Prologue
There once lived an angel and a demon whose love blossomed during a time of great instability in the immortal realms, when the Era of Harmony had just begun. In the course of time, their love bore fruit, and a child was born—the first surviving offspring of an angel and a demon.
The child's parents adored him, showering him with affection and hope. His mother named him Bont, seeing only goodness in him. But as the child of beings created by two opposing gods, Bont carried a dual nature. His father, acknowledging the light and darkness intertwined within him, called himMal-Bonte.
Malbonte's unique blend of energies created a new alchemy, making him more powerful than either angels or demons alone. This duality also forged a pathway for the creator of darkness, Shephamalum, to whisper to the boy in the dark, revealing to him the secrets of creation. Until that moment, the god's twin, Shepha, had managed to suppress Shephamalum's existence, confining him to a prison beyond reach.
The twin creator gods were opposites in every sense. Shepha, the Creator of Light, made the angels and granted them freedom. Shephamalum, the Creator of Darkness, demanded the worship of his creations, the demons. Their growing discord erupted into a war that spanned tens of thousands of millennia, plunging the realms into chaos and destruction. Their powers being equal, neither could gain supremacy over the other.
In his desperation to tip the balance, Shephamalum created a lesser race—mortals—hoping their worship would strengthen him. But the humans, fearing his harshness, cried out against him. Moved by their plight, Shepha showed them kindness, and their gratitude turned into prayers that empowered him. This edge allowed Shepha to defeat and imprison his brother in an inescapable dungeon. The immortal realms split: Heaven, a realm of light and peace, became home to angels, while Hell, a domain of fear and darkness, became the refuge of demons. Over time, Shephamalum's name faded into a forbidden whisper, a secret buried deep within Heaven's history.
During a grand solstice celebration, young Malbonte stood before angels and demons, thanking Shepha for his mother. But when he thanked Shephamalum for his father, the room erupted in confusion. Most had no idea who the boy had named, but those who did understood the danger of speaking it aloud.
Shepha, instantly alerted, sent his seraph to seize the boy. Malbonte, sensing the seraph's fear and malice, lashed out with a power none foresaw. The event solidified the boy as a symbol of fear and danger.
Desperate to save him, Malbonte's mother, Annabelle, knelt by a sacred pool and pleaded with Shepha to spare her son. Her tears, mingling with the pristine waters, turned crimson like blood, staining the pool with her anguish. But Shepha, consumed by fear that Shephamalum might use Malbonte as a vessel to regain his influence, refused her desperate prayers. In his anger, he forbade anyone from interceding on the boy's behalf. The statues of angelic maidens encircling the pool wept salty tears for evermore, their mournful expressions echoing Annabelle's despair and the eternal sorrow of a mother unable to save her child.
Malbonte's parents fled with him, hiding him in the enchanted maze of Adam and Eve, where even Shepha's eyes could not penetrate. But one fateful day, a little girl wandered into the garden and discovered Malbonte. Driven to desperation, his parents made an unspeakable choice: they took the girl's life. Her innocent blood bound the garden in an irrevocable curse. And the act revealed their location to Shepha.
Shepha's wrath was swift. He stripped immortality from Malbonte's parents and banished them to Earth, sentencing them to fade into nonexistence upon their deaths. Fearing Malbonte's power and the threat he posed, Shepha decreed that the boy must die. His fear extended even beyond Malbonte—he dreaded the possibility of other half-breeds hearing Shephamalum's voice and perhaps wielding enough power to unravel all of creation. To prevent such a catastrophe, Shepha enacted the Law of Segregation, forbidding any union between angels and demons henceforth.
Still, Shepha hesitated to kill the boy. How could he destroy one so filled with light, despite the darkness that lingered within? Malbonte's duality haunted him—a reflection of the war between himself and his brother. Unable to resolve his conflict, Shepha made a cruel decision.
He tore the darkness from Malbonte's soul, leaving the boy writhing in agony. The severed half was cast into Shephamalum's prison, condemned to eternal torment. The remaining light-filled fragment was placed in a high tower in the ruined city of Empyreon, enchanted into a deep sleep.
Thus began Malbonte's exile. Wild rumors swirled about his nature and intentions. Some claimed he possessed the power to destroy worlds, while others whispered that he had slain his parents and half the angels as an offering to Shepha. Some demons hailed him as a savior; others feared him as a harbinger of doom. Books and treatises were written about him, depicting him as everything from a cursed hero to an apocalyptic force. But none of these stories came close to the truth.
