Re:Animation

by Tall-Gothic-Guy

Diligent Priest. Persevering Priest. Stranded Priest. Lonely Priest. What can a Master of the Dead do in Lugnica? No more pilgrimages. No more manhunts. No more duties. No more purposes. And when death is not even available to him, what can a Death Mage do in the wake of the Royal Selection? Begin his first convent? Adopt an apprentice? Murder someone? Who's that white-haired girl?

3. A Handyman's Virtue

Against the guest room wall, close to the door, Raeburn sat. He lowered his empty plate, his gaze shifting to the figure on the bed. Tied securely, Emurdol Viandegroc lay unmoving, not even a chest rise betraying a breath.

Yet, Emurdol bled. Not from wounds, but from eyes that wept crimson tears. Tears that Raeburn, with a morbid twist of humor, thought might unlock the very gates of the Underworld. After all, this was a man whose vomit could melt stone and blood teem with life. The Necromagi were known for their unsettling biology.

His mind drifted back to the earlier chaos. Emurdol, suddenly awake in the middle of the night, released a sharp shriek that shattered multiple glass windows and from multiple rooms too. The sight of Emurdol clawing at his own face, driven by some unseen terror, was what horrified everybody. A maid, a girl with hair and eyes like the summer sky, and a curious child in a dress fit for royalty – who Raeburn swore wasn't human – had healed the man's wounds with their healing magic. Now, Emurdol lay still, a cold statue under the watchful gaze of Raeburn.

Raeburn had volunteered to guard, a gnawing unease settling in his gut. Though Emurdol's body was cold and unmoving, a flicker of life remained. But even awake, Raeburn knew, the man would be a statue – cold, silent, haunted.

An invisible weight pressed down on the room. Souls and spirits, unseen yet undeniably present, swarmed around Emurdol. Not in fear, but in a silent vigil heavy with sorrow and empathy. It was like a funeral procession for a living man, an unsettling tableau that sent shivers down Raeburn's spine.

Another enigma dumped in his lap. Raeburn's frown etched deeper lines into his face. Just like the others, this one would take forever to crack. What had triggered the man's descent from that bloodcurdling scream into a crippling abyss of despair? He had asked the Souls for every answer, even being specific about it, but they offered nothing but the obvious: the man craved death. No surprise there, considering their first encounter in Pandemonium.

It seemed bizarre that the suicidal urges had escalated now, manifesting in reckless, self-destructive actions. First, charging headfirst into a hail of blades, ignoring his ability to turn into smoke and avoid injury. Then, in the dead of night, clawing at his own face with frenzied abandon.

"You're still confusing, Man." Raeburn sighed, sinking back into his chair. He rubbed his temples, the headache throbbing in rhythm with his confusion.

"It seems the both you are truly not the best of friends, Master Raeburn." Chimed in the beautiful maid, Frederica. She tucked a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear as she poured him tea. "Your polite-yet-mocking descriptions seemed laced with hidden fondness, but it appears I misjudged."

Raeburn chuckled, suppressing a blush. Being chaperoned by Frederica, under the Margrave's orders, wasn't his idea of fun. Yet, he couldn't deny the warmth her presence brought. "If his kind were capable of friendship, I assure you, dear Frederica, I wouldn't even crack his top ten, with Lady Emilia, the recipient of his esteemed verbal graces, reigning supreme."

Frederica's laughter, melodic and mischievous, filled the room. She playfully covered her mouth, revealing a flash of sharp teeth. Raeburn felt an unbidden urge to ask her to stop the charade and smile naturally. After all, he didn't despise the sight.

Frederica's brow furrowed as she placed the empty plate on the trolley. "Despite his heroic act, your tales seem solely painted in shades of disdain. Surely the savior of Lady Emilia isn't such unpleasant company?" She inquired, handing him a steaming cup of jasmine tea.

Raeburn blew on the fragrant brew. "I'm not one for racial stereotypes. But based on my encounters, his kind tend to be…abrasive. Cold, emotionless, perpetually frowning. You'd have more luck spotting your guardian angel tap-dancing than seeing one of them crack a smile." He took a sip, a wry twist on his lips. "Though, I'll give them this: their hearts, twisted as they may be, lie in the right place. They have a twisted sense of honor and will do whatever they believe serves the greater good."

He recalled the sight of the black-clad Master of the Dead, a scowl etched on his face, directing a dragon-drawn carriage overflowing with food and water towards the impoverished slums. Not the most heartwarming picture of charity, he had to admit.

"Their good intentions just come wrapped in barbed-wire, that's all," Raeburn sighed, then flashed Frederica a reassuring smile. "But fear not, I'm here to act as your personal shock absorber. This guy's more volatile than a grumpy troll after a bad day! Someone's gotta keep him on the leash, and I've done it before."

Frederica, ever the epitome of grace and propriety, offered a smile that didn't quite show her sharp teeth. "Then we are indeed fortunate to have you, Master Raeburn," she bowed, the gesture as practiced as it was undeniably charming.

Raeburn felt a pang of something akin to appreciation, despite knowing it was likely just another facet of her "Maid Conduct" as the Souls liked to remind him. He cleared his throat, eager to shift the topic.

"Shifting gears," The boy chirped, clearly eager to keep the conversation flowing. "How'd my window fixing skills rate on your scale? Not Rem-level, of course, but I like to think I did a decent job."

Raeburn, along with the maids, had diligently repaired the seventeen shattered windows caused by the Necromagus' outburst. Refusing to stay in bed while the servants cleaned up the mess had been a no-brainer. In Raeburn's mind, Emurdol was his responsibility now, asleep or awake. A walking, clawing, window-shattering time bomb under a noble's roof was a recipe for disaster.

"Impressive work, Master Raeburn! Lord Roswaal might even consider hiring you as his personal builder," Frederica commented. "Though I confess, it did prick my heart a bit when you refused the offered tools."

Guilt flickered across Raeburn's face. "Hey, c'mon. Don't feel bad. Hammer? Five swings, minimum, before I demolish it. I'm a hundred times useful with the club, trust me. I even built my house with even less!" He patted his trusty weapon, the rough scars on his knuckles speaking volumes of past brawls, overshadowing the feat of hammering nails barehanded.

"Oh, you jest. I'd expect a bit more muscle from such a handyman like you."

Raeburn chuckled, rising effortlessly. He drained his tea in a single gulp, the cup placed back on the chair with a decisive click. He turned, his gaze locking onto hers, a slow smile playing on his lips. His hand, calloused and strong, reached out, inching closer to her cheek, a teasing glint in his eyes. Despite her towering stature, Frederica couldn't help but stiffen slightly under his sudden boldness, unaccustomed to such forwardness from the usually reserved Raeburn.

Raeburn smirked, downing his tea in one smooth gulp. He placed the cup aside, his body turning towards her with an unexpected air of confidence despite his shorter stature. Frederica, taller and accustomed to his usually reserved demeanor, found herself momentarily disarmed.

"And I expected a bit more confidence in your smile, such a beautiful lady like you," He murmured, his gaze unwavering as he slowly closed the distance. The Souls, ever mischievous, whispered encouragement, urging him to tease further. The growing blush on her cheeks were a bonus. "If you'd let me," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I could show you just how much of a handyman I truly am..."

"Theeeeeen you'll appreciate it if we granted you two some priiiiiiivacy then~?"

Raeburn, unlike Frederica, reacted with a startled yelp, tipping the chair behind him in a comical tumble. The teacup clattered harmlessly to the floor. The Souls, enthralled by the scene, had failed to warn him of the approaching Lord Roswaal, accompanied by the twins and Lady Emilia.

Frederica's exclamation echoed through the room. "Lord Roswaal?!"

Raeburn, face flushed crimson, stammered, "Since when were you there!?"

The Lord's booming laughter, as well as his smile, infused with amusement, threatened to outshine the sun itself. "If you're not feeeeling scandalous with your friend asleep over there, I can offer a vaaaaacant room if you liiiiiike~"

The twin maids exchanged knowing glances. Rem, the younger with blue hair, spoke first. "Sister, Dear Sister, the carpenter's voice just reached new heights of unmanliness."

Ram, the elder with pink hair, added with a smirk, "Rem, Rem, seems we caught the wolfman with his pants about to fall."

Trapped in a compromising situation, Raeburn, the 24-year-old former Sword Slave, felt reduced to his teenage appearance – flustered and red-faced. "Slander! Lies! Accusations!" He protested. "That's not what was happening! And I'm neither carpenter nor wolfman! I'm a musician!"

Unfazed, the twins resumed their playful banter, Ram taking the lead this time.

"Rem, Rem, the musician possesses a voice rivaling the finest soprano."

"Sister, Dear Sister, seems we have a soprano aficionado amongst us."

Deflated, Raeburn groaned. "Come on! I don't even sing! Do I sound that high-pitched?"

A melodic chime cut through the cacophony. Roswaal stepped aside as Emilia peeked in, her voice soft. "It's wonderful everyone's enjoying themselves, but could we keep the noise down? Ser Emurdol is still resting…"

All eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors, turned to the slumbering figure. Despite the commotion, Emurdol lay motionless, his red tears staining the pillow larger with each drop. Only Emilia and Roswaal noticed this new development, the former rushing to his side with a white handkerchief to stem the flow.

Lord Roswaal's drawling voice broke the shocked silence, tinged with amusement."Master Raeburn's infatuaaaation to Frederica aside, how is Emilia's saaaaaavior fairing?"

Emilia's worried gaze remained fixed on the bed. "Is this...normal? I mean, his eyes are bleeding!" She dabbed at the crimson stain with a handkerchief, her hand trembling. "Don't we need to do something?"

Raeburn, his expression solemn, corrected her. "He's not bleeding. He's crying." He set the fallen chair upright and returned the teacup to the trolley, his movements measured and calm.

