Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The recurring dream

The desserts were poisoned!!

 

At those words, both father and son turned to look at the youngest member of the Averille family. Shock and confusion were apparent on both their faces. But contrary to Asrar's expectations, they didn't doubt him as much as he thought.

 

"Are you certain?" His father looked at the desserts from afar, not daring to touch them, and then he eyed him up.

 

"I'm sure," Asrar replied, "the food was sprinkled with Western water hemlock oil. These plants have bulb-like rootstalks that contain numerous hollow chambers and generate a highly poisonous oil. That oil has a strong carrot-like odor; they tried to hide the scent so it's very faint, but my nose is somehow sensitive." Asrar coughed and took a sip of the tea to clear his throat, "Essentially, it has a relaxing function. A large dose, however, results in convulsions and grand mal seizures that can eventually lead to death."

 

Harold and Algar looked at him like he was a ghost. Asrar leaned back and continued, "The smell of Western water hemlock oil is very subtle but can be detected if you look for it; oh, by the way, the tea is fine."

 

Following his words, the father and son pair slowly leaned over, trying to smell the desserts. A strange carrot-like aroma wafted through their nostrils, and seconds later, "He was right!" they both exclaimed as they stood up.

 

"Who dares!" Algar shouted so loudly that even Waller, the guard outside, was frightened, and the latter hurriedly entered the room.

 

"My lord, what is the matter?" Waller asked with some trepidation, seeing the angered expressions on both Algar and Harold's faces.

 

"Fear not, Waller, all is well. My son is merely discomposed due to his sister's ailment." Harold spoke in a reassuring manner, yet his gaze conveyed deeper concern. His subordinate understood right away and slowly came over to his lord's side and stood up by him respectfully.

 

Harold then whispered something to him. The latter nodded in understanding, and without hesitation, he grabbed a piece of custard, chewed it, and swallowed it in one go, in front of the shocked gazes of both Asrar and Algar.

 

"Why would you...." the eldest son mumbled in astonishment, unable to finish his sentence as he watched the display in front of him.

 

Suddenly, the guard Waller spasmed and his stomach bulged out, accompanied by a booming noise. The tone of his skin grew red; his body temperature heated up, and he let out a low roar as sweat began to drip from his forehead. Then, out of nowhere, darkish gray smoke seeped out from his skin pores and engulfed the small room, masking Waller's figure underneath it.

 

"He's a tethered; we actually have a tethered in our house!"

 

The eldest son's eyes widened in fear and disbelief as he looked on in horror at the bizarre scene unfolding before him. Asrar was dazed as well by the spectacle and could only make out a hazy silhouette within the smoke. He calmed down and slowly backed up toward the window.

 

While he began to back up, a sound like that of thunder could be heard throughout the room, and soon afterwards, a strong gust of wind blew out of the smoke, dispersing it away from Waller's body. The smoke started to clear away as soon as it had arrived, and soon the guard stood before them in his normal form again.

 

Everything in the room was back to normal except for a long, thin gray line that was floating around in the air, and Asrar noticed it seemed to be headed toward the guard, who had a distant look on his face as if he knew something none of them did.

 

The thin line connected to Waller's mouth and was floating out of the room, strangely zigzagging down the wooden stairs, making its way toward something or someone.

 

Everyone there stood in a daze except for Harold and the guard himself.

 

Harold slowly walked back up to Earline's bed and said, "You go find this person for me." With a wave of his hand, he picked up the sleeping girl from the bed and mentioned for Algar, who was puzzled, and Asrar, who stood far near the window to follow him.

 

Is this some sort of tracking ability?

Asrar thought but quickly followed them, and the four people with the girl walked slowly down the stairs, trying to trace the thin line that was leading them through the long and winding hallways of the nursing home. The place was eerily quiet and dark, only illuminated by some oil lamps and a few flickering magic bulbs in the walls. The only sounds heard were their footsteps and Algar's faint whispers as he tried to figure out where they were headed.

 

What is happening? All of this is weird. Where are the people we greeted? Why is the place so dark all of a sudden? Most importantly....what are these memories?

 

Asrar stood in the middle of the group as his mind raced with questions. He glanced around, his eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light that had flooded the area. He felt a chill run down his spine, noticing how eerily quiet and still the place was.

 

As if time itself had been frozen in this moment, Asrar could almost sense the anxiety in the air and could feel himself beginning to perspire; not only he but also his older brother, who was sweating heavily and walking slowly, and even his father and his personal guard, all wore a heavy look on their faces.

