Cicero burst into the moonlit clearing, panting heavily. The breathy, throbbing noise coming from the hidden Door seemed deafening as he approached.
"What is the light of anguish?" the Door's eerie, breathless voice asked the bloodstained soul before it.
"Mourning, my brother," Cicero gasped, heart pounding against his ribcage.
A moment of anxious apprehension passed before, slowly, the Door creaked open, granting the child refuge, asylum, Sanctuary, revealing a long, dark corridor lit with torches glowing a dim red. Cicero hurried inside and the Door shut hard behind him with grave-like finality that made his insides jump. He followed the corridor until it broke into a large, poorly lit room. Unsure of where he was going, or what he was doing, Cicero blindly ran into someone in the darkness.
"How did you get in here?" he heard Talitha ask as she examined the sticky smudge the boy left on her nightdress, "Hey, you alright, kid?"
"I need to find the Leader of the Sanctuary." Cicero said quickly, surprising even himself with how calm he sounded.
"Come with me."
Talitha led the child deeper into the Sanctuary, past darkened rooms and hallways lit with more of the unsettling red torchlight. Finally, when they must have been deep within the mountain, they stopped at a door, a normal, wooden door, and Talitha knocked upon it.
"Hey, Larunda? That kid's back," she announced with a breath of uncertainty.
He went through with it? Maybe Larunda had misjudged the boy, misread his enthusiasm as innocent. She pulled her cloak on over her nightclothes and opened the door. In the crimson torchlight she could make out Talitha standing with the boy, both smeared with blood. She beckoned them into her bedroom, shut the door behind them, and lit her torches and lamps to get a better picture before sitting back on her bed.
Now at eye-level, she regarded the situation. Cicero stood before her, committed to his decision, no turning back now. Even in the flickering lamplight she could still tell the eager innocence she'd noticed that morning had been replaced by a scared, haunted look. From experience she knew would keep that shadow in his eyes as long as he lived. Her bedchamber was notably devoid of a mirror. Larunda felt suddenly moved by the child, covered in his own mother's blood, but was at the same time impressed with his audacity. For a boy to kill his own mother was no small thing.
"Well, did you bring the heart?" she asked the boy, regaining her composure.
Cicero slid the knapsack off his shoulder and dug around inside until he pulled out a small, oozing, wooden box and held it out to Larunda, who took it and opened it. There it was: the heart of Cicero's mother, wrapped neatly in a handkerchief and still seeping into the saturated white linen. She looked over the box lid at the boy, raising her eyebrow.
"Talitha, find the boy some clean clothes and a place to sleep, we'll start his training in the morning," she said, shutting the box and placing it on her nightstand, "And make sure he washes up."
Talitha stepped out of the room and Cicero made to follow her, but Larunda addressed him before he could follow the elf.
"Cicero." He looked over his shoulder at Larunda with wide eyes. "How did it feel?"
Cicero continued to stare at Larunda, his eyes glazing over with something she couldn't quite place, lost in the dancing shadows.
"...Good..." he answered thickly, dreamily. Whether or not he was lying, neither Cicero nor Larunda would ever truly be sure.
With that, Larunda dismissed the boy, her lips twitching into a bittersweet smirk as she watched the boy disappear into the dark hallway to find his place in the Sanctuary.
Perhaps he was one of us all along...