Chapter 9
The hands of the clock align perfectly, announcing the arrival of midnight.
A new day. My birthday.
It’s here.
I glance down my body, checking for any changes. So far there’s nothing, but perhaps there’s a slight delay for it? After all, time is not linear nor is it uniform.
With every passing minute, I continue to fret over what calamity might befall me now that I’m without any protection.
Will thunder strike me dead on the spot? Will mother send a bolt of energy to pierce my heart and render me dead?
Anything could happen.
And that’s what makes it so terrifying. For hundreds of years I’ve lived under the protection of the shield; sheltered from everything. Now, though? I’m completely vulnerable. But what’s worse is that I don’t know how to cope with that.
My anxiety is through the roof when I hear a knock at the door. It jolts me out of my thoughts.
For a moment, I stand fully still, frozen on the spot.
Maybe I imagined it.
Another knock.
I gulp down.
Maybe they got the wrong address.
Another knock.
I creep closer to the door on the tips of my toes, doing my best to keep silent. Pressing my ear to the door, I listen carefully.
Nothing.
“Hello?” A voice suddenly rings out.
I jump back.
The voice is soft and feminine, the total opposite of what my mind had conjured just moments ago: an army of immortals ready to take my life.
Of course, who’s not to say the army could be comprised of females, or that my mother herself would be the one leading the charge. But this isn’t her voice.
It’s sweet and melodious, and to a certain degree familiar.
“Hello, is anyone home?”
“Who is it?” I ask, though every cell in my body is urging me to keep silent.
“I lost my way. Do you happen to have a map of the area?”
A reasonable request. But too convenient.
My lips flatten as I stare at the door separating us.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“I can vow it to you,” her reply is immediate. No hesitation.
Hmm…
Perhaps closing myself to the world has made me too wary, too unaccustomed to dealing with people. Granted, I’ve lived here for hundreds of years and this is the first time someone has wondered over asking for directions.
The protective shield extended to the area surrounding the house, too.
That’s right! I had forgotten that small tidbit. Even if people wanted to come ask for directions, the shield would prevent them from ever reaching the door.
My body relaxes as I slowly make logical sense of the situation.
“I will have your vow, then,” I say to the lady behind the door.
“I vow to the Seven that I require directions from you.”
I nod to myself. She seems in earnest. Vows to the Seven are not to be taken lightly.
If one were to use their name in vain, they would be punished severely.
It’s why I’m so willing to believe she has good intentions.
I might not have a lot of outside world experience, but even I know how valuable a vow to the Seven is.
“All right.”
I grasp the doorknob and pull it toward me. As the door slowly creaks open, flashes of red come into view.
The lady is dressed in a long, shapeless red gown. Upon her head rests a black thorn crown, from which a lace red veil cascades over her face.
I cannot make out her features—only shadows linger behind the veil.
“Thank you,” she murmurs in a low voice.
I stare at her odd attire. “Your face…”
She inclines her head. “Apologies if this might seem strange. I hail from the Isle of Krateos. It is customary for unmarried females to shield their faces from other males.”
“Oh, I see. No need to apologize,” I quickly add.
I’d heard about the Isle of Krateos and some of its odd customs. Although part of Tartareia, it is considered a world of its own.
It rarely interacts with the outside world and it is the only place in Tartareia that is not under the Lord Supreme’s rule.
By some strange understanding from thousand of years ago, the Isle of Krateos was granted its autonomy.
I’m not very familiar with its system. I’ve only read snippets of it since there isn’t much available on it—outsiders are not allowed inside.
The people of Krateos are neither mortal nor immortal; but something in between. They call themselves mages, each one possessing supernatural abilities.
I wonder what abilities the lady in front of me possesses. Certainly more impressive than my nonexistent ones.
She glides into my home, her body undulating to a silent rhythm.
I close the door behind, a little awkward. I can’t say I have much experience being around females. Having one in my home is also a first.
“I’ve never met someone from Krateos,” I start, trying to make small talk. “You’re allowed to leave the island?”
“Why would we not be?” She asks in a bored voice as she inspects the area. “I can go anywhere. You, on the other hand, are restricted to this place,” she says pointedly.
I clear my throat. This is starting on the wrong foot.
“Let me get the map of the area.”
I hurry to the library, rummage through shelves containing maps and retrieve one on the surrounding area.