 

They kept on descending the dim stairs, but as they rounded the corner, a strange feeling overtook him. "I...I believe we have only taken two rows of stairs before reaching the gir—my sister's room previously." Just when they took another turn in following the thin, smoky thread, Asrar found it strange and reminded the others.

 

"You’re right!" Harlod exclaimed, stopping in his tracks, Algar voiced out "It—it feels like we're going in circles! I'm sure I've seen this carpet somewhere before." Asrar had to agree; they definitely were not heading down any more stairs. Harold then abruptly turned to look at the others. "What do you think?" He asked, as his brows furrowed with confusion.

 

Algar was nervous about the sudden change that was taking place, and he snapped out of his trance to look at his father, opening his mouth but failing to say anything.

 

Harold shook his head at that sight, then he skimmed over Asrar, who had his head down and seemed to be in deep thought. He was dissatisfied with his sons' lack of response, and it was clear on his face as he let out a sigh before regaining his composure and directly asking Waller, "This should be an illusion..." he scowled.

 

The latter remained silent, though his gaze conveyed the same confusion Harold had just expressed.

 

He thought about it deeply before raising his head: "My lord, I think the same; this is indeed an illusion, but fret not, my tethred is not susceptible to illusion arts; the thread will directly lead us toward the mastermind." The guard replied with confidence; he stopped to clear his mind and added, "When I was guarding outside, I didn't spot any signs of a magic circle being imbued nearby us, so this should be the work of a witch. I'm afraid I am not her opponent, my Lord." He bowed his head ashamedly "please forgive me."

 

Harold's frown eased up, and he took out a bright sliver amulet from his suit's pocket. The amulet was adorned with a large, shimmering sapphire in the middle, surrounded by smaller diamonds, and when he took it out, everyone beside him could feel a sudden gust of heavy air fill the room. Right afterward, Harold let out a sigh, "I would not want you to face her in battle either, don't worry, this thing might help us."

 

Algar gaped, captivated by the amulet radiating an aura of strength. On the other hand, Waller was amazed and nodded in understanding.

 

It seems to be an artifact of some kind....but how could a rising noble manage to acquire such a thing?

 

Surprisingly, no one asked any questions, and Asrar's eyes deepened with more questions.

 

The four of them, carrying the unconscious girl, fell silent as they trailed the delicate thread. The path they followed was bewildering, leading them in a straight line at times, in circles at times, and then down stairs or up stairs at other times. Asrar's anxiety grew more and more as the thread appeared to be weakening and not as sturdy as Waller had claimed. Even the usually composed Waller also began to show his concern, which was evident by the deep frown etched on his face.

 

Suddenly, when they rounded a corner, the originally dim light grew even dimmer, making it almost impossible to see where they were going—they were engulfed in total darkness.

 

Seeing the darkness, Asrar felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized the situation they were in. However, right then, Waller clenched his fists, seemingly pouring some kind of strength into the thread, and the shadowy line that disappeared with the darkness started glowing with a bright light.

 

"My lord, we have to hurry up!" Waller exclaimed, panting slightly.

 

Harold nodded quickly and started jogging; "Everyone follow me."

 

After jogging for some time, Harold and the others stumbled upon a brightly lit hallway, with torches illuminating both sides and tapestries hanging on the walls. They paused for a moment before Harold gave a nod and handed over the unconscious Earline to his eldest son.

 

"You both stay behind us."

 

"But, Father, I..." Before Algar could continue, Harold silenced him with a stern glare, cutting off his words.

 

I've been training half my life; am I no different from my feeble little brother?

 

Although he clenched his hands in frustration, he obediently remained behind. They continued to follow the thin line, which was now leading them towards a door at the end of the hallway. The door was enormous for a nursing home’s room and was slightly ajar, while they could see a faint light coming from the other side.

 

As they approached the door, they could hear low whispers coming from inside the room. Harold motioned for them to stop, and they all stood there, listening intently to the whispers. Eventually, they could make out the voice of a woman, and she sounded familiar to Asrar.

 

"Was this room always here?!" Algar whispered, holding Earline tightly in his arms.

 

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a figure stepped out of the room, revealing themselves to be one of the nurses they met downstairs who had been attending to Earline. In her hand was a vial of clear liquid, and she had a wild look in her eyes.

 

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"What are you doing here?" she shouted, and then she realized who they were. "Oh, it's you! The Averille family! I had hoped you wouldn't come here. Now you've ruined everything!"

 

She took a step forward, and they could see that her eyes were glowing with an otherworldly light. Harold stepped in front of them, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, silver amulet.

 

"You will not harm my family, you witch," he said, his voice firm and resolute.

