Chapter 29

A Snake, not a Lion

“She could see the shadows shifting, eating her lovely bowels; the pain was gaping, yet… fomenting. Stirring.”

Veiled Eyes, Vol. II

“Master!! Master!” loud screams and the somewhat violent shaking jerked Noah awake as he instinctively reached out with his arms and draped them around Sash’s neck, flipping the two’s position over and pressing the latter against the floor, choking him for a moment. Just then, he came to and let go, breathing heavily for a moment as he pulled back while Sash started coughing, fearfully looking at him.

“… sorry,” Noah mumbled, wiping the cold sweat off his forehead. He was alive. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no, I’m fine,” Sash said, stabilizing his coughing forcibly. “I-I’m sorry to have touched you, Master… my hands should be cut off and I should be—”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Noah interrupted with a grumble. “How long was I out?”

“… a-a few minutes?” Sash replied.

“… the shaking stopped.” Noah noted and frowned, looking toward the corridor’s end where the ladder he used to climb to the deck was.

“… it… it left.” Sash spoke fearfully, looking at the empty floor immediately with a lowered head.

“…” Noah remained silent for a moment, temporarily emptying his thoughts of the creature and the short time he’d spent with it… someplace. “Go and check what happened. Note everything as I taught you, and then come to my cabin to report.”

“… yes, Master.” Sash nodded, getting up and walking away while Noah went back inside the cabin and slumped onto the bed, sitting down, his entire being covered in deep layers of sweat.

It was terrifying – far more terrifying than anything else he’d experienced in his life, and he was held at a gunpoint four times in total, inches away from dying. Death, after all, from a bullet – he could accept. He knew what it entailed, what would happen to him. It would be short, momentarily terrifying… and that would be it. A flash and his life would be over.

The experience with the creature, however, was completely different; it almost felt like a fanatical demon of the paralysis, within which you are forced to lay in complete stillness, feeling the drapes of the cold breath caressing your cheek, the world moving in a decimal crawl, the disfigured nothing crawling across your skin. Breathing grew almost too difficult, and every iota of your body was fighting to move… to no avail.

Except, unlike the sleep paralysis, what he’d experienced was the objective rather than the subjective reality. He had seen the creature and spoke to it. It was real, the sensation of drapery cold and the folding prickles. But he lived.

Rather, in retrospect, as he calmed down, he'd realized that he was never really at the threat of death; the creature spoke with curiosity, and whatever human attributes could be attached to it, it was the ilk that everyone has when matched with something new and strange, almost like he and this entire world. While the creature may lack the fear of outcome he did, it had all else – the natural curiosity for the unknown.

Pushing even further back, if the monster of this kind truly was malevolent, would any ship ever be allowed to actually sail down its river? Would a Kingdom be allowed to establish itself on the river's banks? No, most certainly. He didn't know what, but a deal of sorts, spoken or written or otherwise, probably exists. What surprised him, still, was that Olivia didn't warn him. Rather, nobody warned him – even Sash, who clearly knew there was a chance of it happening.

Maybe it’s like the Voldemort thing?, he mused with a faint grin, He-shall-not-be-named or something?

Shaking his head, he let go of a putrid breath and took out ink and quill, deciding to immediately sketch the creature as well as write down their conversation in detail while his memory was still fresh. He knew he'd also have to do some personal research as he could hardly trust the testimony of others; the truth was always hidden somewhere, no matter how many lies cloud it. One simply has to be able to recognize the lies and filter them out.

A few things caught his attention as he slowly went back through the conversation, the first being that the creature called his Light 'tainted' but 'not foul'. He hardly cared for the latter two parts, but for the first – he had the 'Light'. He'd come to realize that the word for 'light' in Lumina's official language was different than that of the 'Light'. While the lowercase 'light' held the same meaning to that of English, the uppercase was simply a name rather than a description of phenomena. In his mind, he always translated it to the meaning of 'magic'. One way or another, it seemed he had a capacity for it; how or why, he had no clue. He didn't even know how to tap into it, which was another thing he'd have to look into once he returns to Elucido.

Another point of contention was that the creature called its own Light both ‘tainted’ and ‘foul’. Which, essentially, meant that the creature was using Light – or, at least, this ‘corrupted’ version of it. That was to say, then, that the ‘Light’ was not the sole form of ‘magic’, but just one out of at least a few, it seemed.

