind.
"It seems you have quite a lot to tell." — she said, her heterochromatic eyes—the steely blue and the emerald green—sweeping over his disheveled, dirt-streaked, battle-marked figure.
Indra looked down at his hands, caked with dirt and dried blood, at the torn pants and his bare torso covered in bruises and scratches that were already healing rapidly but still bore witness to the horrors he'd faced.
"You could say it was an intense few days." — he admitted with a muffled laugh.
Sophie took a step forward, her black silk robe whispering against the obsidian floor.
"Go take a shower." — she ordered, her tone soft but incisive. "Then we can talk."
Honestly, the last thing Indra wanted was a shower. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, and the promise of a soft bed was an irresistible siren's call.
"Sophie, I just want to lie down..." — he began, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
She raised a perfect eyebrow.
"Are you a child? Any adult with a shred of hygiene would take a bath after getting so filthy." — There was a slight note of disapproval in her voice, and Indra felt a surprising desire to please her, even in his exhaustion.
He stayed silent, making a stubborn face. Sophie watched him for a moment, and then a subtle shift occurred in her expression. The disapproval gave way to a calculating, slightly mischievous glint in her heterochromatic eyes. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth.
"Well." — she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate, deliberately seductive tone. "If you're that tired... I haven't taken my bath yet either. If you wanted, we could get in the shower together. I might even scrub your back."
The transformation in Indra's posture was instant and complete. The fatigue seemed to evaporate, replaced by a wave of anticipatory energy. He carefully placed the cat on the floor. The feline let out a soft mewl of protest but quickly settled on the dark rug, rubbing against the soft fabric. Sophie looked at the cat, and an expression of genuine affection—which she tried to mask but failed—softened her features for a microsecond. She secretly adored cute things, a fact Indra had noticed over time.
Indra closed the distance between them, his face now serious, his dark eyes fixed on hers.
"Are you serious?" — he asked, his voice a bit rougher than intended.
Sophie held his gaze, her smile deepening.
"Of course I am."
It was all Indra needed to hear. He took her hand—her skin was surprisingly warm against his palm—and pulled her towards the stairs, taking the steps two at a time with renewed energy. The tiredness was still there, but it was now a distant competitor to a much more immediate and desirable goal.
---
Some time later, the hot mist of the bathroom still hanging around them, Indra and Sophie were in the bedroom. The air smelled of expensive soap and hot water. Sophie tied the silk robe back around her body, her wet black hair dripping down her back. Indra, revitalized and significantly cleaner, searched for his torn jeans on the floor.
"Forget those." — Sophie said, her voice still a bit hoarse from the steam.
"I imagined your clothes wouldn't survive." —She gestured with her hand, and a set of clothes emerged from her dimensional ring, landing on the bed with a soft thud.
Indra picked up the clothes. They were remarkably familiar: a black silk shirt, black jeans of a similar cut to his old ones, a black leather belt with a simple buckle, black shoes with white soles, a set of spiked wristbands and punk metal bracelets, and a pair of black lycra fingerless gloves that would cover the backs of his hands. It was exactly his style, but there was something different. The clothes emanated a subtle but undeniable energy, a resonance of power that made his skin tingle.
"What is this?" — Indra asked, pulling on the pants. The fabric was incredibly durable yet flexible like lycra.
"They're Artifacts." —Sophie explained, watching him dress.
"Common clothes are... inadequate for what you face now."
"Artifacts?" — Indra asked, buttoning the shirt. The material was soft as silk but had the weight and durability of reinforced leather.
"Normally, Artifacts are weapons and armor made from the bodies and cores of Creatures from the Other Side" — she continued, her tail moving slowly as she spoke. "The more powerful the creature, the more powerful the Artifact. These clothes were woven with fibers infused with a creature's essence."
Indra was intrigued.
"How does it work? Are there... levels?"