Emilia's surprise was evident, while Roswaal's eyebrow arched in curiosity, "Ooooh….does he have soooome sort of condition for his tears to be red, I wonder…..?"

"Are you sure, Raeburn?" Emilia asked, worried.

All eyes were fixed on him, wanting his confirmation and explanation as to how he knows that.

All eyes fell upon Raeburn, seeking answers. He scratched his head, the other hand resting on the chair's backrest. "Perhaps it's time I explained a few things… about him and his people."

He sank into the chair, weapon settling across his lap. Mentally, he gathered his knowledge - a tapestry woven from old beliefs ingrained in Pandemonium and new revelations gleaned from his bloodless interactions with Emurdol himself.

For this world's safety, he'd wear the mask of this world's native, just like always. No need for anyone outside Pandemonium to know about his true origins. The now-dangerous earth that became a place of survival since the Rapture he truly called home.

"Let me first dispel some common myths, though I'm sure you don't even know them, considering they're more common elsewhere." Raeburn began, sensing their curiosity about the enigmatic Emurdol. " He's the first of his people encountered here in Lugunica, thanks to their reclusive nature. Their isolation and secrecy shroud them in mystery, fueled by rumors more than facts. I, along with a few others, have stumbled upon bits of truth behind their pale visage."

Raeburn's voice lowered, drawing the audience in. "Legends claim they sprang from infertile soil, nourished by the decaying remains of fallen warriors denied proper burial – victims of demons and monsters. Some even believe they are those warriors themselves, mysteriously reanimated, explaining their pale, corpse-like features if they were lying down….or just simply not moving."

A shiver ran through the room. Raeburn paused, letting the weight of the myths sink in.

"However…" He continued, dispelling the myths, "….the reality is far less gothic. They simply dwell underground, generations adapting to life without sunlight. Their skin and hair lost their color over centuries, leaving only the vibrant glow of their eyes. While he may resemble a tall, pale human, he wouldn't agree. Just as a dog and a wolf share similarities, they remain distinct. Think of him as a demihuman, if that helps bridge the gap."

"In other woooords, he's juuuuust like most of my charming staaaaaff then? " Roswaal declared, gesturing to his maids. While human in appearance, beautiful and strong, Raeburn knew better from last night - they were all demihumans.

Raeburn chuckled. "Perhaps superficially. But beneath the skin, Emurdol's a different story. He possesses far more organs than any human, some defying our very understanding of anatomy. Multiple stomachs, perhaps even six hearts - though I haven't witnessed it myself. His body pushes the boundaries of what we consider normal." His expression turned serious. "And here's the astonishing part: he's not a freak of nature. He did this to himself, by design. Black blood? Part of his composition. Corrosive vomit? A tool in his arsenal. Crimson tears? Just another facet of his unique physiology."

His words hung heavy in the air, met with varying degrees of captivation. Frederica's and the blue maid's attention remained subtle yet focused, while Roswaal and the red maid displayed polite interest. Emilia, however, was mesmerized, abandoning her tear-wiping and kneeling like a child entranced by a tale.

This unfamiliar audience, untouched by his music and the howls of his wolf companion, spurred him to refocus. "Imagine living most of your life in caves or isolated from society, deprived of regular human interaction. Naturally, your values would diverge from ours. They are harsh, coldly pragmatic, and unafraid to prioritize the greater good, even if it means making unthinkable choices. Killing a child to save a nation? It wouldn't be a question for them, nor would it burden them with guilt."

He leaned forward, his voice firm. "Let me be clear: they are not inherently evil. I've witnessed their capacity for compassion firsthand. They are simply willing to make the difficult decisions, even the ones that make us shudder. But make no mistake, their trust and loyalty extend only to their own kind and the creatures of the wild. You won't find their good graces being a regular human."

Emilia's eyes widened in disbelief. "I find that hard to believe. You say he and his are cruel and unkind? He risked his life to save us in the loot house!" she countered, her voice gaining a defensive edge. "Remember that woman who charged at me? He stood in the direction of the attack, taking the brunt of the harm. His injuries were horrific, and I feared he wouldn't survive. He even told me his name, Emurdol."

Raeburn's expression remained neutral. "Don't you think he could have avoided it, Emilia?" he challenged, his voice laced with a hint of doubt. "He could have walked away unscathed. You said it yourself, he effortlessly killed Elsa multiple times that night. Why, then, would he be so careless as to get gut-shot by a single knife? Surely, with his skills, there were other ways."

Emilia's face flushed with anger. "Raeburn, how can you say such things?" she exclaimed. "He's your friend! He was exhausted! No one could have predicted that attack, not even Reinhardt!"

"Wrong! You are wrong, Emilia! He is not weak! I know how he fights—I've seen how he fights! I know more about him than any of you here!" Raeburn's fingers twitched, yearning to grip the familiar hilt of his club. He wrestled with his anger, failing to control the torrent of words, "I was next to him when we killed a monster worse than that Elsa. He should have seen that coming! There's no way he didn't! He had countless options! He could have turned to smoke, summoned a wall of bone, cursed the wound back at her, blinded her, weakened her – anything! He could have survived!"

His tirade was abruptly interrupted. His head snapped back, chin jutting upwards as if struck by an unseen fist. The room fell silent, shock etched on everyone's faces.

If not for his years as the Cult's superhuman enforcer, granting him ageless youth and enhanced flexibility, Raeburn's outburst could have been his last. His bones, hardened from years of brutal training, saved him from snapping his own neck.

The Souls, those paradoxical beings of empathy and indulgence, could sway anyone close enough to hear their whispers. Their world was a stage, and they reveled in drama. Witnessing Raeburn, his heated outburst fueled their own fiery emotions.

Unbeknownst to him, Emurdol, though unconscious, remained aware. His own anger resonated with the Souls' fury, amplifying it and subtly directing it towards Raeburn. In a twist, they exploited their limitation of never harming the living, not by touching him, but by manipulating his perception.

Emilia's challenge against his knowledge of Emurdol's capabilities had sparked his defensiveness, his focus faltered, and the Souls saw their opportunity. Raeburn succumbed to their trickery, believing they had snapped his neck, an illusion beyond their usual limitations in the Afterlife.

It was like a dream, a horrifying sensation that lingered even after waking. His challenge from Emilia, his defensive anger, all chipped away at his focus, his self-awareness, leaving him vulnerable to the Souls' mischievous game.

He had succumbed to Pandemonium's pride once again.

Calm, he reminded himself. His passionate defense had blinded him.

Raeburn lowered his head, a guttural groan escaping his lips as his neck emitted a series of unsettling cracks. Misaligned vertebrae realigned, the process more painful than pleasant.

Frederica's voice, laced with concern, sliced through the tense silence. "Master Raeburn, what just happened? You threw your head back so suddenly... I swear I heard a snap!"

Emilia, already on her feet, rushed towards him, her lips forming the words of a healing offer.

He gestured towards the unconscious Emurdol. "You all seem...invested. But trust me, he wouldn't meet your expectations." A somber note tinged his voice. "Emurdol, right?" Emilia confirmed, nodding slowly. "He's...suicidal.

He gestured towards the unconscious figure. "Emurdol, right?" Emilia confirmed with a nod. "Even if he were awake, you wouldn't know... but he's suicidal."

More than a few Souls lashed out at him once again. He didn't fall for it this time. They got creative, making him punch his own balls.

"Suiciiiidal, you say?" Roswaal echoed cryptically.

Sensing Emilia's growing distress, Raeburn added nonchalantly, "It's odd. He's been this way his whole life, yet his survival instinct is... ferocious. He outstrips even mine when facing monsters and threats. Remember, I was a slave, and I know a thing or two about survival, to cling to life. I've seen him cornered once, backed against the wall, and he turned the whole world upside down to win, leaving a wasteland in his wake."

He felt the phantom sensation of hands tightening around his throat, but a deep breath dispelled it. Not real.

Try harder, Raeburn goaded.

He looked at Emilia, his expression troubled. "I just want you to be prepared for who he really is, not just the hero who saved you."

His voice softened as he turned towards the unconscious Emurdol. "Perhaps the loot house was where he chose to finally succumb, accepting the final blow in your place. The reason for this sudden shift, I cannot say…." Raeburn's voice faltered, his eyes flitting to Emilia's guilt-stricken expression. "Listen, I'm not saying you did wrong. If it were me, I'd be eternally grateful. But..." He searched for gentler words, his sigh heavy. "…. I think... he didn't welcome it. Perhaps death was his deepest desire, and we, unwittingly, snatched it away."

He was grateful he'd said "we" instead of "you." He didn't want her burdened by the weight alone.

As the phantom hands around his neck vanished, leaving a strange sense of acknowledgement, Raeburn nodded towards Emurdol, his voice hushed. " "The scream last night, the tears... they make sense now. He woke to life, only to be met with the agony of continued existence."

Despite his efforts, the guilt on Emilia's face deepened, intertwining with a conflict in her eyes. The act of saving him, initially an act of altruism, now felt cruel, denying him the peace he craved, a fate worse than any physical injury.

Her amethyst eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, met his. Raeburn couldn't bear the weight of her gaze and averted his eyes, seeking solace in the rough texture of his club's handle.

"So... so I should have let him... die?" Her voice, hushed and trembling, carried the weight of a blade. Raeburn squeezed his eyes shut, guilt gnawing at his insides. This kind, innocent girl, burdened by such a reaction - the consequences of an act meant to earn affection and loyalty, now twisting into a painful responsibility.

Raeburn's lips pressed into a thin line as he stood, his gaze locking with Emilia's. "If I had the choice that night?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... maybe I wouldn't have fought to save him."

Even admitting this internally surprised him. The young Raeburn, forged in the fires of Pandemonium, wouldn't have hesitated. But years had passed, tempering his rawness. He'd been thrust into this new World, his values tested and refined. He never held warmth for Emurdol, and likely never would. Yet, the blind hatred he once held had dissipated, replaced by a grudging acceptance.