On the surface level, this 'corrupt form of Light' seemed to step from 'evil deeds', but, in reality, it simply had to do with the state of mind; self-loathing appeared to play a key role in drifting the 'pure' version to the 'corrupt' version, though as for how and why, he could not say.

And the last point of contention were the creature’s parting words – 'the Fire and the Kindled are coming'. There was a faint emphasis on the words 'fire' and 'kindled', which made Noah lean toward the meaning other than the literal fire, and people or creatures on fire. On his own, however, he couldn't conclude anything; as the warning was meant for the King, he must also know what it means. He contemplated telling Olivia and having her relay the information, but quickly chose on personally delivering what sounded very much like a hollow prophecy of sorts. It would not only allow him to follow up on the King's somewhat favorable impression of him but perhaps also buy some additional goodwill from the most powerful man in the Kingdom.

Having finished recording everything and sketching out the creature to the best of his ability, he relaxed slightly and began tapping his index finger against the table, leaning his other hand against his cheek, thinking. He acted too hastily many times by now, he’d realized. Part of the reason that things went smoothly thus far was that he properly exploited the nature of reality, but luck also played a decent role in everything.

For instance, he was never questioned on who or what inflicted those wounds on him when he came running out of the forest. Perhaps it simply slipped Olivia's mind due to how excited she was over his identity. And even his identity – that of an Outlander – was accepted freakishly quickly, something that he did not quite understand.

The literal definition of an Outlander he’d come across explains them as ‘peoples or creatures not native to the Ethernon Lands’ – which, to be fair, he was not, but that was the exact case for every single one of the ships that landed in the Port Wevvas. What made him different? Perhaps that he didn’t drift on from the sea, and that he just sort of… ‘appeared’ inside the Kingdom. Or it could be something else entirely – but, nonetheless, he was never questioned about where exactly he came from. Chances are that Olivia did not forget to ask, but that she was simply too pensive, and that she might have wanted to build a stronger relationship with him before asking questions.

In order to avoid, or at least lessen the eventual questioning, he even threw her a few bones here and there, talking about ‘his home’ and how things were there. Not nearly enough to entirely quench her curiosity, but, as luck would have it, it seemed, almost.

He was too hasty with Quickett, too, and was beyond lucky it did not backfire on him. He was too hasty in departing from the safe place that was his chambers back on the Royal Grounds, expecting the same safety to follow him wherever he went as he'd grown too contemptuous of the world without even realizing it.

And, today, he was reminded of how short and tiny he was within the broader scope of things. He may be an Outlander to them, but, to him, they were the creatures of fantasy, the ilk that could use magic to warp the fabric of reality at will. No matter how clever or witty or scheming he may be, he can’t contend against the people that can produce fire from their fingers.

Even Olivia, who he knew could use Light, and who he had too carelessly started looking at as just a young woman, could kill him effortlessly. His advantages got to his head too much, making him forget about the mountain of disadvantages that came hand in hand. Establishing contact now is too risky, he realized another one of his mistakes, trying to woo over a major House based on nothing but his own preconceptions. I know nothing about their inner workings… and when did I start thinking ‘winging things’ is a good idea?

Though his promise to Quickett would go up in flames, it was nothing against him potentially losing his life by acting overzealous. He was an ant within the land of the elephants, and an ant without its army no less. This situation was no different from when he was a child soldier; nobody cared whether he lived or died, and all odds were stacked against him. With a rifle in hand, he went up against men thrice his age, but he always came out on top – not because he relied on luck, but because he was ten times more careful than them, and a hundred times more heartless. He made promises left and right only to break them the next dawn over without breaking out a tear. He swore brotherhood with a man one night, and the next morning sold him out without blinking twice. That was who he was, always; a silent, smiling snake, slithering and hissing from the shadows, tempting others to do the moronic things he himself was doing right now. This was not who he was, but he could pinpoint the reason for the change. Back on Earth, even if he had far more power than he had here, he knew the reality – he knew he had enemies everywhere, and one wrong step meant his death.

Here, however, it was like a clean slate; nobody knew him, and, as far as he knew, nobody wanted him dead. There were only friendships in sight, however fake and short they may be and no enemies. It made him relax and start believing he could live in the light, openly going out to meet Lords and Ladies of major Houses within the Kingdom, openly speak out in front of the Court attended by the King and the Queen and all their children. No amount of crowns is worth that attention, he knew that the best. Or, at least he used to know. He belonged in the shadows, in the whispery rumors circulating the world that speak of the elusive, faceless thing tempting others into doing its bidding. And, he knew, he had to become that again. More so than ever before.