Cecilus stared at Marina as if she'd just walked out of a dream—or a nightmare. She looked as if she had only just arrived.
"Why are you here!?" he yelled.
"I was looking for Trey," she replied, voice steady. "This—this incident might've been my doing."
This fucking bitch. Is she really caught up in a fantasy? Cecilus thought, rage hot and immediate beneath his skin. "You idiot! You think the world revolves around you? This is bigger than anything you can imagine. Run away!"
He lunged for the doorway, intent on getting Marina clear, but a sword sang through the air and clipped the edge of his ear. The blade skittered to the floor and landed near the hearth. Cecilus recognized it immediately—his father's sword.
He shook his head, stunned, and felt Trey's shadow fall behind him.
Shit. I thought the barriers would hold longer. I can't outrun this freak.
Cecilus called out, summoning Aldo and the other golem. "Stall him for me!"
He tried to flee again, but movement seized him—some unseen force or a moment's hesitation. Trey was already across the room. In a single, cruel motion he shattered the golem with a poke; the construct crumpled into splinters and metal shards.
Cecilus screamed, a white-hot pain tearing through his abdomen. He doubled over and collapsed to the floor.
It hurts!
Aldo lunged to bite Trey, but the attack was sidestepped; Trey's blade drove through the wolf's torso. Cecilus pressed both hands to his belly as pain flared, sharp and relentless.
"Trey! What are you doing?" Marina shouted.
Trey didn't look remorseful as he sliced off Aldo's head. "I'm fulfilling my duty. Leave Marina. Our parents are dead, and you're free. If you go without a word, I won't touch you."
"But why kill the villagers?" Marina demanded.
"It's not my place to explain," Trey said with measured cold. "I only follow orders."
He stalked toward Cecilus, who moaned on the wooden floor. Marina sprang forward and placed herself between them.
"Move," Trey said. "You have freedom now. Would you risk it all for this elf?"
Marina's palms began to glow a trembling green. For a moment, her whole body seemed to hum with an internal determination.
Why am I even helping this elf? Didn't I want freedom? she thought, as if she could not believe her own actions.
"Are you free, Trey?"
Marina finally spoke, her voice was trembling.
Trey's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"
"Do you want to follow those orders?" she asked.
Trey flinched as if struck. "No—I'm being forced. But this world—you need strength, not softness. A strong position always sits higher." His voice hardened. "I am a great knight of the council, not some weakling rotting in the borderlands."
He grabbed Marina by the shirt. "What do you know about me?"
Marina's gaze flicked to his left hand. A mechanical glove wove itself into being on his palm, gears and cold metal coalescing from nothing.
"Nothing," she said quietly. "I just see you. Afraid. But unlike me, you don't have the guts to fight it."
Trey erupted into a laugh that sounded like nails on a stone wall. "Guts? No. I have a mind. After everything I've done—after killing my parents and my master—do you think I'll change now? It's too late for me."
He threw Marina across the room into the fire pit. A wall of scorched foliage erupted to shield her from the flames. Trey charged at Cecilus to finish him, but a thick branch burst from the floor and intercepted the strike.
Shit. I can't do more. That's all the plants I can conjure, Marina thought as she staggered up from the wreckage.
Trey sneered. "You're already dead to me. You threw away your chance. If you want to flee, pick up that sword and kill this boy." He jabbed toward Reymund's sword, planted in the ground near the hearth.
Marina hesitated, then walked slowly to the blade. Cecilus pushed himself upright, trembling, and gripped his own sword as best he could.
"You won't win this," Trey said, watching him. "I'm strong—but there are stronger people above me. Your only crime was pissing off the right men."
Cecilus then spoke.
"Fuck you."
He ran forward and took a large swing at Trey.
Trey brought his sword up and disarmed Cecilus.
Cecilus was already panting and scarred from the pain. His moves were more sluggish than normal.
"Marina," Cecilus rasped. "Just kill me."
At his plea, Trey lunged and struck Cecilus hard enough to knock him unconscious. He collapsed, limp, to the floor.
Trey leaned close to Marina. "It's your last chance. Kill him and we're accomplices. I won't expose you."
Marina stared at the sword in her hands. For a heartbeat she wavered—then she hurled it away.
"I told myself I would be free to choose," she said, voice trembling but firm. "This isn't freedom."
Trey's features darkened with hatred. "You're pathetic—just like your mother. Maybe you should burn too, like she did. By my hand."
Marina's face crumpled. "What? It was you?"
Trey's lips curled in a bitter confession. "Yes. She was crazy—she accused me of being bound by the same chains as her. I couldn't let that stand. Crazy people like her deserve to die."
He stepped forward and seized Marina by the throat with the mechanical glove. "This is the hand that poisoned children, the hand that set the fire that killed your mother. It was easy to bribe the doctor to falsify testimony. People look away. Why did she call me out, huh?"
Marina gagged as the glove tightened. Heat seared her neck; tears burned but she could not scream—the pressure crushed the sound from her lungs. All the while, Cecilus lay unconscious, motionless.
***
Cecilus woke in the violet hush of his soul world. The familiar fog that usually filled the realm was thinner than normal; the plane beneath him was flat and leaden, stretching into an empty horizon. He rubbed his eyes, disoriented.
If I hadn't drifted here, I'd be dead, he thought. What can I even do now?
Memories and frustration churned in his chest. I couldn't save my mother after Father died. After everyone died...
He sank to the ground, hands on his chin, wrestling with helplessness. Then, a light flickered in the distance—a small, wavering glow moving toward him.
One of my summons? Took them long enough, he muttered. But as the light drew nearer, it resolved into something wrong and familiar: a three-foot creature with white, scaly skin, two crooked purple horns, and no eyes. It was the same figure he'd seen in the mirror—and the same described in Ramon's notes.
"White Devil," Cecilus breathed.
The creature's mouth opened. "It seems the contract can finally begin. I've waited centuries. Tell me, elf—are you prepared to accept the consequences of being saved?"
"Saved?" Cecilus blinked. "You mean—save me from this?"
"My terms were explicit: my aid comes with a price."
"Who are you—some white devil?" Cecilus said, trying to keep his voice steady. The creature recoiled at the label as if insulted.
"You are quick to name me. It matters little. Time is not on your side. Your friend is dying in the world above—a slow, painful death awaits unless you act."
"What is the price?" Cecilus asked.
The creature laughed softly. "I shall reform you. How is the best way to reform an awful creature like you?"
"How?"
"You tell me."
The white devil began to laugh.
"Your attachments chain you. You waited when you should have left. You were bound by family—so I will take your memories."
Cecilus blinked. Fine. Memories don't matter if I'm dead.
"Most would balk at losing such treasures," the creature purred. "Perhaps I need not take the second part."
It leaned closer. "The second is empathy. Your connection to other souls has always been a weakness. It seems Ramon's research on the effect of magic types on personality was flawed. He was a flawed man himself, so it doesn't surprise me."
Cecilus clenched his teeth. Lose empathy? Become someone else? Also, why is it mentioning the researcher?
No... Even so, as long as I breathe I can rebuild. I can find what I lost.
"The memories will fade gradually," the creature promised. "I will leave you enough to escape and guide your new self."
"How can I trust you?" Cecilus whispered.
"You can't. But you have little choice." An illusory sheet of paper appeared, quill hovering beside it.
Cecilus felt the world tilt and, with a heavy hand, took the quill and signed.