 

The nurse laughed maniacally and then lunged at Harold with the vial. However, he was ready for her, and he activated the amulet, sending out a powerful burst of magic energy that knocked the nurse off her feet and sent her flying backwards into the wall. The vial she was holding shattered on impact, and the liquid inside spilled out onto the floor.

 

The two sibilings stood behind, and Waller quickly stepped in and secured the nurse, who was now unconscious. Harold walked over to the vial and picked it up, examining it closely.

 

"What is this?" he muttered to himself, and then he looked up at the others. "We need to get out of here now. We'll take the nurse with us and find out what she knows."

 

The witch is so weak. Or is it that the amulet is that strong?

 

Asrar stood right in front of the door in contemplation. Suddenly he felt a gust of wind from behind him, and he jumped forward without hesitation.

 

Boom!

 

The massive door shut itself with a thunderous boom. The power of that sound reverberated throughout the entire hallway, causing Asrar to tremble at the thought of what could have happened had he not reacted quickly. That force would have turned him into mincemeat!

 

Suddenly, he felt the tension in the air, like an impending storm that was about to break loose at any moment.

 

With a deep breath, he stepped into the candlelit chamber, its meagre furnishings consisting of nothing but a lone table and chair. And there, ensconced in the seat, was a shadowy figure draped in a red, hooded cloak, with a thin smile on their face.

 

"You are late," the figure spoke in a low, raspy voice.

 

A shiver of foreboding raced down Asrar's spine as he realized the figure's words were meant for him alone. Turning, Asrar found that all others had mysteriously disappeared from the chamber, leaving only him and the strange figure

 

Steeling himself, he advanced, his heartbeat thundering in his chest like the hooves of a thousand horses.

 

"Who are you? Where are the others?!" Asrar asked, his voice quivering with fear and uncertainty.

 

"The monastery of light should not prevail," the figure replied, still smiling.

 

"What do you mean?" Asrar asked again.

 

The figure simply repeated their words, "The monastery of light should not prevail." The tone of the figure's voice was firm, and Asrar could sense a great power emanating from them.

 

"Wha...."

 

In that moment, the figure rose from the chair, their steps measured as they approached; their features concealed in the shrouding shadows of the hood.

 

A sense of awe and reverence filled him as he gazed upon the shrouded being before him.

 

In a swift motion, the hooded figure lunged forward, gripping Asrar's throat and lifting him from the ground. Though Asrar's view was still obscured, he could discern a grotesque grin stretching from ear to ear on the other party's face; the figure's lips were sewn shut with wires, causing his heart to pound with terror.

 

How the hell does he speak?

 

His mind swirled with questions, but in that moment, all he cared about was breaking free from the figure's iron grip. With desperate determination, he clamped onto the hooded guy’s hand, struggling to escape.

 

"Cough, who are you? Why are ...you doing this?"

 

"Because..." At last, the figure revealed their face, their eyes blazing like crimson coals, their visage marred by deep, jagged scratches.

 

"Because what?" Asrar remained confounded; the hooded figure's mouth was sewn shut and immobile, yet their voice resounded directly in his mind.

 

"It's chicken time!"

 

"Huh?"

 

With a flick of their wrist, the figure gestured towards Asrar, and in that instant, everything shifted.

 

In a sudden jolt, Asrar awoke, drenched in cold sweat. However, a wave of relief washed over him as he realized it had all been a dream. He sighed, his heartbeats slowing to their normal pace.

 

Ever since that incident, I have been tormented by the same dream, night after night, for a full seven days.

 

What’s weird is that….this was the first time that figure talked back, the last part was weird though…

 

Looking around, he found himself in a ramshackle room, with wooden walls flaking with yellowed paint and a musty odor permeating the air. A single ray of light barely illuminated the space, filtering through the cobwebs that had claimed the window as their own—it was the light of a torch hanging outside the window.

 

He lay upon a creaky bed, facing his roommate, who sat munching on a piece of chicken, crooning a strange lullaby as he ate.

 

"Oh little chick, you once had a life,

But now you're on my plate, cause that's your strife.

Fried, baked, or grilled, you're oh so nice.

With every bite, I hear your sacrifice.

 

Your tender meat and crispy skin,

It makes me smile and do a grin.

I love to eat you for lunch or dinner,

And never once, did I feel like a sinner."

.....................

...............

.........

 

"..."

 

Asrar's face twitched before he cautiously inquired, "Uhm, what time is it?"

 

"Ah, you're finally awake! You're in for it now," his chubby roommate proclaimed, relishing the greasy food as he licked his lips. "Master Aelwen is going to have your skin tomorrow. Skipping her class like that, you're in for a rough time."

 

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