Chapter 6 #3
He was wrecked.
Beautifully so.
His face was flushed, his hair mussed, his tunic rumpled. His eyes were open, hazy with sated pleasure, fixed on her with a look of profound awe.
She leaned down, her voice a rough, pleased whisper.
“Now this should relieve some of that stress.”
Aldric let out a weak, breathless laugh.
Then she cast a spell that removed any signs of what happened just before. Her hand gently grabbed his cock and put it back into his trousers, placing a gentle kiss through the pants.
She sat up, smiling from ear to ear.
Not long after, they arrived at the summit in a rush of wind and thinning clouds.
Seraphae stepped outside first.
Mareth was already there.
He took one look at her, at the flushed cheeks, satisfied smile, and unmistakable glow and gave her a long, knowing stare.
She met it without hesitation.
Then lifted her chin.
Smiled.
Like she’d just won a game.
Aldric stepped down from the carriage and immediately frowned.
“…Warmth?”
Mareth snorted.
Seraphae laughed softly as she turned to face him.
“Of course it is, silly,” she said. “Who would want to freeze their butt off while waiting for divine insight? The location is meant to be alluring. Not miserable.”
Aldric glanced at her.
“That explains a lot.”
He turned slowly, taking in the view.
Valleys stretched endlessly below them, veiled in mist. Jagged mountain ridges cut through rolling clouds like the spines of sleeping giants. Sunlight spilled over distant peaks, painting everything in gold and silver.
For a moment, he forgot why they were there.
Then he turned towards the clearing at the summit.
And froze.
Two women sat near what looked like the entrance to… something.
No.
Two demon women.
They were perched casually on smooth stone benches before a dome of drifting mist and shimmering blur, as if reality itself had grown uncertain there. The air around it warped faintly, light bending and softening at the edges. Hiding what was beyond.
The moment they noticed the group, both women perked up.
One of them, bright-eyed and cheerful, beamed.
“Oh! Hi! Welcome!”
The other leaned forward slightly, hands folded, her voice dropping into something slow and melodic.
“…to the Covenant.”
Aldric blinked.
Once.
Then twice.
He leaned closer to Seraphae and whispered, “Are you absolutely sure this is the right place?”
She nodded without hesitation.
“Positive. Some oracles can be a tad dramatic.”
He watched the two women again.
Their smiles were too practiced.
Their posture too relaxed.
Beside them, a floating scroll hovered in the air, etched with intricate tables, guest lists, and color-coded names.
The mist behind them pulsed faintly.
“…It feels really—”
“Organized,” Mareth finished dryly as he moved towards the two women.
Aldric glanced again at the scroll.
“Welcome to fate and bureaucracy,” Mareth muttered over his shoulder.
The moment he reached the two oracles, his posture shifted. His usual ease vanished, replaced by something precise and controlled. He began speaking in a low, intricate demonic dialect. Syllables woven together in tonal patterns Aldric couldn’t even begin to unravel.
The air itself seemed to listen.
Aldric leaned closer to Seraphae and whispered,
“Why all the theatrics? The lists, the secrecy… all of it?”
She tilted her head toward him and lowered her voice.
“Oracles are rare. They see too much, which makes them politically dangerous. Very dangerous. They destabilize power structures simply by existing.”
Aldric glanced at her.
She continued quietly.
“Many demons would gladly slit our throats just to stand where we are. Knowledge of one’s fate, or even one’s true choices, is priceless. Especially for beings who can live for millennia.”
Her gaze drifted toward the mist-shrouded dome.
“That’s why the theatrics. Oracles only gather under strict fate circumstances. Access is protected by secrecy and powerful magic, hence the sigil on my brother’s arm. Without it we would never find this place.”
Aldric nodded slowly.
That explained the tension humming beneath his skin.
The mist-shrouded dome bled softly into the air, swallowing the wind, muffling distant voices, smothering every sound that should have carried across the summit.
Silence settled unnaturally.
Mareth finally stepped back.
The two oracles turned their attention to them.
At the same time.
Their heads tilted in perfect unison.
A chill run down Aldric’s spine.
The younger one, bright-eyed, energetic, smiled again and waved them closer.
“Come. Please collect your sigil bands.”
Aldric blinked.
“…I thought Mareth’s mark was enough to get us in.”
The oracle only smiled and stepped forward.
She stopped in front of Seraphae first.
With delicate precision, she traced a complex pattern in the air.
Light gathered.
Twisted.
Settled.
