Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Alderian opened his eyes in his room, his heart still racing.
He carefully brushed his Silver Thread and, upon doing so, perceived that Augustine was reeling with confusion on the other end…
or perhaps it was his own feeling, as he was already unable to distinguish his emotions from hers.
He sat up on the sofa where his body had remained reclining while he projected himself into the human plane, then leaned forward, burying his head in his hands.
He was in his chamber in A’aru, where high vaulted ceilings gave the rooms a majestic and ancient air. He lived completely alone in an immense castle, a structure so vast that its thousands of rooms could easily accommodate hundreds of A’aruin. But he was alone; he had always been.
A part of him had fervently yearned for this, allowing himself to imagine it only occasionally—having everyday conversations with Augustine, joking with her, and sharing secrets.
However, now that it was actually happening, he could only think of the consequences it would bring if the High Council found out.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the Thread’s vibration, but he noticed nothing different: no anomalous trembling, no alarm signal…
nothing that would give away the magnitude of what was occurring.
He could only hope that, as long as the anomaly did not become more evident, no one else would notice it.
He had heard about Threads cut irreversibly between other protector spirits for much less than this, and he did not doubt that the High Council would act without hesitation if they found out about such a serious failure of Oblivion.
What would happen if they cut the Thread that joined him to Augustine?
In the best-case scenario, the Council would attempt reassignments, linking him to another soul, another human, and Augustine to another A’aruin.
But affinity was almost everything for a union to prosper, and the few cases he had heard of had not ended well.
The Silver Thread never reconnected, and those spirits, both humans and A’aruin, finding themselves unable to anchor to anyone else, ended up fading away forever.
If he thought about it, he didn’t want to have an affinity with anyone else.
Aldana—Augustine now in her human form—had been his spiritual companion for as long as he could remember, and separation from her would make him lose his will to live.
Without that will, he would hardly vibrate in tune with another spirit.
Yes, the best thing that could happen was that Augustine forgot everything.
A pang of discomfort gripped his chest, though he couldn’t deceive himself within these four walls; he didn’t really want her to forget him.
He laughed at the irony of his own situation as he stood up.
The next room was the one Aldana occupied when he incarnated as a human, but, of course, they had never lived under the same roof nor walked together through those hallways.
What would it be like if Augustine could accompany him in that massive palace?
The image appeared so vivid in his mind that he was startled, but he knew he shouldn’t allow himself to think such a thing.
In the distance, a melancholy call arose as the Evening Trumpet intoned its melody, inviting the inhabitants of A’aru to submerge themselves in the waters of the river Lethe.
“Right,” he thought, while the echo of the note dissolved in the corridors. “With this, Augustine’s anomaly will surely correct itself while she sleeps tonight. The river Lethe will keep Oblivion in its place.”
A deep pain pierced his chest as he descended the palace stairs toward the entrance, but he kept going, determined.
Standing at the gates of his vast, deserted palace, he gazed at the achromatic landscape of A’aru—a dimension where colors did not exist, where emotions had to be suppressed, and where there was no sun, only the eternal silver glow of a full moon that never waned.
He spread his black wings and, for an instant, remembered that Augustine had seen him like this. He wished to have white ones; that way, Augustine would have a better impression of him, and he would have seemed more beautiful to her. More angelic.
* * *
Some hours passed and Alderian kept his promise, as he didn’t appear in front of her again. Augustine tried to use that time to study, preparing for her next exam that was coming in a couple more days, though trying to maintain a facade of normality felt completely absurd.
In front of her, her Silver Thread seemed to mock her vain efforts to return to her routine.
After reading the same paragraph for the fifth time without understanding anything, she decided she had had enough.
She gave three gentle tugs to the thin silver strand to check if it worked, and even though she expected it, she was startled to see that Alderian was suddenly sitting on the edge of her bed with the naturalness of someone returning to a familiar place.
“Hi,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“This is like calling the genie with the lamp,” she pointed out with total seriousness.
Alderian looked at her for a moment before letting out a laugh. “I don’t know whether to take it as a compliment, although, as much as I want to, I can’t grant you any wishes. You’re having a hard time studying, aren’t you? It always happens when something worries you.”
Augustine bit her lip, avoiding looking him directly in the eyes. “You know me quite well,” she pointed out, a strange tingling stirring in her stomach.
“Evidently,” Alderian replied. He had shown himself to be playful, but Augustine could tell he was also avoiding looking at her now. “But you can be at peace… I have already done everything on my part so that everything returns to normal tomorrow.”
Augustine felt a pang of gloom in her chest and a slight annoyance at Alderian’s insistence on the subject.
“Today I had planned to meet my friends at a bar,” she said after a few minutes, discarding those useless thoughts.
“I’m a little worried… There will be quite a few people and I don’t know if I’ll be able to pretend if I see their angels.
Today I almost panicked when I saw my mother’s A’aruin. ”
Alderian thought for a moment. “What an absurd and funny situation,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“But it’s easy, my dear Augustine. Imagine that in any bar there are all kinds of people and conversations that occur at the same time.
.. When that happens, you’re not paying attention to all of them, right? ”
Augustine nodded, understanding his idea.
“Okay, so I should just act as if those spirits were other normal people in the bar, nothing more. How hard could it be?”