The reality of Malbonte's life was far more complex and tragic. Hunted by immortals, abandoned to darkness, and torn between two gods, his existence was shaped by forces beyond his control. His is a tale, not of survival, but of transformation; a journey from innocence to the monster the whole immortal world came to fear.
*—*
Chapter 1: The Girl in the Dream
Malbonte stood on the shores of a serene lake, his small shoulders stooped, his pale face wan. Grayish wings rose from his back, but the feathers barely rustled, echoing the melancholy etched into his countenance. Above, the sky was a brilliant blue, and wispy clouds drifted lazily across its azure brightness, their reflections rippling in the still waters below. Yet the beauty of the scenery did nothing to soothe the boy's troubled soul.
"What…what am I doing here?" he whispered, his small voice trembling, as if afraid to shatter the stillness around him.
Beside him stood a figure of immense power, a deity cloaked in robes of pure white that flowed like liquid light from his shoulders to his feet. Vast, majestic wings shimmered with an ethereal glow, far grander than the boy's small, gray ones. The deity's face reflected the cosmos itself—swirling galaxies and infinite stars where human features should have been. It was cold and distant yet undeniably sentient.
"You have caused countless deaths," the Being said softly, each word resonating with terrible gravity.
The boy's eyes widened in horror and his small hands trembled as he shook his head. "It's not my fault!" he cried, his voice cracking under the pressure of guilt and fear.
The deity continued, as though speaking to himself, his tone detached and reflective. "You are dangerous to this world. You could ruin everything." With a crisp finality, he stated, "I have to kill you."
Tears welled up in Malbonte's eyes as he fell to his knees and reached out, grasping desperately at the edges of the deity's flowing robes. His small fingers caught only air; the divine figure was forever just out of reach.
"What about Mom and Dad? Did I…did I kill them?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper now. The harrowing image of his parents' wings being torn from their backs replayed relentlessly in his mind, each recollection sending a fresh wave of horror coursing through his body.
The creator, Shepha, remained faceless and unreadable, but within him, Malbonte sensed a deep, unspoken struggle. The cosmos in his visage swirled in turmoil, mirroring the war raging within.
"I feel the good inside you," Shepha murmured, uncertainty and pain in his voice. "How can I destroy it?" He seemed to bargain with himself, the gravity of the decision weighing down on him.
Malbonte, overwhelmed with fear and confusion, began to plead, though he didn't fully understand what he begged for. "Please… I beg you. Please…don't."
Shepha's hand hovered above the boy's head before gently resting upon it, decision made. His voice reverberated through the air:
"So be it."
In that instant, Malbonte's world collapsed. A pain beyond mortal or immortal comprehension tore through him, rending his small frame as if the cosmos itself sought to unmake him. With the explosive force of a supernova, the boy's soul was torn in two, and every trace of his memories was erased.
Knowing he couldn't destroy one half of Malbonte's soul without obliterating the other, Shepha decided to cast the fragmented demon-half into the same dungeon in which he had imprisoned his brother. After all, it was that part of the boy's soul that had been receptive to Shephamalum's whispers. It was fitting, Shepha thought, for the boy's dark half to share his brother's desolate prison.
As to the part that was now purely angelic, Shepha placed him under confinement in the tallest room of a Tower in the ravaged city of Empyreon. He asked the great sorcerer, Fidero, to weave a powerful enchantment that would bind the boy to the Tower's walls. For Shepha feared that Bont might fall under the influence of his dark half if left free.
And so, Fidero cast a spell to ensure Bont remained confined within the Tower. However, the spell had an unforeseen effect—it placed the boy into an enchanted sleep, one so profound that only the fates could determine when he would awaken. And so, Bont slept, unknowing and untouched by the passage of time, while his dark half languished in Shephamalum's dungeon.
*—*
One day, after many centuries had passed, Bont woke up from his enchanted sleep in the Tower that was his prison. Shepha assigned his most-trusted seraphim and archangels to educate the boy and teach him to unlock his powers. He occasionally brought Bont to his own realm and talked to him, loving the boy's purity of spirit and entertained by his sharp acumen.