Sophie nodded, appreciating his curiosity. "Yes. Artifacts are classified into eight tiers based on the creature's category—Common, Rare, Epic, Unique, Legendary, Mythic, Ancestral, Divine, and Stellar. And into ten degrees based on the class—how many cores the creature possessed."
She paused, letting the information sink in.
"For example, these clothes were made from a Demonic Shade I killed. 'Shade' means it had seven cores. 'Demonic' is its category. So, this is a 7th Degree Legendary Artifact."
Indra whistled softly, running his fingers over the shirt's fabric. Legendary. It sounded impressive.
"And Divine? And... you said eight tiers, but you mentioned Stellar before?"
"Divine Artifacts are made from Corrupted Ones." — she said, her voice turning serious.
"And Stellar... is a special class. It's not something to worry about now." She closed the discussion with a final tone.
Indra nodded, pulling on the fingerless gloves. They fit his hands perfectly. He felt... more complete. More protected.
"Now." — he said, looking at her. "I can tell you everything. But we'd better do it while we cook. I'm starving." His stomach growled as if to emphasize the point.
Sophie agreed with a small smile.
"Fair. Three days of field rations aren't enough for a growing man." — She gave a meaningful glance at his now more defined torso.
They went down to the kitchen, a spacious room with modern appliances contrasting with the polished obsidian walls and floor. They decided to cook together—Sophie commanding with quiet efficiency, Indra following instructions and chopping vegetables. As they worked, he told her everything. This time, omitting nothing.
He told her about the cave, the Sword Dance, the bear, the Silver Storm, creating the Inner Vortex's Silent Heart, the final battle. Then, he dove into the parts he had hidden before: the descent, the sarcophagus, the terrifying Realm Ruler, his debt, the discovery of Salazar Vallencourt's diary, Czech Tzigane's guide, the Sword Shakes Dimesions, and the dark curse.
When he finished, they were sitting at the stone dining table, a feast of roasted meat, fresh vegetables, and warm bread between them. But Sophie wasn't eating.
She was frozen. Her skin, already pale, was chalk-white. Her heterochromatic eyes were wide, fixed on Indra with absolute disbelief. Her red tail was stretched out and rigid, pointing at him like an accusatory finger. She seemed to have stopped breathing.
Indra hesitated. Not knowing what else to do, he decided to give her time and started to eat. The food was divine—flavorful, comforting, a celebration of life after three days of bland rations and monster meat.
At one point, the cat, who had been watching from a corner, jumped silently onto the table. He walked over to Sophie, circled her once, observing her frozen face with an expression that seemed like amused curiosity. He then stopped in front of her, raising his head. Sophie, still in a catatonic state, tilted her head mechanically. The cat raised a purple paw and gave a light tap on her nose.
"Mrow!" he said, a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and then scampered off the table, disappearing into the kitchen.
Sophie blinked. A small "ow" escaped her lips. She touched her nose, looking in the direction the cat had gone, before shaking her head slowly, as if coming out of a trance.
Her gaze then found Indra's, who was eating a piece of meat while watching the whole scene with a mix of concern and amusement. A slight blush colored her pale cheeks, a stark contrast against her fair skin. She gave a forced cough, straightening her shoulders, regaining her usual composure.
"Well." — she began, her voice a bit weaker than normal. "That was... impressive. To say the least." — She took a deep breath. "I am very, very glad you came back safely, Indra. You... utterly surpassed any expectation I could have had." — There was tremendous pride in her voice, mixed with a deep awe.
Indra felt a warmth of satisfaction run through his chest. The praise meant a lot, coming from her.
But then, the seriousness of the situation returned.
"What do I do, Sophie?" — he asked, his voice low. "About his debt? About Tzigane's guide? The curse?"
Sophie grew serious.
"About Tzigane's guide, you tell no one," she said, her voice laden with urgency. "They would kill for less. The Esoteric Society hunts and executes those who possess knowledge deemed too dangerous or heretical. The technique of one of the Four Immortals qualifies."
She continued.