The Death Mage, too, had changed. Even Raeburn couldn't deny that.

"But you made the choice, Emilia. You chose to save him."" He gestured towards Emurdol, whose grief seemed to ease. The crimson tears had dried, leaving a faint trail down his cheek. Whether exhaustion or newfound acceptance had stilled them, Raeburn couldn't say. "This is the consequence of that choice. How you handle it, what burdens you take on...that's yours to decide.

Raeburn turned towards the door, his club resting on his shoulder. He paused, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Emilia," he said, his voice softer now, "if you're struggling with the consequences of your choice, don't hesitate to come to me. I'm here to help, in any way I can. Remember, I promised to minimize the damage, and that includes him."

He released his club, letting it magnetically snap onto his back. His footsteps, inexplicaably quiet, echoed as he exited.

Roswaal's amused chuckle filled the room. "For someone who's quite unfamiliaaar with his name, you're quite intimate with his baaaackground, are you noooot~?"

Raeburn chuckled, a hint of mockery lacing his voice as he addressed the title. "Well, your Lordship, there's no escaping notoriety," he winked, earning a glare from the pink maid which he easily dismissed. "His kind doesn't exactly inspire trust, and while allies in the past, friendship wasn't part of the deal. Like I said, everyone's on his hate list, with me near the top. Though, telling Emilia his name... that does seem special."

|||| « ҉ » ||||

Tank, his loyal wolf companion, was rarely far from Raeburn's side. Most hours of their days were filled with laughter as they raced across the vast lawns of the mansion, exploring every nook and cranny, and ensured the repaired windows held. Combat exercises became a daily ritual, not just for training, but to manage the ever-growing mana within him, its excess threatening to erupt as agonizing poisoning.

Any hint of idleness brought a surge of "Rot," as he called it, prompting him to seek any chore, even if three industrious maids, paragons of perfection, diligently tended the mansion, making it redundant or leaving his efforts scrutinized. Perhaps "perfectionist" was too generous for Ram, but her self-assured poise made up for her questionable domestic skills.

There was also Frederica, a constant presence he longed to engage with. Yet, he held back his teasing, unable to bear the thought of disrupting her dedication to her duties. He knew her playful side existed, but it could only be revealed during her precious off-hours.

Lunch ended, and Emilia finally escaped her studies. Raeburn and Puck, after indulging in half an hour of introductions and shared interests, decided to check on the guest. Peeking into the ajar door of the guest room, they were surprised to find the silver-haired half-elf, Emilia, perched by the bedside. Unfazed by the unresponsive figure, she chattered animatedly about her day.

Unresponsive, yes, but Raeburn felt a keen awareness emanating from the figure. It seemed Emilia didn't need his help navigating the consequences of saving Emurdol from death.

The sight warmed him. This silver-haired girl, mirroring the world's feared Devil, pouring sunshine into her savior's darkened world. The irony was delicious, especially with the visible shift in Emurdol's demeanor. Gone were the taut muscles, the clenched neck, the vice-like grip fists. Last Raeburn saw them, they were twisted in agony. Now, he lay slack, fingers unfurling, a picture of serenity. It was working.

This was Emilia's way of dealing with the burden, and it met his approval far better than he expected. Perhaps unknowingly, she was weaving a tapestry of gratitude with her words. One filled with the fruits of his sacrifice. Her day brimming with laughter, a wolf companion, Frederica's newfound suitor - all consequences of not succumbing yesterday. In her innocent voice, she was making his sacrifice worthwhile.

Raeburn couldn't help but marvel at her inherent kindness. The affectionate Souls surrounding her, both here and lingering with the comatose man, echoed his sentiment. They were drawn to her innocence, her light. Pandemonium, with its darkness and despair, wouldn't be worthy of such a soul. No, she deserved the light and blessings of the Seraphs.

The Death Mage's act of sharing his name took on new meaning. Perhaps, in that moment, he recognized the light she carried, a light that even in his despair, he couldn't extinguish.

"She's the best," Raeburn murmured, stepping away from the door with a smile.

"Isn't she?" Puck purred, his tail swirling like a hypnotic pendulum. "My Lia has a heart as big as Lugunica!"

Raeburn chuckled, heading down the hall. "And her amazing daddy had a hand in shaping it, I assume?"

"Of course!" Puffing out his little furry chest, Puck floated alongside him. "Behold and be humbled, pleb! No other creature possesses daughters as well-behaved, humble, and utterly adorable as mine!"

Raeburn's grin widened, a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Did a cat just call me a pleb? What is this, a new animal hierarchy? Since when did felines rank above humans?"

"Since I graced your life with my presence! Now down on all fours, mortal! Your mighty wolf shall wield your club and conquer Lugunica with you as his glorious steed!"

"Don't tempt Tank, you furball! He just mastered holding the club in his teeth!" Raeburn chuckled. The memory of his Liger's training – shifting the club left and right on command – flashed before him. His loyal companion was growing mighty, soon to surpass him. "Listen, how about bringing your kiddo to the gazebo tonight? Both of you. I have a treat you'll love."

"Is it Tank riding you while you do backflips on the roof? Because that's what I'm hoping for!" Puck's eyes gleamed with mischief.

"That's it!" Raeburn surprised himself with his agility, pinning Puck down with a flurry of tickles. "Enough of your tomfoolery, you little shit!"

"Ahahaha! Stop! No more! Pleaseee!" Tears streamed down Puck's face as he squirmed in Raeburn's grip.

Moments later, Puck wriggled free, sparking a playful chase. Raeburn, defying gravity itself, raced across walls and ceilings, his attempts to snag the floating feline met with frustration. Finally, with a triumphant yell, he leaped out the window, aiming for the sprawling yard below.

Before his feet touched the ground, a perfectly sculpted snowball slammed into his face, momentarily blinding him with frozen fury. Despite landing gracefully from the third story, knees unbent and silent, he couldn't ignore the smug mockery radiating from the floating Puck.

Scooping the snow from his eyes, Raeburn formed a counter-attack, his smile a mix of playful spite and determination. Aiming skyward at the imperiously hovering cat, he growled, "One more snowball and—"

Wham! A larger projectile exploded on his face, the playful threat met with an official declaration of war.

War declared, Puck unleashed the final blow: a colossal snowball that buried Raeburn beneath a white avalanche. Like a miniature, grumpy volcano, Raeburn erupted, two hardened snowballs in hand and a battle cry echoing, "Urd Pandamunum!"

Thus began the longest, loudest, most belligerent snowball fight ever witnessed. Two combatants, or rather, two and a half, for Tank the Liger, sensing his human brother's battle cry, joined the fray with enthusiastic barks and nimble steps, offering both mobility and furry moral support.

Onlookers marveled at their endurance. From midday to dusk, snowball volleys flew, painting the mansion grounds white. Walls sported a few stray casualties, wolf tracks crisscrossed the battlefield, and Raeburn-shaped craters pockmarked the snow like giant paw prints.

How the two combatants survived till nightfall, leaving half the world buried in snow, remained a mystery. But one thing was certain: this was a snowball fight for the ages.

|||| « ҉ » ||||

Emilia tilted her head, peering at the trio sprawled on the snow-covered ground. Raeburn, sprawled beside Tank, nonchalantly munched on a snowflake. "What are you two doing exactly?"

Raeburn, nestled against Tank's side, grinned. "Oh, just the usual. Relaxing, enjoying melt-in-your-mouth snowflakes, contemplating the striking resemblance between your skin and this pristine snow, wouldn't you agree, boy?"

Tank, busy sculpting a personal snow cone with his powerful paws, let out a confirmatory woof and took a large bite out of his artistic creation.

Emilia giggled, reaching for Puck who lounged regally on Raeburn's chest. "Did you two have a good fight, Puck?"

Puck grinned. "Oh yeah, he's a blast to torment! Wouldn't you agree, boy?" He asked, mimicking Raeburn's inquiry to Tank.

Raeburn snorted. "Hmph." He turned to Emilia, a playful glint in his eye. "Why didn't you join us, Emilia? I know you were studying, but come on, it's just three hours! You can study anytime, but fun like this doesn't come around every day. I even saw you peeking from the window earlier, looking like you wanted to join."

A blush crept up Emilia's cheeks. "You saw me?"

Raeburn feigned deep thought. "Well, it took a bit of squinting from below, considering the wide-open window and the reachable height from three stories up, especially with the beautiful girl leaning out… but yeah, I saw you."

The "beautiful girl" in question pouted, trying her best to maintain a stern expression. But Raeburn's matter-of-fact delivery, devoid of any flirtatious intent, was too much. She burst out laughing, unable to hold back against his deadpan charm. Wiping tears of mirth, she straightened her posture and declared, "Oh, Raeburn, you are such a… a… dullard!"

Quite the silver-tongued wordsmith, isn't she?

"Your words are like finely crafted blades, Raeburn," Emilia countered, a playful glint in her eyes. "But directed at someone like me? Such exquisite flattery feels wasted."

Raeburn's smile faltered, his hand tightening on the snow. "Wasted?"

Emilia, taken aback by the shift in his tone, stammered, "What...?"

"Did you just call my honesty flattery? Are you implying I'm not genuine?" His voice grew sharper, the easygoing facade replaced by a sternness that surprised even him.

Emilia felt a knot of confusion tighten in her stomach. This was uncharted territory, his sudden seriousness unsettling. "But... don't you see?" She brushed a strand of hair aside, revealing an elven ear. "This hair, these eyes, these ears... don't they mirror the infamous Witch of Envy, Satella? How could someone like me, someone who looks like that, ever be beautiful?"

Raeburn's expression darkened further. "Are you calling me a fool now?" The implication was clear, and his annoyance did little to hide it.