Bont grew up in solitude, his days filled with study and quiet longing. His tutors were kind, but solemn in appearance and manner. From his tower window, Bont watched as the students at the Angels and Demons Academy, which had been built on the ruins of the Great City while Bont slept, went about their studies. Sometimes, a stray student would fly close to his tower during training exercises, their laughter carried faintly on the breeze. Bont would press his face to the window, longing to join them. He imagined himself among them—unshackled and soaring through the sky, free as a bird.
He tried to escape sometimes. But each escape attempt was thwarted by the tower's enchantments. The stairs turned into endless loops, trapping Bont in an eternal cycle. Unlike the maze of Adam and Eve, from which Fidero had drawn his inspiration, however, this enchantment held a counterspell—its details long lost to time. Even knowing escape was futile, Bont continued to try. Each attempt, though doomed, gave him the opportunity to stretch his wings and feel the fleeting rush of flight.
Whether from isolation or some other cause, Bont started suffering from nightmares. An older archangel began to tell him stories and legends at bedtime to turn his thoughts away from the darkness that seemed to afflict him. The stories diverted Bont's thoughts and helped him sleep soundly at night. From then on, he found solace in books, devouring tales of noble quests and daring rescues. He often dreamed of a valiant hero coming to his own rescue and leading him to freedom. However, nobody ever came to rescue him. No angel would ever go against Shepha; as for the demons, Shepha did not trust them and would never allow them get close to Bont.
The years passed, and Bont grew into a strong and contemplative young man—obedient but full of quiet longing. In his dreams, shadows stirred, faint echoes of a past that remained hidden from him, whispers of a life he had once known but could no longer grasp.
*—*
One morning, Bont sat in his usual nook by the window, idly gazing out at a group of angels, demons, and unclaimed students performing flying exercises. His eyes drifted over the familiar scene until one student, in particular, caught his attention. Long after the others had stopped practicing, she kept flying, her movements fierce and determined.
Bont was captivated by her graceful form as she ascended higher and higher, wings slicing through the wind. Then, with an elegant turn, she pinned her wings back and plummeted toward the ground in a controlled dive, opening them at the last possible moment. Bont winced each time, certain she would miscalculate, but she always pulled up just in time, defying gravity with breathtaking precision. Longing swelled in his heart, and he sighed wistfully. Would he ever fly as freely as that girl?
As she soared upward once more, their eyes met. For a moment, she faltered, her wings stuttering mid-flight. Bont's breath caught in his throat—no student had ever noticed him before. Her gaze pierced through the glass and shadows that separated them. Before he could make sense of the tightness in his chest, she went into another dive. His heart pounded as he shrank back into the shadows, unready to face the sudden rush of emotion.
That night, he dreamed of her. She was leading him down the spiral staircase of the tower, her wings glowing like the sun. For the first time, Bont reached the foot of the stairs; the girl unlatched the ornate door, revealing a brilliant, sunlit world beyond. Just as the light touched his face, the dream ended.
Bont woke with a start, his breath ragged, chest heaving as though he'd flown a great distance. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead. Could this be a sign? Was she meant to free him? A fragile hope sparked within him. Smiling faintly, Bont lay back down, the warmth of possibility soothing him back to sleep, his heart lighter than it had been in years.
*—*
The annual flying tournament was in full swing at the Angels and Demons Academy. From his window, Bont squinted to catch every moment of the action. Immortals soared at breakneck speeds, their wings blurring into motion. Though he loved the vicarious thrill, he disliked the violent combat portion, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that the participants healed swiftly.
Today, however, the tournament did not begin in the usual way. An angel stepped up to the podium, making an announcement that rippled through the crowd. Shouts filled the air, growing louder and louder until a single authoritarian voice silenced them. Bont squinted his eyes. Even from a distance, he recognized the figure who had taken control—former Throne Fencio. Though Bont couldn't make out Fencio's words, the tension in the crowd was palpable.
When the tournament started shortly afterwards, Bont's eyes were drawn to a familiar figure. It was the unclaimed girl from his dream. His heart raced as he leaned closer, eager to see how she would fare.
At first, the combatants were but a chaotic blur, wings and bodies colliding. But as the eliminations progressed, Bont was finally able to distinguish her figure. She squared off against an angel, her stance confident despite the tension radiating from her frame.
Bont held his breath as the angel charged, wings slicing through the air with punishing force. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, and Bont exhaled in relief. They squared off again, preparing to clash once more, but before Bont could see the outcome, his vision blurred.