When I get back, the lady in red is at my kitchen counter, quietly inspecting the dishes I’d painstakingly made earlier.
“Your birthday?” Her voice sounds disinterested as she points to the loaf of sweet bread I’d tried to make for myself. I’d followed an old recipe but the result is barely passable since I did not have all of the ingredients.
“Yes,” I mumble, not really wanting to talk much about it.
“Happy birthday. How old are you today?” Another monotone question.
“Three thousand.”
“A young immortal,” she muses to herself. “Congratulations. You’ve survived well enough.”
I’ve survived well enough? I frown at her odd phrasing.
“Yeah, well—”
My words die on my tongue as she tears into my loaf of sweet bread without ceremony, breaking it apart with careless hands. She lifts a piece beneath her veil, placing it in her mouth.
There’s silence, followed by a cough before she spits it out.
“You should have bought one.”
“Uhm…” What else is there to say? I stare in shock at her as she makes herself at right at home and partakes in my food.
“It’s supposed to be a cake, not a brick,” she continues.
I didn’t ask for critique of my pastry, did I? Yet she continues to give it unprompted.
“Birthdays are for celebration, not for insulting your taste buds.”
My lips flatten in a tight line. What a rude lady!
“I will give you a gift. In exchange for the map.”
Before I can agree or say anything at all, she conjures up a small box and sends it flying toward me. I catch it with both hands. It’s made of a heavy wood, with golden decorations on the side.
“Go on. Open it,” she urges me.
I take off the lid, surprised to see four round pink cakes inside.
“This is—”
“Actual cakes. You must celebrate your birthday properly. Try one.”
“Uh…”
I blink and she’s in front of me.
“It’s my present to you. You won’t reject it, will you?” She asks, her voice now soft and sweet.
“Uhm… All right,” I mutter.
Grabbing one of the cakes, I take a small bite. It is indeed very sweet. Compared to my sad attempt of a pastry this is magnificent. Before I can help myself, I’m stuffing the entire thing in my mouth.
“You like it?”
“It’s so good. I’ve never had a cake this good before.”
“I’m glad. It took me years to perfect the recipe.”
“Years?” I mumble with my mouth full.
“Indeed. It’s created to suit particular taste buds. I am glad it is to your liking.”
“To my liking? This is absolutely delicious. Thank you.” Once more I can’t stop myself from talking with my mouth full as I shove another cake in my mouth.
This is a sensorial experience in itself!
For someone who’s been living on bland scraps for hundreds of years, this might just be the peak of my existence.
The more I eat, however, the more my vision starts swimming.
My head spins. At first, it’s faint, barely noticeable beneath the overwhelming sweetness of the cakes. But then it grows, a slow, creeping dizziness that coils around my senses until the room itself gains legs and starts moving.
What—
I sway, blinking hard, trying to steady myself.
“Are you all right?” she asks, her voice soft again, almost gentle.
“Yes,” I manage, though the word feels thick and wrong on my tongue. “I’m… fine.”
The world tilts. My knees buckle slightly, and I catch myself against the counter. My fingers grip the edge as an anchor. It doesn’t help. Just as I feel something solid within my grasp, I plunge forward, falling to the ground.
She steps closer to me—too close—and I catch a strange sweetness about her. It’s cloying and overpowering. But there’s a strange familiarity about it.
The haze surrounding my vision clears. But instead of seeing reality again, I’m struck by the way colors dance in front of me. The red of her dress is more striking, almost hypnotizing.
She says something. The veil upon her face moves with each breathed word, but I cannot make sense of the meaning.
“Careful,” she finally says, studying me. Then, after a beat, “Perhaps you could do something for me.”
“Of course,” I answer immediately.
The words slip out without thought, as if they had been waiting at the tip of my tongue all along. Always. The thought echoes faintly in my mind, detached from me, yet entirely mine.
Like a trigger, the red of her ensemble swirls in my vision, prompting me to forget all thoughts that don’t concern her.
There’s only her. And red. And her again. I’m just a lucky bastard who gets to enjoy this apparition.
Her lips curve beneath the veil. “Undress.”
The command is brisk, direct and without mercy.
My hands obey before I can question it. Fabric falls away in clumsy, uneven motions, pooling at my feet as the cold air settles against my bare skin. I feel exposed, but the unease doesn’t fully register, dulled by the haze wrapping around my mind.