"No! Never!" Emilia protested, her voice laced with panic.

"Then perhaps your communication skills need honing," He retorted, his voice clipped. "Or maybe your way of expressing yourself leaves much to be desired."

His disappointment was palpable. Though he understood her insecurities, his upbringing in Pandemonium had instilled a zero-tolerance policy for self-deprecation, both his own and others'. The harsh reality of Vollachia had further cemented that belief. Weakness, he knew, was a merciless predator, and he couldn't stand to see it manifest in others.

They'll die otherwise.

"Hold on," Raeburn interjected, his voice firm. "If my memory serves, Satella was sealed away four centuries ago by the Dragon, the Sword Saint, and the Sage. And let's be honest, escaping that kind of lockdown wouldn't involve turning into a cute, innocent girl with a Spirit companion, chatting with me like we're just two regular folks."

He pointed at Emilia, not accusatory, but emphasizing his point.

He gestured towards Emilia's features, not in accusation but in emphasis. "I'm talking to Emilia. Her hair, silver and shimmering, might resemble the Necro's, but it's meticulously cared for, a world away from her dusty counterpart's neglect. Her eyes, a captivating amethyst, could easily be mistaken for precious gems nestled within her sockets. And yes, elven ears, just like a black Rider of the Burning Hills bathed in sunrise, his black unicorn's healing horn radiating hope, not curses. He drank laughter, not blood, a reminder of the joy life can bring. That Rider, not the Witch of Envy, is what I see when I look at you."

Raeburn finished crushing the snow, forming a jagged, icy ball. Tossing it into his mouth, he crunched and swallowed, the chill momentarily silencing his thoughts.

Turning back to Emilia, he spoke, his voice laced with exasperation but not anger. "There are people who don't know Satella, who can see the difference between past and present, who judge not by appearance but by the person inside And you have two - count them, two - right here in this mansion who fit all three descriptions! One's currently yelling at you, and the other's… well, sleeping." He glanced briefly at the window where the Death Priest rested.

His eyes then found his slumbering lupine companion sprawled on the snow, unfazed by Raeburn's second outburst of the day. A gentle pat on the massive head was followed by a stretch and a firm stance before Emilia.

"Listen, if you haven't gotten it yet, let me spell it out plain enough for a child. I don't fear you. I don't see Satella. I see you, Emilia. A girl, just like anyone else. And I want to be your friend."

He gently took her hand, his grip hesitant yet sincere. This wasn't fear or prejudice; he saw her, not a legendary evil, but a person. He intertwined their fingers, his touch a silent promise.

"You're not that monster," He continued, his voice softening. "You're just Emilia. The girl rescued by the Necro. And I..." He fumbled, his usual bravado replaced by nervous sheepishness. He scratched his head, his words coming out in bursts. "I think you could use a friend. So... uhm... would you like to hang out sometime?"

The stern, reprimanding air had vanished. Now, he was just Raeburn, awkward and unsure, offering what he could – a genuine friendship. The question hung in the air, waiting for Emilia's answer.

Emilia's shocked gaze flitted between their clasped hands and his eyes, searching for any flicker of insincerity. Then, she turned to Puck, whose words ignited a flicker of hope in her eyes. "He speaks truth, Lia," the spirit chirped. "Every word, pure and sincere. Not fabricated tales, even the madmen wouldn't believe them. He truly wants your friendship."

Raeburn felt a wave of relief wash over him. Whatever method Puck used to discern truth, it worked. This would surely break down the walls Emilia had built around herself.

And it did. The wall around Emilia crumbled like a sandcastle under the tide. Tears welled in her eyes, each drop a testament to the pain she'd endured solely because of her appearance. The sight filled him with disbelief and fury. Why? How could something as trivial as looks become a weapon of hate?

A long-dormant rage flared within him, a fire meant to scorch the very foundations of this unjust world. Pandemonium's suffering, he'd always believed, was a divine punishment, a reflection of their inherent wickedness in the eve of the Rapture. He'd endured his own share of pain, accepted it as his due penance.

But for an innocent soul like Emilia, ostracized solely for her birthright? That was unconscionable. Unjust. Cruel. He refused to accept it, refused to let the world, or anyone in it, continue this cruelty.

The world, and anyone who dared justify it, could go to hell. He would not be silent, not while there was a single heart burdened by an undeserved pain.

His lips tightened as he squeezed her hand. A silent vow. He wouldn't be kind out of obligation, but out of trust. He'd treat her like he treated anyone he held dear: fiercely protective, a hand to pull her up. In Pandemonium, a true friend could be the difference between life and death.

By every oath held sacred, he swore, he will save Emilia.

As her sobs subsided and she wiped away tears with trembling fingers, she looked up, her eyes glistening. "Do you… really think I'm not scary, even though I resemble the Witch of Envy? I know I sound foolish, but… please… I just need to hear it. Can you truly be my… friend?" Her grip on his hand tightened, surprising him with its strength. "Is it really… possible?"

The question hung heavy, as if the answer was unimaginable.

In a silent move, Raeburn released her hand and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close. His free hand rested on her back, offering silent comfort. Slowly, her arms came up, hesitant at first, then wrapping around him with surprising fervor. The warmth, likely unfamiliar to her, seemed to be exactly what she craved. He held her tighter, feeling her tears soak into his shirt, her choked sobs reaching his ears.

Typical reassurances felt hollow now. He needed something stronger, something real.

He stroked her hair, the silver strands smooth under his touch. "If you need someone to lean on," he murmured, "I'll be your rock. Need to cry? My shoulder's yours. Feeling lonely? Just call out. Something weighing you down? Me and Tank are all ears. And if you ever want me to leave, just say the word. But until then, I won't budge."

They clung to each other, the embrace a silent promise. Raeburn held her as long as she needed, letting time heal the wounds etched by fear and misunderstanding. His oath echoed in the silence, a promise woven into the comforting warmth of their embrace.

As far as he is concerned, he's without a meaningful purpose since having left Vollachia. Certainly, he has a house to live in and stable means of getting money but that's it. They're just basic necessities. He has no goals nor aspirations. He has no desire of living for centuries doing nothing till the Rot of Sloth does him in. He hasn't even explored the world yet as well.

Being this girl's best friend sounds like an appealing purpose. It is small and humble, sure, but the circumstances are unique, and he finds it both exciting and fulfilling. Changing her life will certainly be the thrill of it. It's not going to be pretty along the way, that's for sure, especially with all the bigotry against half-elves this world has, but if anything, he will always be her ally.

Finally, Emilia pulled away, eyes red but clinging to him. She wiped her tears, and Raeburn, captivated, found her smile, even amidst the tearstains, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Feeling better now, big girl?"

She nodded, a watery smile gracing her reddened eyes. "Thank you….Thank you, Raeburn. I'm sorry…I'm sorry I just fell apart like that…I—I, I don't know…but….I just….I just felt so…so…happy…."

"Hey, no need to apologize," Raeburn assured her, his touch soft and comforting as he patted her back. "I understand. I was a slave once, myself. Knowing someone cared, even when I thought I was alone… that can bring tears."

Her grip tightened on his shirt, the echo of concern preceding the Souls' worried murmurs. "It must have been awful, wasn't it?"

It must have hurt so much, didn't it?

If only we had known just how much you suffered, son….

Raeburn closed his eyes, memories flooding back: The deafening roar of the crowd, the clash of weapons, the announcer's booming pronouncement of his victory and title…

It's okay now, you don't have to fight anymore.

No more blood, son. No more suffering. It's over now.

Raeburn "Blood Stalk" Cursebane. That's what they called him. Champion-in-waiting, condemned to the Arena until an inevitable, mightier opponent ended his misery. He'd even welcomed it, longed for it.

Yet, the irony twisted like a cruel blade. He was too good, too damned good at fighting. Victory brought no reprieve, only the hollow echo of another day, another fight. He longed for defeat, for a chance to finally lay down the sword.

In this house, you'll never hold any weapon beyond a kitchen knife ever again and your only battlefield is the kitchen.

Take care of Tank for me, will you? If you don't try, you'll never know a brother from a backstabber.

"Yeah…." He muttered, a storm brewing in his voice. "It was. "Day after day, months on end, just the sun hitting its peak and you knew it was time to walk into that pit. Fight, bleed, hope you die. End the torment."

Beneath closed eyelids, images flashed: his saviors, his gods. They bought him from the cruel handler, wrenching the club from his trembling hands with hands surprisingly warm and filled with pity. The weight of those memories, the pain etched deep within, brought him to his knees.

It's not right to keep things to yourself, you know? Being strong doesn't mean being proud.

You didn't survive that Arena alone, Raeburn. I watched you fight side by side with the other slaves. If it weren't for them, you'd never be here.

The tables had turned. This girl, whom he sought to comfort, now held him up when the past stormed in. In Pandemonium, he would have laughed at the irony.

"If only you knew them…" He murmured into Emilia's chest, his voice muffled. Tank's comforting licks on his palm offered a faint reprieve. "What they did for me… I'll do for you…"

…in their honor, he added silently.

I love you, Raeburn. Never forget that.

I never regretted every moment I spent with you, my son. Not once.

"Your…." Emilia's voice, angelic bells chiming in his ears, softened. "Your friends, Raeburn, the ones who rescued you… were they good to you?"

He opened his eyes, resisting the urge to relive their final moments. The monstrous white form against the sky, their demise heralded by a deafening howl….

Fury ignited, purging the darkness with its heat. He held the combined might of two worlds within him – Pandemonium's fire and Vollachia's steel. One day, the dam would burst, the inferno within him unleashed... and he would avenge them, find peace for their souls, and himself.

Pulling away from Emilia's embrace, he met her gaze, masking the inner turmoil. "They were everything. Now, their weapons hang silent, forever asleep."

….but not at peace, Raeburn finished in silence.