A burning tree stood on a small floating island, its flames roaring skyward with an intensity that defied destruction. A golden goblet slowly filled with dark, thick blood dripping from an unseen source. The sound of each drop hitting the liquid surface—plop… plop…—reverberated like thunder.
Bont gasped, jolting back to reality, sprawled on the floor, drenched in sweat. Panic surged and his heart raced as he struggled to regain his bearings. Shaken, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, trying to brush off the lingering images that burned in his mind.
Bont glanced out the window, and to his surprise, the sky was empty. The tournament had ended.How long was I unconscious?!He wondered, uneasy at the thought. He knew he should report the vision to Shepha—anomalies were meant to be shared so that he could be better protected. But he hesitated.
He thought back to his childhood nightmares and how the Seraphim had probed his mind, their powerful energies cold and invasive. The restrictions around him had tightened after each revelation, suffocating him further. No, he couldn't risk revealing his thoughts—not when his longing for freedom burned brighter than ever. And especially not when it involved the girl…Because he remembered what happened to the last immortal who had tried to help him.
*—*
Bont hadn't attempted an escape in quite some time. His wings had grown as he matured, and the narrow confines of the spiral staircase made it almost impossible to fly let alone get some exercise.
However, Bont had dreamed again of the girl leading him out of his prison. This felt like a sign, a nudge from the universe, urging him to try once more.
When the archangels who guarded his door stepped away to confer with some visiting immortals, Bont seized his chance. From a hidden pocket, he retrieved a shard of the Mirror of Nonexistence, his most precious possession. Concentrating, he directed a thin stream of energy through the keyhole, the mirror amplifying his efforts. With a faint click, the lock yielded, and the door creaked open.
Heart pounding, Bont stepped out of his room, his every movement careful and deliberate. He descended the spiral staircase as stealthily as possible, but his elation was short-lived. A shout rang out behind him—the guards had discovered his absence.
Panic surged through him as he quickened his pace, his bare feet skimming the worn stone steps. His wings twitched instinctively, but he kept them folded. The sound of footsteps echoed closer, the guards gaining ground.
Then he saw her.
The girl from his dream was making her way up the staircase. Time seemed to slow down. Bont recognized her at once, even though he had never seen her up close. Her features, her form, her energy—everything about her matched the girl who was haunting his dreams.
Before he could think, before he could stop himself, Bont reached out and grasped her arm tightly. His excitement and desperation overwhelmed his senses, silencing the voice in his head that told him to tread gently.
"Who are you?" the girl asked, her voice rich and mellifluous, carrying a note of genuine wonder.
"My name is Bont," he said simply. They stood silently, their eyes locked for a long moment. Bont's gaze lingered on her, curiosity and something deeper stirring within him as he studied her aura.
"Your energy…" Bont hesitated, unsure why he felt so drawn to her. Something about her aura was different—vibrant yet reassuring. "I think I can trust you."
The sound of thudding footsteps broke the spell, growing louder as the guards closed in. Bont's heart raced. Frantically, he rummaged through his pocket, his fingers brushing against the shard of the Mirror. Pulling it out, he pressed it into the girl's palm and gently closed her fingers around it.
A tremor rippled through his fingers as they made contact. Startled, he hastily withdrew his hand, saying, "Hold this."
The girl stared at the object in her palm, confusion flickering across her face. "What is this? Why are you giving it to me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the puzzlement in her tone.
"Take this mirror. You'll understand everything later," Bont said, his voice urgent yet earnest. "Please, just take it."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and spread his wings, launching himself into the stairwell. Pain shot through him as his wings scraped against the narrow stone walls, the rough edges tearing at his feathers. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself onward, leading the guards away from her. It was a small victory, but it was enough.
The guards caught him eventually and dragged him back to his room. Bont waited on tenterhooks, the day stretching endlessly on. His thoughts spiraled with doubt. Would she contact him? Or would she report him to the instructors, handing over the mirror? Had he risked his one connection to the outside world on nothing more than a dream?
*—*
He had almost given up in despair when a sudden surge of energy rippled through the mirror behind him. Bont whirled around, hope flaring in his chest.
"At last!" he exclaimed in relief, the tension in his shoulders melting as the girl's image appeared.
"Are you the boy locked in the tower that everyone is talking about?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.
"Probably," Bont replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. Surely, there couldn't be two immortals locked away in separate towers. Without further delay, he blurted out, "I need your help, no matter who you are."
"What kind of help?" she asked, her tone cautious but not dismissive.