"As for Vallencourt's curse... unfortunately, I'm not sure. But it's likely linked to the Ivory Tower."
Indra remembered. Sophie had told him about the tower before—a spiritual realm, the home of the souls of the powerful warriors of the People of the Other Side who died in battle.
"How?" — he asked, confused. "What does the Ivory Tower have to do with 'darkness this world hides'?"
"I told you they said the top of the tower held the secret to controlling the entire Other Side." — Sophie reminded him. "That's not just a rumor. For centuries, the Esoteric Society and other factions have tried to reach it. The Society knows what's up there. That's why they want to get there so badly. I think the Four Immortals found out. Czech Tzigane told Salazar, and Salazar, somehow, confirmed it. I can't imagine anything else that would lead someone to attempt a coup against the Society."
Indra was stunned. The logic was frighteningly solid. The top of the Ivory Tower... housed a secret so dark it would make someone turn against the very organization they swore to protect.
"So the curse... is to inherit the sword, inherit the quest for the truth." — he murmured, connecting the dots.
"It seems likely." — Sophie agreed.
"And the Realm Ruler?" — Indra pressed, the memory of that presence still fresh in his mind, a scar on his soul. "What is it? Why was it trapped there?"
This time, Sophie visibly hesitated. Her eyes shifted away, and she was silent for a long moment, her tail twisting with unease. Finally, she seemed to reach a decision.
"The Mortal Plane and the Other Side are not the only realms, Indra." — she began, her voice grave. "You've heard about it in classes, but the truth is vaster. There are Nine Realms. Some are easy to traverse, like the Other Side. Others... not so much."
She took a deep breath.
"There was a man, the Administrator, the leader of the SCP Foundation, a subsidiary of the Society. He explored all Nine Realms and wrote a book, 'The Administrator's Accounts'. In it, he claimed each realm was ruled by an entity—a Realm Ruler, like a god of its own dimension. He even named some."
"But...?" — Indra prompted, sensing a 'but' coming.
"But all those mentions were removed from the final version published by the Esoteric Society," Sophie concluded, her tone bitter. — "They said his findings on the realms were valuable, but his 'theories' about rulers were impractical nonsense. If the Sword Master was telling the truth... then the Rulers are real. And in some unimaginable way, he trapped one in the Vallencourt underground. And in an even more unimaginable way, you freed one. And now it owes you a debt."
The flood of information was mind-shattering. Nine Realms. Divine Rulers. The Esoteric Society covering up the truth. It was almost too much to process. But amidst the whirlwind, one thought surfaced in Indra's mind, driven by the icy clarity of the Silent Heart or perhaps by an echo of his encounter with the divine.
He looked at Sophie, his dark eyes serious.
"If the Realm Rulers are real... and if they control everything in their realms like gods... then the 'darkness' at the top of the Ivory Tower... wouldn't it be the secret to becoming the God of the Other Side?"
Sophie was stunned. It was as if a final piece of a monstrous puzzle clicked into place. Her jaw nearly dropped. She looked into Indra's eyes, her expression a mix of pure terror and admiration.
"Indra." — she whispered, her voice taut as a steel wire. "No matter what happens, this conversation never leaves this room. Never. Understood?" — The fear in her eyes was palpable. "This makes too much sense. Neither you nor I have the power to investigate this and come out unscathed. This is a secret we take to the grave."
Indra nodded, his face solemn. The gravity of her words sank like a stone in his stomach. He had planned to rest, but the world he inhabited was infinitely more complex and dangerous than he had ever imagined. Nine Realms. Rulers. The truth behind the Ivory Tower. The Four Immortals. The Society's cover-up. The Administrator was right...
Wait.
Indra had a sense of déjà vu. He was almost certain that the phrase he had just recited in his mind—The Administrator was right—echoed something he had heard before, in a completely different context. The feeling was fleeting but disturbing, leaving him with a mental itch he couldn't scratch, one last piece of mystery hovering over the already monumental pile of secrets he now carried.