Her hand, soft against his cheek, brought back another touch, another time from 5 years ago. He pushed the memory away. "I'm so sorry, Raeburn. I wish I could have met them, even just for a hello and a smile."

He reached up, squeezing her hand. "You will," he said, rising to his feet. Tank's fur brushed against his palm as he rubbed the wolf's side. "Through me and my brother, you will know them."

With a flourish, he pulled an exotic harp guitar from Tank's gate, presenting it to Emilia like a king's crown. "And I'll start with a song just for you."

|||| « ҉ » ||||

Two and a half hours of joyous song and laughter filled the gazebo, illuminated by a gemstone from Raeburn's club. The starlit sky and gentle breeze created the perfect backdrop for merriment.

With an audience of two, his magical melody, a fusion of harp and guitar, resonated through the air. The Souls, delighted by the performance, rewarded them with a surge of mana. Entertaining Souls with artistic expression earned you mana and strength, but when humans truly enjoyed your performance, the reward multiplied. With Emilia and Puck as his audience, their appreciation could power three mage battalions!

His magical music, a three-way dance of two fretboards and a harp, never lost its awe-inspiring charm. Puck, usually asleep at this hour, sang nonsensical lyrics as he zipped around the gazebo like a sugar-high pixie. Emilia, unwilling to be left out, attempted dancing...with questionable grace. Raeburn held back laughter, unwilling to disrupt the delicate C minor melody, though the Souls seemed amused by her enthusiasm.

Just as he reached his limit, laughter erupted from within him. Thankfully, he developed a unique way to mask it – yodeling. Despite his dislike for it, Raeburn possessed an uncanny talent for the art form, his voice surprisingly beautiful even to his own ears. He might as well get paid for it.

His yodeling was so infectious that Emilia's laughter doubled her over, the joyous sound warming Raeburn's heart. Seeing her smile, brighter than anything he could imagine after her past suffering, made it all worthwhile.

Clap. Clap.

Two claps echoed, drawing everyone's attention. Frederica, the tall maid, stood at the entrance, a playful smile on her face revealing her sharp teeth, much to Raeburn's delight. "I would join the dance," She announced, "But instead, I come as an ambassador of dinner. Might this little maid interrupt the festivities and ask Master Raeburn, the Great Spirit, and Lady Emilia to grace us with their presence?

Dinner passed pleasantly, though Raeburn couldn't help but notice the Souls buzzing about Emilia's newfound animation. Having someone sit and eat with her, someone unfazed by her appearance, seemed to have lifted her spirits considerably. His small efforts were making a difference, and he knew he needed to keep this momentum going.

A shadow of concern crossed his mind. Surely, challenges would arise. He couldn't ignore the potential roadblocks ahead, but for now, this progress was a reason to celebrate.

As they discussed the sleeping Death Mage, Roswaal inquired about his condition. Puck reported positive developments – the man was stabilizing and showing signs of improvement, though he remained unconscious. The information came courtesy of the other spirit residing in the mansion – the tiny, drill-haired mistress in a queen's dress Raeburn had encountered. He recalled her healing the man's injuries the previous night.

A wave of astonishment swept through the room when Beatrice, as Raeburn now knew her, revealed her findings. Just like he had described, the Death Mage's anatomy was bizarre and alien. Six kidneys, a venom sac, and even a second heart – black and small, nestled beside a sluggish, sickly-colored regular one. Raeburn wisely advised her to focus solely on repairing the damage, leaving the bizarre internal workings to the mysteries they were.

The man's body will simply do the rest of the repairs. If only the average human body was as proactive in keeping itself alive just like the Death Mage's, Raeburn mentally wondered…

Roswaal set the terms bluntly: Raeburn had to awaken the Death Mage or else his stay – based solely on being the handler of Emurdol would become untenable. After all, Raeburn was only tolerated as the handler of the half-elf's savior, a man Raeburn himself deemed even less tolerable than Lugunica's most insufferable character. This claim, though, remained unproven.

While Raeburn initially understood his conditional welcome, he now had to consider his newfound friendship with Emilia. Tossing her back into isolation after she'd just found a friend wasn't something he could stomach. He had just struck an unexpected connection with the girl, and the thought of separating them so soon after its bloom gnawed at him.

Raeburn reassured Roswaal, pledging to do everything he could to awaken the Death Mage. He even mentioned a surprising development – Emilia's visits had stabilized the Mage's emotional state. This revelation sent Emilia into a blushing, stuttering frenzy, calling him a "peeping dunderhead" for revealing her visit.

Despite her flustered reaction, Raeburn insisted he wasn't joking. Though the mage slept, he wasn't deaf. In fact, he revealed that the Mage had actively listened to Emilia's visits and genuinely enjoyed them. Raeburn sought confirmation from the Souls, who unequivocally affirmed his claim. Their affirmations left no room for doubt – the Death Mage had been captivated by Emilia's sincerity, even in his slumber.

Raeburn chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. He couldn't help but be drawn to the idea of Emilia's presence softening the Death Mage. Maybe, with her genuine warmth, she could unlock a side of him no one else had seen. After all, the man had introduced himself to her, something he hadn't even done with Raeburn, who never knew his name until Emilia's arrival. Maybe, with gentle encouragement, she could even inspire him to consider another charitable campaign.

Raeburn couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, then burst into laughter as he realized it wasn't just a fantasy. After all, this was the man who once fed an entire slum! Could Emilia's kindness truly transform him into a beacon of compassion, capable of expressing joy and love through song, laughter, and genuine connection? The image of the notoriously grumpy Mage singing, smiling, and laughing sent a shiver down Raeburn's spine. It was a vision so unexpected, so at odds with everything he knew, that it almost felt like a glimpse into an alternate reality. Could such a drastic change be possible? He couldn't help but wonder what the consequences might be if the fiercely independent and unlikable Death Mage truly embraced a life of selflessness and kindness.

"That's quiiiite the change of tuuuuune, Master Raeburn." Roswaal's smile held a hint of amusement. "Last I recaaaaall, you were veeeery particular in describing Emilia's savior as theeeee most unsavory sooooort of man. A misanthrope, loooaathing all living things thaaaat's not himself."

Raeburn smirked, a glint of defiance in his eyes. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Emilia's head, a silent gesture of support. "Indeed, he wasn't the most welcoming individual. Whenever anyone, myself included, approached him, they were met with glares or angry outbursts that practically screamed 'leave me alone!'"

Raeburn continued, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth, "Yet our dear Emilia here managed to achieve the impossible. On their very first encounter, I might add, he actually introduced himself. Quite a feat, wouldn't you agree?"

Raeburn, still smiling, rose and walked behind the blushing Emilia. He placed his hands on her shoulders, their smiles meeting before he turned back to Roswaal. "It seems our little King Candidate might have a gift for unlocking hearts, Your Lordship. I have a feeling she'll win people over once they see past the stigma."

He removed one hand, walking around her chair until he stood beside her. His other hand remained, a silent show of support. The Souls relayed Emilia's elation at the gesture, a stark contrast to the scarce encouragement she typically received.

"The Death Mage's name is a start," Raeburn continued, "but who knows what a day awake with him might bring? I doubt it's sunshine and rainbows, but..." He paused, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Against my better judgment, I'm willing to give this kid a chance."

He turned to Emilia, his hand tightening on her shoulder. Her smile, though warm, held unshed tears. She reached up and squeezed his hand, their fingers locking in a silent promise.

"Once Emilia wakes him," Raeburn said, directing his words to Roswaal, "He might be her first supporter. After me, of course, although considering his personality, that's a stretch. But if she can make a suicidal man want to live after we denied him his death wish, imagine how many others she could reach. It would be part of her studies, wouldn't it?"

Roswaal hummed, stroking his chin. " Indeeeed, an unconventional approach, but with Lady Emilia's social graces as a candidate neeeeeding polish, it could be surprisingly effective. With you as her friend and guide, your presence becomes vaaaaaluable. Thank you, Master Raeburn."

Raeburn removed his hand from Emilia's shoulder and stood tall, bowing respectfully. The weight of being a freeloader lifted. The Lord had been observing, acknowledging their value, even encouraging them. Perhaps this eccentric lord wasn't so bad after all.

But the challenge wasn't over. "I'm honored, Lord Roswaal. I assure you, my presence will remain worthwhile."

"Oh, please." Roswaal chuckled, waving dismissively. "You need nooooot be formal. Refer to meeeee as you always do, but mind the tone behind it, would you kiiiiindly? If I were to tuuuuurn my eyes away, then my dear Ram would suuuuuurely have your head before I could do anything about it."

Raeburn swallowed hard. He worried that his disrespectful behavior towards Roswaal might backfire now that his presence seemed tolerated only as Emurdol's handler.

It wasn't his fault, though. The Souls despised Roswaal, and their disapproval rubbed off on him. While Raeburn hadn't witnessed any obvious evil, suspicion lingered. He'd give Roswaal a chance, observe, and decide whether to act on his doubts later.

Straightening up, he offered a grateful nod instead. "I'll do just that. Roswaal. Is that okay?"

"Eeeeexcellent. Contiiiiiinue what you're doing and I hope that they beeeeaaaaar fruit to the benefit of either myyyyy name or Lady Emilia's."

"No need for further explanation, Ser," Raeburn said, turning to Emilia and offering her a hand. She smiled, taking it and squeezing firmly. He faced Roswaal again. "Someone has to balance Puck's protective nature with a bit of tough love, like a stern but caring mother alongside his doting father figure."

He caught a snort from Frederica, her hand flying to cover a laugh behind an elegant facade. A similar sound erupted from Emilia, her grip tightening around his hand. Wide-eyed, Raeburn yelped girlishly, "YEOWCH!"

Emilia's laughter exploded. She released his hand and clutched her stomach, angelic laughter echoing through the room. Tears streamed down her face, reddening her cheeks.