"Help me escape from the tower," Bont said simply, his voice tinged with desperation. "The only life I've ever known is this—these walls, these endless old brick stairs! I was born in this tower, and I've been its prisoner ever since. I wish no harm to anyone. All I want is to fly a little, to breathe fresh air somewhere in the mountains…" He paused, his gaze imploring. "Is that too much to ask?"
The girl studied him carefully, her expression unreadable. "Why should I help you?" she asked at last, her voice soft but challenging. "Nothing happens without a reason."
Bont's shoulders sagged slightly, but his determination didn't falter. "I confess I have nothing to offer but my gratitude," he admitted, his voice earnest.
"Surely there are reasons for your imprisonment," she pressed, her brow furrowing.
"Shepha is worried about me," he confessed, his tone quiet, resigned. He glanced away briefly, as though the weight of his confinement were too heavy to fully meet her eyes. "I've begged him to let me go outside so many times, but it's always the same answer. I'm not even allowed to step out of the tower, or even walk the academy grounds." His voice cracked slightly. "I'd take a single day of real life over hundreds—thousands—of years trapped in here. Even if it ended in execution, it would be better than this half-existence."
The girl frowned, her expression clouding as she processed his words. For a long moment, she said nothing, and Bont found himself watching her closely. He had never spoken to a student till now, and his curiosity was piqued.
Her face was striking, her features pleasantly symmetrical, and her eyes carried a spark of vivacity. He was intrigued by the way she carried herself and liked her vibrant attire. The bright, lively hues were a stark contrast to the solemn whites, golds, and muted browns of the seraphs and archangels who taught him.
Unable to resist, Bont reached out with his energy, subtly scrutinizing her aura. He was familiar with the distinct radiance of angelic auras, and he wondered what an unclaimed immortal's might feel like. From the moment they'd met, he had instinctively felt that he could trust her. Surely, she must possess a significant amount of angelic energy.
But as his senses explored her powers, he was surprised. She wasn't what he had expected at all. The girl's energy wasn't predominantly angelic—or demonic. Instead, it was a swirling, harmonious blend of light and darkness. He had never encountered anything like it before.
"You haven't yet decided which side you belong to," Bont murmured, his tone contemplative. "You're half-angel, half-demon." His eyes narrowed slightly. "That's a dangerous combination." The words carried the weight of Shepha's teachings, echoes of countless warnings about the perils of straddling the line between light and dark.
The girl, however, seemed unfazed by the remark. "Because of Malbonte?" she asked calmly.
Bont flinched, caught off guard by her directness and the aptness of the question. "Yes…" he whispered.
He had first heard the name Malbonte as a child, during a lesson with one of his tutors. The archangel had brought a thick, ominous tome titled'A Treatise on Malbonte'. The description within had been terrifying:A monster with massive horns, hooves, and small angelic wings. One eye red, the other blue, with a kind look hiding exorbitant malice.The vivid imagery had seared itself into Bont's young mind, filling his nights with nightmares.
For weeks, Bont had woken screaming, haunted by dark and twisted visions. When the head Seraph overseeing his education discovered the source of his torment, the book was taken away. It was then that Shepha, in an attempt to arm Bont with knowledge, decided to explain the truth about Malbonte. The creator described Malbonte as a malevolent spirit, a being of unfathomable darkness whose sole purpose was to disrupt Harmony.
According to Shepha, Malbonte was a unique danger—he required both light and dark energy to carry out his plans. This, Shepha claimed, was why Malbonte sought Bont. As the immortal with the strongest angelic energy among all beings, Bont was the perfect vessel for the monster's schemes. To protect him—and to safeguard the realms—Shepha had placed Bont in the tower, far from Malbonte's reach.
The explanation had left Bont with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was a relief to finally understand the reason for his confinement. On the other, it made his imprisonment no easier to bear. Knowing he was a potential pawn in some cosmic struggle did little to quell the longing in his heart for freedom.
Bont never saw the archangel who had introduced him to 'A Treatise on Malbonte' after that incident. He later overheard whispers between his guards that the archangel had "overstepped" in providing him the book and had been "dealt with" by Shepha himself. Though the details were never revealed, the rumor was enough to seed fear deep into Bont's heart. It was a chilling reminder of Shepha's capacity for swift and severe justice.