"Why the hell are you laughing, Emilia?" he asked, mock-exasperated. "Just an 'ouch' and you're losing it? Is hand-crushing that funny?" He glanced at Puck, pleading "Puck, a word? Please! And stop laughing!"

"Hihihihi! I'm so sorry, Raeburn, but I just can't help it!" Puck sputtered, curling and holding his belly, rolling idly in the air "I just—I just—bahahahahahaha! I just wasn't expecting it! I thought you were just gonna be her best friend but I can't believe you're planning to be my wife of all things all along!"

Raeburn felt the impact of Puck's words like a physical blow, flinching and blushing furiously, reduced to a teen once again, "WHAT!? THAT WAS NOT WHAT I MEANT!"

Roswaal's smile widened, surpassing even Emilia's in its delight. "Oooooooh, turning to the Great Spirit straaaaiiiight away after being rejected by your sweeeeeeetheart Frederica, Master Raaaaeeeburn?"

"Excuse me!? No! The hell are you talking about!? She hasn't even rejected me yet!"

"Oooooh, so you're pursuing not just one but twoooooooooo, Master Raeburn? My dear Frederica and the Great Spirit together!? My daaaaaaaays, what a scaaaaaaaandal!"

"STOP! STOP! EVERYONE, PLEASE! LISTEN TO ME! I CAN EXPLAIN EVERYTHING! FREDERICA, PLEASE DON'T ACT AS IF YOU ARE REPULSED BY ME! I SWORE TO MY MOTHER THAT I WOULD BE LOYAL TO MY ONE BELOVED! IF YOU HAD BEEN THE ONE, IT'D BE THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE!"

Puck chimed in, a mock-serious expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Raeburn, my boy, but I simply cannot love someone so fickle. I have to set a proper example for our daughter, you know? So, I'm sorry to say this but we have to be apart from now on."

"NOOOOOOOO! STOP!"

|||| « ҉ » ||||

Starry starry night….
Paint your palette blue and grey…..
Look out on a summer's day….
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul…..

The melody, a haunting echo of his past, flowed effortlessly from Raeburn's fingertips. He strummed the guitar, the Old World song "Starry Starry Night" taking shape under his skilled touch. Though he'd never heard the lyrics sung, the melody, gleaned from a single dream years ago, remained vividly imprinted in his memory. He had painstakingly learned the guitar sequence by ear, but the words remained elusive, a melody yearning for completion.

One day, he vowed, he would learn to sing, to truly bring the song to life instead of making do with his exquisite whistling. But today, he found solace in the familiar notes, the guitar's soft lament weaving through the stillness of the mansion grounds. Tank, his loyal companion, provided a comforting weight as Raeburn leaned back, gazing at the unfamiliar constellations that adorned the night sky.

These weren't the same stars he knew from Pandemonium, he mused for the hundredth time. They held a different language, whispered stories unknown.

An hour had passed since dinner. The mansion, once bustling, had settled into a peaceful quiet. Soon, he too would follow suit, seeking solace in sleep after fulfilling his duties.

There's only one more thing to do. And here she comes now.

As the familiar rhythm of footsteps neared, Raeburn recognized the welcome sound. A self-conscious pang hit him – sprawled under the night sky with his wolf companion, strumming on his guitar, wasn't exactly an image he'd carefully curated. He fought the urge to adjust his posture, maintaining a casual façade as he strummed the final chords of his song.

Tank, his ever-loyal companion, offered a welcoming yip.

"Good evening to you too, dear Tank," Came a gentle voice, followed by a soft smile directed at the wolf. Raeburn felt a blush creep up his neck, but kept his face impassive, hoping for a similar greeting.

As the footsteps stopped beside him, the song reached its natural conclusion, a final G chord resonating softly. He turned his gaze from the star-dusted sky to find himself met by the curiously luminescent green eyes of Frederica, giving him the impression of a big cat's.

"Lovely evening, is it not, Master Raeburn?" Frederica's voice was soft, her smile mirroring the serenity of the starlit sky.

It isn't the same but it'll do.

"Yeah," He agreed, nodding. "The sky seems brighter than before, even after that crazy party." He recalled the wisdom he once heard: "Perception is Reality." Bitter eyes saw bitter things, but the opposite held true too. And thanks to Emilia's smile, the world suddenly felt less bleak. "Honestly, that was the most fun I've had after dinner in ages."

"I enjoyed it too," Frederica admitted, her smile softening. He noticed, with a silent thrill, that she wasn't hiding her teeth. Perhaps the playful chaos of the dinner had warmed her to him, making her feel less self-conscious. "Though I wish it hadn't come at our expense."

And she's kind too, saying that to him to offer comfort, as superficial it may be.

Raeburn chuckled. "Well, at least you weren't the sole target. I took most of the heat, after all. Teasing doesn't faze me easily."

"Oh, so sturdy you are, turning crimson from being teased about being my intended? And to think, I was being perfectly sincere." Frederica's eyes twinkled with amusement, a playful challenge in their depths.

"WHAT!?" Raeburn's jaw dropped as Frederica's playful words sunk in. His face flushed a deep crimson, and he shot upright like a puppet on a string. His eyes widened comically, and his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Frederica's teasing gaze held him captive.

The lovely maid, her dress and hair swirling dramatically, whirled around with a playful laugh, covering her mouth as her giggles echoed through the night. "Oh, Master Raeburn," She chirped, "You're such a gullible one! A handyman with a fierce weapon and a loyal wolf by his side, blushing like a schoolboy at his first love! Ah, the joys of youth~"

Raeburn groaned, collapsing backwards like a ragdoll. He landed unceremoniously on Tank, who let out a startled yelp and an indignant growl. "You're the worst, Frederica," He grumbled, "Here I thought I finally got lucky, catching the attention of a beauty like you."

Frederica's laughter subsided, replaced by a chilling silence. An unexpected gust of wind swept through the night, and Raeburn felt a surge of unease from the surrounding Souls. Had he misspoken?

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze questioning. Her playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a frown and a sharp look. "I appreciate a playful tease, Master Raeburn," she said, her voice tight. "But sarcasm is unnecessary."

His concern instantly morphed into exasperation. The way Frederica instinctively hid her teeth had already hinted at underlying issues, and here he was facing the same situation again, first with Emilia and now her. What was it with this country? Vollachia seemed like a paradise compared to this!

"You interpreted my compliment as sarcasm? Look me in the eye, Frederica," He said, his voice firm but without hostility. "I meant every word. You... you are truly beautiful."

Her surprise mirrored his own when she flinched at his genuineness. Were the people of this mansion truly so unaccustomed to genuine compliments on their appearance? Was everyone in this mansion subjected to the same kind of prejudice?

Frederica's surprise melted into cautious scrutiny, searching for any hint of falsehood. Unlike the people of this world, who seemed to find his honesty alien, Raeburn wore his sincerity on his sleeve. He had never lied, a concept as foreign to him as their casual deceit. He'd once found them bizarre for their ease with lies, but now, it was their inability to accept his truth that puzzled him.

As she found no falsehood in his gaze, her initial skepticism gave way to confusion and vulnerability. After a hesitant moment, she spoke, her voice soft, "Do you... truly think so, Raeburn? Even with my teeth?"

Raeburn raised an eyebrow, silently prompting her to clarify.

"Do you think... I'm beautiful? Even like this?" she whispered, struggling with the word, the insecurity evident in her voice.

Raeburn slapped his own forehead. Raeburn groaned internally. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation again, especially within a few hours. And the way she struggled with the word, hesitant to apply it to herself, only amplified his frustration.

He stood, placing his guitar aside, and approached the maid gently. His hands rested on his hips as he tiptoed to meet her gaze. "Let me tell you a secret, Frederica," He whispered, leaning closer, noticing the blush creeping up her cheeks. Ignoring it, he continued, "I was once a slave in Vollachia, a land with more demi-humans than here. After gaining my freedom, I befriended some. The ones who looked least like humans were often the kindest and most beautiful souls I've ever known. Your teeth are the least thing I find remarkable about you."

He leaned back, resting his weight on his feet and letting his hands fall to his sides. "And let me be clear, Frederica," He said, his voice sincere. "When I said I thought I was lucky to meet you, I meant it. I genuinely believe that."

Frederica absorbed his words, her expression thoughtful. A blush crept onto her cheeks as she finally grasped the meaning behind them. The elegant maid was gone, replaced by a nervous girl fidgeting with her fingers, her gaze flitting anywhere but his. Raeburn couldn't help but find her flustered state endearing, though he also sensed a hint of apprehension he didn't quite understand.

He initially assumed she possessed some experience in these matters, even if limited.

Finally, finding her voice, she stammered, "P-please forgive me if I misunderstand, and I might just bury myself into a hole and never return if I were but….you…you….you are…..i-infatuated with me, Master Raeburn?"

Her vulnerability surprised him. She seemed uncertain, afraid even. Honestly, the tables should be turned; shouldn't he be the one feeling hesitant? Would she accept someone like him? Would she wait if he could win her over, presuming she felt the same? The thought of rejection was unwelcome, unfamiliar territory. Since when had he become so invested in someone's feelings?

He averted his gaze, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He attempted to hide his blush with a hand, but his wide face betrayed him. His eyes darted nervously between her and the grass. "Yeah," He mumbled, his voice sheepish. "About what I said earlier... I'm sorry. It's just... the first time I've felt this way about someone."

Frederica, still blushing furiously, continued fidgeting. Her voice faltered, struggling to stay steady. "I…I don't know what to say. No one has ever said such sincere and…..honest things to me…"

Raeburn took a deep breath, finding himself calmer. This was different than he imagined. He lowered his hand, though the blush remained. "That's okay. I mean, it is the first day. Considering it's actually your first time, you don't know what to do. While I wanna proceed, you probably won't. And I understand. All this is quite sudden to you, isn't it?"