However, before being sent away, the tutor had gifted Bont something far more precious than any book: a carefully framed shard of the Mirror of Nonexistence. Though Bont didn't fully understand its significance at the time, he instinctively knew it was something to be hidden. He had managed to keep it secret from the seraphim and archangels, even as they probed and monitored him. Over the years, Bont had learned to use the Mirror in small ways, peering through its surface to catch fleeting glimpses of the outside world. It wasn't much, but it had become his only lifeline to a reality beyond the tower walls.
The girl shook Bont out of his reverie with a question. "Which side do you think I should take?"
"The angels, of course," Bont replied with certainty.
"Why?" she pressed, tilting her head, clearly unsatisfied with such a simple answer.
"Shepha doesn't trust demons," Bont explained. "He tells me to stay away from them."
She smirked, an almost defiant glimmer in her eyes. "You know, I've seen more evil angels than demons."
Bont blinked, momentarily taken aback. The idea seemed almost sacrilegious. "You're the first demon I've met," he confessed, still processing her words. His gaze shifted, as though trying to reconcile the girl before him with the ominous warnings he had grown up hearing.
"But I'm not a demon!" she retorted, and annoyance tinged her voice.
"A half-demon is still a demon," Bont said softly but firmly, his words reflecting the caution Shepha had instilled in him.
"Then why would you trust me to help you?" she countered, her eyes narrowing in challenge.
Bont hesitated, caught off guard by the question. And yet, as he stared at her, he felt an unexpected warmth tugging at his lips, drawing out a faint smile. He didn't understand why he trusted her, but he did. "I don't know," he admitted quietly, his voice carrying a hint of wonder. "Just… help me."
Her laughter broke the tension, clear and bright like the chime of a bell. It sent pleasant reverberations thrilling through his senses.
"What's your name?" he asked, his curiosity deepening.
She hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face before she finally answered, "Rapunzel."
"Rapunzel," Bont echoed, tasting the name on his tongue, the syllables rolling through his mind like the soft rustle of autumn leaves on a breeze.
Before he could ask anything else, a door creaked open behind him. The sound startled him back to the present, and his heart jolted in alarm. He turned quickly, his expression shifting to one of urgency. "I have to go," he whispered, his voice low and hurried.
In a single, fluid motion, he threw a blanket over the mirror through which he had been communicating with Rapunzel, and mentally prepared to meet his visitor. His heart raced, every beat a reminder of the risk he had just taken—and how close he had come to being caught defying Shepha's orders.
Later, as he lay in bed, Bont found himself replaying every moment of his interaction with Rapunzel. She was an Unclaimed, straddling the fragile line between two worlds, perhaps unaware of how perilous it was to exist in the middle. Yet despite the demonic energy that swirled within her, Bont sensed no danger or deceit in her. She was smart, friendly, and utterly disarming.
For the first time, doubt crept into Bont's mind like a shadow. Could Shepha be wrong about demons? The thought felt almost a betrayal of the creator. Shepha's warnings had always seemed absolute, the foundation upon which his entire understanding of the world rested. But now, as he replayed Rapunzel's laughter in his mind, her kindness and candor, those warnings seemed harder to take seriously.
After all, hadn't Shepha created the demons, just as he had created the angels? Was it possible, then, that the creator's fear of darkness might sometimes blind him to its complexities? Could the lines between light and dark be less rigid than Shepha claimed?
The questions unsettled Bont, chipping away at the edges of his carefully structured beliefs. Yet, even as they made him uneasy, they also sparked a strange sense of hope. If Rapunzel could exist between light and darkness without being consumed by either, then perhaps there was more to the world than Bont had ever dared to imagine.
*—*
Bont woke the next morning with his thoughts consumed by Rapunzel. Her image persisted in his mind all day, intruding no matter how hard he tried to focus on his books. Their conversation replayed endlessly in his head—the sound of her laughter, the sharpness of her questions, the way she had challenged everything he thought he knew. By late afternoon, his restlessness became unbearable, and he gave in to the urge to reach out to her again.
He summoned her through his link to the Mirror of Nonexistence, his heart leaping when her image shimmered into view. "Rapunzel!" he called eagerly, a warm smile lighting his face.
Her response, however, was less than welcoming. "What are you doing?" she hissed, her voice sharp and frantic. "You can't just call me whenever you want!"
The tension in her voice startled Bont. His smile faltered. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, feeling guilty. "I didn't realize…"
She abruptly put the mirror away, cutting their connection. Bont realized his mistake—his eagerness to talk had put her in danger. He hadn't fully grasped the risk he was asking her to take in helping a complete stranger like him.