She met his gaze, nodding silently.

"Besides, who says we need to fall head over heels on day one?" He smiled disarmingly, his earlier doubts about their potential fading. " We barely know each other, our likes and dislikes, how we complement each other. Rushing into love can lead to hurt feelings and mistakes. I've seen enough of it." He mentally added "unintentionally," but kept it unsaid.

"Let's take it slow," He suggested, raising his hands casually, his voice calm despite his racing heart. "We can get to know each other, discover what we like and dislike – all the things that make us who we are. Then, down the line, we can see if there's compatibility. That way, no risks, no losses. Just a chance to see if there's something real. Who knows, maybe we'll find something special in each other, maybe not. We'll just see."

He noticed the silence stretching and suddenly felt his height disadvantage keenly. The evening chill, usually unnoticed, sent shivers down his spine. He tightened his grip on his arms, forcing himself to maintain composure, hoping his nervousness wasn't too obvious. "Is that alright with you…?" He added, his confidence waning.

The fidgeting stopped. Frederica's blush lingered, but her expression calmed, clarity returning to her eyes. A small smile blossomed on her lips, captivating him as it grew. The once-intimidating sharp teeth now resembled sparkling moonbeams in the moonlight. Maybe it was the reflection of her beastman eyes, but he could swear tears glistened in them.

Straightening her posture, she gathered her skirt and dipped into a graceful curtsy. "Though a humble maid indebted to my master," She said, her voice soft yet firm, "I would be honored to be considered for your care, Raeburn."

Joy pulsed through Raeburn, echoing around him in the invisible celebration of the Souls. He wouldn't allow himself to hoot and howl like them, not in this precious moment. And Frederica used his name casually too, and the sound warmed him from the inside out.

"I'm just a handyman, Frederica, and perhaps destined to be your biggest annoyance," He admitted with a grin. "But I hope, in time, I might be worthy of your regard." To her surprise, his bow, practiced in jest, was executed with unexpected elegance.

They both chuckled at their momentarily exaggerated formality, relaxing into a comfortable silence. The awkwardness had vanished, replaced by a sense of ease and connection.

Picking up his guitar, he extended the strap. "Before we call it a night, would you grant me ten more minutes? I promise it'll be worth your time."

Frederica's smile, playful and coy, touched her cheek. "Intriguing, Raeburn," She said, swaying gently. "Do you plan to serenade your newfound sweetheart?"

"I would. It would be my first act of courting you. However, I have something far more special." He began turning the knobs, adjusting the strings to the fitting tune. He's been dying to do this for a long time with a future love, and it is now or never. "I am going to let you experience something that no mere minstrel could ever emulate with his strings. Give me a few seconds."

He felt her curious gaze on his hands as the strings, adjusted with practiced ease, emitted a few intriguing notes. "It's certainly... different," Frederica admitted, a hint of amusement in her voice. "The most peculiar instrument I've ever seen. This gitar is quite bizarre."

Hey, that rhymed, Raeburn noticed. He chuckled. "Indeed! I couldn't very well have someone else be my bass or rhythm, so this custom beauty became my one-man band. Years of practice went into taming this beast. I dare even Reinhardt himself to match my skills."

Frederica's playful demeanor deepened, her eyes twinkling. "I'm intrigued, Raeburn," She said, leaning forward. "Impress me."

Five seconds later, Raeburn took a deep breath and met Frederica's gaze. "Now, Frederica, kindly close your eyes, and lock this song to your mind. Hold onto every note."

There was a brief pause, and then she said, "After you."

He loved the enthusiasm.

With a strum of the modified C chord, the music began. A few standard rhythms, then his right hand danced across the second fretboard, his left maneuvering on the first. Fingertips hammered precise notes, and as the melody unfolded, he let out a long, clear whistle. This time, it wasn't to mask his singing; this ancient song from the Old World started with a whistled tune, and he was grateful for the serendipity.

The intro faded, giving way to the first verse. Fingerstyle brought the lyrics to life, each syllable plucked with deliberate ease. Years of Vollachian peace, years spent honing his craft, poured into every effortless movement. He thanked the saviors once more, for gifting him the freedom to pursue his childhood dream.

He glanced at his future love, his heart soaring. The moonlight bathed her figure in an ethereal glow as Frederica swayed gently to the music. Her maid dress flowed with the gentle breeze, her golden hair cascading down her back. Her hands were clasped gracefully at her waist, and a serene peace settled upon her features. In her, beneath the watchful moon, Raeburn found the most beautiful sight in the world.

Lost in the melody, Raeburn's fingers danced across the strings, his gaze locked on Frederica's serene face. The song wove its magic, weaving a tapestry of notes that painted the night with emotions.

The final whistle echoed, followed by the gentle fade of the final chord. Raeburn lowered his guitar, the soft thud barely registering in the hushed silence. With a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "Without opening your eyes, reach out your hand, Frederica."

With a slow grace, she extends a dainty hand.

Slowly, deliberately, he brought his own hand closer, letting their fingertips graze. A spark ignited as she recognized his touch, her fingers curling around his in a gentle hold. His heart hammered against his ribs, a new, intoxicating emotion blooming within him. It was a feeling he couldn't name, but it felt divine.

"Now," He murmured, "Try to remember the song. Let it play inside your head."

Frederica tilted her head, a flicker of confusion crossing her face before she began to hum, her voice soft and sweet.

A smile playing on his lips, Raeburn closed his eyes. He recalled cherished moments from his life, vivid details flowing through his mind like a vibrant tapestry. The Souls, sensing his joyous memories, eagerly absorbed them, their excited chatter growing louder. Anticipation hung in the air.

He had learned a trick during his time in Pandemonium, a way to manifest memories as sound. But he wouldn't resort to the Death Mage's usual tricks - no jarring snaps, thunderous roars, chilling screams or explosions. Instead, he'd share something different, something meaningful.

As Frederica's hum continued, he gently swayed with her, a small, intimate dance. When her humming stopped, he whispered, "Do you hear that?"

Shed a tear cuz I'm missin' you, I'm still alright to smile.
Gonna think about you everyday now…
Was a time when I wasn't sure, but you set my mind at ease.

Frederica's eyes, still closed, searched the air, trying to grasp the source of the melody. Her brow furrowed in confusion, but Raeburn's hand tightened around hers, offering silent reassurance. He knew the wonder, the disbelief she was experiencing, and he cherished it. This was his gift, a secret symphony woven from joy and love, just for her.

There is no doubt you're in my heart now.

"Yes," Frederica whispered, her ears tilting towards the unseen music. "I hear music... your music! Laughter, chatter, a bustling festival... and singing. Are there others here, Raeburn?"

He smiled gently. "Just us, Frederica. Your beastman senses can't lie to you."

Said "Woman, take it slow and it'll work itself out fine.
All we need is just a little patience."
Said "Sugar, make it slow and we'll come together fine.
All we need is just a little patience."

"But... how? Is it a special kind of magic? A Divine blessing, perhaps?" Her voice held a touch of awe and curiosity.

"A story for another time," he said gently. "For now, enjoy. Let the world flow through you."

I sit here on the stairs cuz I'd rather be alone.
If I can't have you right now, I'll wait here.

The melody deepened, a new voice weaving into it, harmonizing perfectly. "I... I feel like I'm at a grand ball," Frederica breathed, her voice tinged with awe. "Lords and ladies, laughter, budding romances… a dance floor filled with twirling couples, hot glances and love sparking in the air."

Sometimes, I get so tense but I can't speed up the time.
But y'know love, there's one more thing to consider.

Raeburn's other hand reached for hers, holding it gently but firmly. A question hovered on his lips, one he hadn't dared ask before. "May I have this dance, Miss Frederica?"

Her eyelids fluttered open, breaking the spell of the phantom ball. Raeburn held his breath, a knot of nervous anticipation in his stomach. Then, her lips curved into a radiant smile.

Then, a smile bloomed on her face.

Her hand remained entwined with his, the other gliding to rest on his shoulder. He mirrored the gesture, placing his free hand on her hip. In that moment, a happiness he'd never known filled him. This felt like the purest joy he'd ever known, surpassing even his escape from the brutal Arena.

The phantoms hummed anew, their melody a silent cue. They began to sway, their movements hesitant at first, then gaining in confidence.

Said "Woman, take it slow and things will be just fine.
You and I'll just use a little patience."
Said "Sugar, take the time cuz the lights are shining bright.
You and I got what it takes to make it."

No longer needing closed eyes to hear the melody, they danced lost in each other's gaze, the world around them fading away. The music itself dissolved, leaving just the two of them, their hearts beating in sync.

Tonight, under the moon's watchful gaze, love ignited, celebrated by the joyful whispers of their unseen audience. Every stolen moment, every shared breath, belonged to them until the final echo of their ten minutes faded.

Their only witnesses, three pairs of eyes: pink, brimming with intrigue; blue, sparkling with fascination; and green, tinged with a poignant ache.

|||| « ҉ » ||||

Raeburn pushed open the door, his face etched with grim determination. His hand clutched the club on his back, his posture tense, mirroring a soldier facing a tyrannical officer or a hunter bracing for a bear with its cub. His eyes darted to the room's most dangerous figure.

Were it not for the moonlight filtering through the drapes, or his enhanced night vision piercing the darkness, he might have missed the figure perched on the edge of the bed. Four days ago, Raeburn lay comatose, the Necromagus clad in borrowed robes. Now, the Necromagus, draped in an inky darkness that seemed to devour light itself, blended unnervingly with the shadows like a phantom. Only the silver glow of his hair betrayed his presence, framing his face in an unearthly light, defying the darkness.

Finding him awake in a noble's house, compared to their first encounter in the Capital, was a terrifying shift. It's a terrifying prospect. Collateral damage, needless violence, long-term consequences—all loomed large, even with his friends and the woman he loved waiting just beyond the mansion walls.