It was late that night when she finally contacted him again.
"Hi, Rapunzel!" Bont greeted her immediately, trying to mask his earlier impatience with a warm smile.
"Hello." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. "You've gotten me in trouble. Don't do that again!" she admonished, her irritation palpable.
He apologized once again. "I didn't mean to cause you trouble." Bont said earnestly, his guilt evident.
Her gaze softened at his apology, and she sighed. "It's alright. Just… maybe wait until it's safer next time."
But as she spoke, Bont noticed the faint shadows under her eyes and the restless energy in her movements. "You look tired," he said softly, concerned. "What's wrong?"
Rapunzel hesitated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's nothing," she said, but the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her.
She shifted in her bed, propping herself up on her elbows. Her casual posture eased some of Bont's guilt—at least she wasn't shutting him out completely. He was grateful that his earlier misstep hadn't driven her away.
"You can tell me," Bont urged gently, tilting his head.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "We had a lesson today about finding hidden talents, and I realized… I don't feel anything. No power. Nothing." Her voice grew quieter, tinged with frustration. "What if I don't have any special powers?"
"That's impossible," Bont said firmly. "Everyone has powers. You just need time to discover yours."
She gave a small, humorless laugh. "I don't feel anything," she repeated, her tone flat, almost defeated.
Bont's heart ached at her sadness, surprising in its intensity. "May I?" he asked gently.
Rapunzel blinked in confusion, her brow furrowing for a moment. Then, understanding seemed to dawn, and she nodded hesitantly.
Bont closed his eyes, letting his energy flow through the mirror—now a portal—into her. He probed her aura carefully, feeling its unique texture and complexity. Her energy was a swirling kaleidoscope of light and shadow, its movements fluid and harmonious. His energy reacted instinctively, almost dancing in response to the patterns they made around his. He delved deeper, and what he discovered was as surprising as everything else he had learned about Rapunzel. He withdrew his energy.
"You're an empty vessel," he murmured thoughtfully. "How you fill it is entirely up to you."
"Hmmm…" She sounded unconvinced, still processing his words. Her mood shifting once again, she continued, "Why are you here again? I won't help you escape. I almost got kicked out already. I can't take any more risks," she said, her tone slightly resentful. "Find someone else."
Bont blinked, puzzled at the sudden shift in her demeanor. He hesitated, searching for the right way to respond. Finally, he confessed, "I had a dream that you escorted me out of the tower. Dreams are…"
"…always for a reason, I know!" she interrupted, her irritation flaring up again. "Sammy said it's a rare gift. So why is everyone around me having these prophetic dreams?" Her frustration was obvious, but before Bont could reply, she sighed, the tension easing slightly from her expression. "Sorry," she murmured, her tone softening.
"It's alright," Bont replied, sensing her inner turmoil. "Who's Sammy?"
For a moment, Rapunzel didn't answer. Her gaze turned distant, and her expression darkened. She turned her head away, as if trying to shield herself from his scrutiny. "No one," she said at last, her voice quiet, sorrowful. "He died."
Bont was silent for a few moments, unsure how to respond or comfort her. Finally, he spoke, "Would you like me to show you someone dear to you in the mirror?"
She blinked, caught off guard. "Why would you do that?"
"Let's just say…it's an investment in our friendship," Bont answered, a small smile forming on his lips.
Rapunzel's lips curled up slightly in response, warmth reviving in her eyes. "Alright."
"Hooray!" Bont exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement.
Rapunzel giggled softly, the sound like a gentle chime. For a brief moment, the tension between them melted away, leaving Bont utterly charmed.
"Who would you like to see?" he asked, his voice laced with quiet anticipation.
She hesitated. "My mother," she said at last.
"Done," Bont replied with confidence. He cupped his hands and focused, his energy weaving through the mirror as he envisioned a portal connecting Rapunzel to her mother.
Rapunzel gripped the mirror's frame tightly, her knuckles turning white as she gazed into the swirling portal Bont had created. For several long minutes, she sat transfixed, her wide eyes reflecting a cascade of emotions. When she finally pulled back, her expression shifted—what had been awe was now agitation.
"She saw me!" Rapunzel said, her voice edged with panic.
"That's impossible," Bont reassured her, though her visible distress unsettled him. "She might have felt like someone was watching her, but she couldn't have seen you. Your energy wasn't in the portal."