That Raeburn hadn't been attacked instantly was a wonder. An unsettling silence reigned. No tortured screams echoed in his mind, no curse crackled in the air, no scythe sliced through the stillness. He'd faced such encounters before, their brutal endings replaying in his memory. It always started like this, and the absence of violence only amplified his fear.

The Necromagus remained a statue, an enigma as always. No flicker of emotion from the silent Souls surrounding him offered clues to his mood. Frustration gnawed at Raeburn – with this man, he was always flying blind. Knowing the Necromagus's anger would at least be something to navigate, but here, there was nothing. Raeburn,

But silence stretched, thick and heavy. Knowing inaction wouldn't break it, Raeburn took a deep breath, steeling himself. His hand tightened on the club, knuckles white, sweat prickling his skin.

"Everyone's out of sight," He began, his voice a low murmur. "Lights off, hidden far enough. Just like you requested."

A tense silence followed. Raeburn swallowed, then continued, his voice firm yet respectful. "There's a clearing nearby, quiet and moonlit. We can talk there."

His words were carefully chosen, conveying the message without unnecessary embellishment. He craved an end to this tense dance they'd been engaged in since the Necromagus arrived. This fragile truce couldn't last forever. This wasn't sustainable. It was time for clarity, one way or another. It would either lead to progress or explode into bloodshed. He hoped for the former, but prepared for the latter.

Their shared past in Pandemonium casts a long shadow, shaping their interactions in this new world. A new world meant a new beginning, especially for Emurdol. If the Souls were right, and goodness truly brought him joy, then this was his chance to embrace it as a choice, not a burden. Unlike Pandemonium, where shadows clung to every corner, here, anonymity offered the man freedom. No judgment, no familiar faces to remind him of who he once was.

Raeburn doesn't like Emurdol, not by any stretch. Yet, he wishes the man would shed his guarded shell, the constant fear of Pandemonium's monsters clinging to him. He wants him to find peace, the peace Raeburn himself found for his own. Shouldn't the hero who vanquished their world's Sins deserve the same? It's time he found his own solace, even if he was a coldhearted, hateful, and unlikable asshole.

If, somehow, learning to be human made Emurdol even remotely likable, Raeburn would welcome it. He clung to the hope that Emilia's visits over the last few days had chipped away at Emurdol's hardened exterior, easing his mind and spirit. A lighter Emurdol would make their inevitable conversation far less fraught.

Moments stretched into what felt like an eternity before the figure on the bed stirred. The shrouded corpse, clad in pale and black, raised an arm, palm outstretched as if silencing someone unseen. Then, Raeburn witnessed a spectacle of arcane power. It swirled, twisted, then condensed into a luminous white form, pulsing with energy that would draw envious glances from any battle mage.

This energy solidified, forming white, calcified pieces like a children's building set, each block connecting with an eerie precision. Raeburn watched, captivated, as the pieces clicked into place, forming limbs, a frame, and... wheels. Two pairs, one larger than the other. It dawned on him before the creation was complete.

This wasn't the usual arsenal of death - it was a wheelchair.

For the first time, Raeburn witnessed necromancy used not for destruction, but for creation, for assistance. A glimmer of something unexpected flickered in his mind.

Hope sparked within Raeburn. His gamble had paid off; the Necromagus had agreed to talk. Though the air remained neutral, he sensed a surprising calmness in the man's presence.

The bone-crafted chair finished its construction, rolling forward at the Necromagus's beckoning finger. Emurdol fumbled on the bed's edge, his usual fluid movements replaced by awkward adjustments. He struggled with the armrests, his body unaccustomed to the motion of hoisting himself onto the seat.

A mirror of their encounter in the loot house, Emurdol seemed momentarily human, struggling with simple tasks.

The tension that had coiled around Raeburn since entering the room dissipated. He opened the door wide, gesturing for Emurdol to lead the way. "After you," He whispered.

Leaning back in the wheelchair, his sharp features half-hidden by the silver strands of his hair, Emurdol pushed the wheels forward with his hands instead of using his effortless magic to propel the chair. Raeburn managed to stifle a gasp of surprise, his elation bubbling beneath the surface.

With a faint scraping of bone, the Necromagus's wheelchair rolled through the doorway, exiting his room for the first time in days. He headed towards the stairs.

But there were no ramps in this old mansion.

There were no ramps in this building, only a grand staircase leading to the second floor. Raeburn trailed behind, caught in a silent debate. Should he offer assistance, knowing the man's volatile temper? Or stay quiet, fearing to ignite it? The Death Mage had exploded for less.

But Raeburn's offer proved unnecessary. The wheelchair, in a chilling display of necromantic ingenuity, sprouted six spider-like legs, lifting the chair and its occupant several inches above the ground. It began to scurry down the stairs, the legs moving with an eerie grace that almost made the Mage appear to glide down the steps.

Raeburn followed, keeping pace and silence, mindful of unseen obstacles. His enhanced vision, a courtesy of the Cult, wasn't perfect. Shapes blurred, details lost, like needing glasses to see clearly.

Reaching the front doors, Raeburn flung them open. The evening light flooded the room, briefly ruffling the Mage's silver hair and revealing a glimpse of his face - a tight grimace etched upon it.

At least it wasn't a murderous scowl.

Descending the mansion steps, Raeburn found Tank waiting below, his familiar saddle and harness worn. The liger's wagging tail stilled as he saw the wheelchair-bound Emurdol beside his human brother, replaced by a low growl. Hackles raised, fur bristling, Tank swelled defensively.

Raeburn rushed to Tank, calming him with soothing strokes. "Easy, boy. It's alright. He's with me." He glanced back, seeing Emurdol push his chair towards the gate, unfazed by Tank's aggression. "We're just going to talk. A real conversation. Please, give us space."

Tank's eyes held both confusion and concern. When did Raeburn manage to get the volatile Mage to agree to something like this?

Raeburn offered a sheepish smile and a scratch behind the ears. "Come on, buddy."

Reaching the gate, he gently opened it for Emurdol to pass, closing it quietly behind them. The peaceful evening hummed, and Raeburn vowed to maintain its serene atmosphere.

With Tank walking beside him, a question mark on four legs, Raeburn followed the path towards Earlham Village, the setting sun painting the sky in soft hues. The conversation to come weighed heavily on him, but this was a chance, fragile as it seemed, and he wouldn't squander it.

Their long, quiet trek led them to the tree line. The Souls pulsed with an eager anticipation, beckoning them deeper. Raeburn felt a knot twist in his stomach - more than just nerves. This was it. Their first exchange in a neutral setting, free of past anger. The unknown loomed, both hopeful and unsettling. Would their conversation mend their fragile truce? Or would it unravel, plunging them back into hostility? He couldn't predict, and the potential for disaster gnawed at him.

God, I hope I don't regret this.

Suddenly, the Death Mage turned. Raeburn froze, witnessing the first independent movement of his head. His gaze fixed on a seemingly ordinary tree, one of countless others lining the path. Yet, the man stared at it with an intensity bordering on...eagerness? He wheeled closer, inches from the bark and scrutinizing the surface from root to crown, as if searching for a hidden treasure, his movements echoing the Souls' searching energy. Another riddle. What was he looking for? This was just a young tree, a few branches bare - nothing unusual, nothing extraordinary.

He'll ask the Souls.

Secret stash?

No.

Mana pocket?

No.

Unnatural tree?

No.

Fascination?

No.

Message from the future.

No.

Damn it. He's out of ideas. If only he could be able to see into the man's mind….

Suddenly, the Souls around them were satisfied at Emurdol's unheard inquiry?

The Death Mage nodded, gathering mana once more. His fingers curled, twisting inward like a claw, as he transformed the tainted energy into a vibrant green orb, pulsing with an almost alluring glow.

With a deliberate gesture, he extended his hand towards the tree, offering the orb like a gift. A silent reverence seemed to emanate from him as he pressed it against the rough bark, then nodded once more before leaning back against his wheelchair and resuming his journey.

Raeburn waited, expecting something more.

…..

…...

…...

Nothing.

Raeburn raised his hands up, exasperated and annoyed. Exasperation bubbled within him. This man, this enigma! Why couldn't he be straightforward? Why were they all so cryptic? Why was he so impossible to decipher? Why did his kind always shroud themselves in riddles?

He caught Tank's bewildered gaze, the wolf clearly confused by his frantic hand gestures and silent outbursts. Raeburn cleared his throat, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "Ahem, let's go," he mumbled, avoiding his brother's eyes.

He spotted the Death Mage again, halted this time, facing the other direction. An exasperated sigh escaped Raeburn's lips, shattering the night's quiet. Thankfully, his whisper remained contained. "Jeez, is another tree gonna need your charity to—"

Alarm.

Caution.

Careful.

Hurry.

Run.

Quickly.

Panic.

Danger.

Panic.

Danger.

Danger.

Panic.

Panic.

Panic.

Panic.

"What the fuck….!?"

A scream pierced the air, not from him, but from the Souls. In an instant, Tank was a whirlwind of fur and fangs, guarding their rear. Raeburn drew Snakebite, eyes darting frantically, searching for the threat that was agitating the Souls.

Not here.

Nowhere here.

Somewhere else.

Go.

Hurry.

Panic.

Panic.

"What the fuck is going on…!?" Raeburn hissed, glancing back at the Mage. "Necro. I think we oughtta hold off that talk for now. We gotta fi—"

Empty. The ivory wheelchair stood alone, the Death Mage vanished. Shock morphed into confusion, then a chilling realization. Finally, rage.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU—

|||| « ҉ » ||||

A fireball exploded in the sky, colliding with an ice bullet that stormed furiously after it, and an explosion rung out upon collision, reaching all the way to the Mansion. And Frederica took that as a sign, a sign that the worst has truly come to pass.

Raeburn failed.