Rapunzel didn't respond immediately, her brows knitting together as if her mind was racing through unspoken fears.
"Rapunzel?" Bont pressed gently. "What's bothering you?" Why was she so worried about her mother knowing of her "visit"?
She snapped out of her thoughts, shaking her head quickly. "Nothing. Never mind," she said, her tone turning more casual. "Thanks for showing me."
Bont studied her for a moment longer but decided not to push. He smiled, relieved. "You're welcome."
"So…" Rapunzel straightened, brushing her hair back as though resetting her composure. "What's the plan to get you out of here?" Her voice took on a brisk, no-nonsense tone. "I'm not saying I've agreed yet, but let's hear it."
"The tower is under a spell," Bont explained, leaning forward. "Every time I try to escape, the stairs become endless, or they loop back around. It's similar to the spell on the labyrinth of Adam and Eve."
"I thought that was a curse," Rapunzel remarked, raising an eyebrow.
"It depends on how you look at it," Bont replied with a faint smile. "In this case, it's just as inescapable."
Rapunzel tilted her head forward. "Out of curiosity, how many times have you tried escaping?"
Bont gave a short laugh. "More than I can count. Since I was a child, I've tried running, flying, even mapping the steps in chalk." He shook his head. "Nothing works. I always end up back where I started."
"And yet you keep trying," Rapunzel remarked, her tone now laced with a soft admiration. "If I'd been locked up as long as you, I don't think I'd still be such a positive person."
Bont blinked at her, unsure how to respond. "Thank you," he said, a little uncertainly. "I thought persistence would be enough. That if I just kept trying, eventually I'd find a way out. But… I can't break the spell on my own."
"How can the spell be lifted?"
"I don't know," Bont admitted, his shoulders slumping. "But I believe the answer should be in Hell's library. It has the largest collection of immortal scholarship found anywhere."
Rapunzel's brow furrowed in thought, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the mirror. She seemed to weigh his words carefully before finally nodding. "Alright. I'll help you—if you help me."
Bont's eyes lit up with hope. "Gladly! How?"
"Help me find my killer," Rapunzel said, her voice filled with a quiet determination.
Before Bont could process the gravity of the request—help her find her killer?—his attention was suddenly torn away. A seadragon burst into his line of sight, its massive form skidding awkwardly to a halt behind Rapunzel, toppling several objects in her room. Bont's instincts flared, and he jumped to his feet, energy surging in his hands, ready to project a blast of energy through the mirror at the intruder. Though he noticed the bloody gashes marring the creature's scaled body, his instincts locked on the perceived threat.
Rapunzel had also leapt up, her eyes widening in alarm for a split second. But then, without hesitation, she stepped toward the dragon and placed a calming hand on its side. Her voice, soft and filled with concern, cut through Bont's tension like a balm.
"Fyr! What happened to you?" she asked, stroking the beast's head with tender care.
Bont froze, completely nonplussed. His ball of energy fizzled out as he watched her tend to the massive creature, its form nearly dwarfing her in the small room. The dragon, though wounded and agitated, seemed to relax under Rapunzel's touch. The sight of her, so calm and focused, left Bont momentarily speechless.
Rapunzel knelt beside the dragon, Fyr, her brow furrowed as she examined its wounds. The dragon let out low, rumbling growls that seemed almost like words. Bont couldn't make sense of them, but he could feel the bond between the like an intruder, Bont instinctively stepped back. He severed their connection through the mirror, the shimmering surface dissolving as he retreated from sight. But before the portal faded entirely, Rapunzel glanced toward the mirror. Her hand lingered on Fyr's scales, but her gaze followed Bont's movement. She watched him step away, and nodded at him in farewell.
As the mirror shimmered and faded, Bont sat in silence, lost in thought. It struck him that Rapunzel was not a stranger to helping lost souls. She had been unafraid, completely focused on the dragon's could not have turned for help to a better person.
For someone who was supposedly caught between light and dark—Rapunzel radiated a sense of inner balance and strength. Bont's heart warmed as he recalled the way her aura had danced with his, the fluid grace of their energies harmonizing in a way he couldn't explain. She wasn't dangerous—certainly not in the way Shepha had warned him about beings like Malbonte. How could she be, when she was so kind and compassionate?
The more he thought about her, the more Bont realized that the truths drilled into him since his awakening felt less like absolutes and more like sinking sand.
*—*