A golden sigil bloomed across Seraphae’s forearm, softly glowing, warm in tone, almost playful in its curves. It shimmered like living sunlight.
Seraphae blinked.
“…Oh. That’s cute.”
The oracle smiled faintly.
“Each visitor receives a band that reflects their true purpose.”
Then she turned to Aldric.
Her fingers hesitated.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then she moved.
The same careful motion.
The same pattern.
But this time—
The light died.
Darkness spread.
A sigil formed across Aldric’s forearm in shifting black script, letters folding into themselves, unraveling, reforming. It looked less like ink and more like living shadow. Pale mist seeping from its edges, swallowing light.
The air around it cooled.
Aldric stared.
So did the oracle.
Her lips trembled.
Her eyes widened before she could stop them.
He looked up at her.
“Is… everything alright?”
She nodded quickly.
Too quickly.
But the brightness did not return to he face.
She stepped back and gestured toward the veil.
“You may enter.”
No ceremony.
No smile.
Just urgency.
They moved forward.
The mist parted around them like reluctant water.
As they crossed through, Aldric quietly tugged his tunic lower, concealing his forearm.
At first, it felt like breathing in fog.
Humid air.
A faint ringing in his ears.
Silence pressing in from all sides.
Then—
They stepped into a vast, living sea of bodies and motion.
Hundreds of figures drifted through layered mist and fractured light. Most were demons, horned, winged, radiant, shadowed. Some wore elaborate, ceremonial robes. Others stood barefoot. A few hovered inches above the ground, as if gravity itself had grown uncertain in this place.
Here and there, Aldric spotted humans.
Branded.
Their sigils glowed faintly beneath fabric or skin, subtle but unmistakable.
The air hummed with low voices, half-wanted conversations, fragments of prophecy, laughter that sounded too sharp, too knowing.
It felt less like a gathering…
…and more like a crossroads of fate.
Mareth moved first into the crowd.
Immediately.
His shoulders squared, expression sharpening as he scanned the crowd with purpose. He slipped into the flow with practiced ease, speaking in low tones to passing attendants.
He knew this place.
Too well.
Seraphae noticed.
So did Aldric.
She leaned closer to him, tilting her head as if admiring a drifting constellation of runes spiraling along the columns that held up a false sky above them.
“…onyx skin. Cool blue eyes. Almost white hair,” Mareth murmured to a pale-robed oracle.
The oracle stiffened.
“…Why are you asking?”
“It’s personal.”
A pause.
Then, reluctantly, she nodded.
“Upper tier. Third ring.”
Mareth inclined his head in thanks and moved on, vanishing back into the crowd.
Seraphae’s gaze narrowed.
She glanced sideways at Aldric.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes. That was a very specific description,” Aldric murmured.
“And very secretive,” she added.
Her tail flicked once.
Sharp, uneasy.
“I don’t like it.”
Something was off.
They began approaching the oracles.
Carefully.
One by one.
Seraphae led the way at first, introducing Aldric politely, invoking formal phrasing, presenting him as a seeker under covenant protection.
It should have worked.
It always did.
The first oracle turned.
Met Aldric’s eyes.
Her gaze flickered downward to his forearm, half-hidden beneath his tunic, where a faint pallor of mist seemed to breathe through the fabric.
She went still.
Her breath caught.
Her pupils widened.
Then—
Without a word, she stepped back.
And disappeared into the crowd.
Aldric blinked.
“…Okay.”
The second one barely lasted a heartbeat.
She glanced at him.
Her expression shifted from curiosity…
…to shock.
…to fear.
She whispered something under her breath.
And fled.
The third didn’t even pretend.
The moment their gazes met, she recoiled as if burned, spun on her heel, and vanished behind a curtain of mist.
Whispers followed in their wake.
Soft.
Uneasy.
Aldric felt it like pressure against his ribs.
He lowered his voice.
“…Is that normal?”
Seraphae didn’t look at him.
“No,” she said flatly. “It’s not. I’ve never seen them react like that.”
“They almost look—”
“Scared,” she finished quietly. “Terrified.”
Aldric’s jaw tightened.
They moved on.
And tried again.
A fourth.
A fifth.
A sixth.
Each time—
Recognition.
Horror.
Retreat.
By the fifteenth, no one even waited to be addressed.
They saw Aldric coming.
And moved away.
A clear space began forming around him.
A widening circle of avoidance.
Seraphae slipped her hand into his.
“Hellfire,” she muttered under her breath. “There has to be at least one oracle in this damned place willing to speak to you.”
Aldric let out a slow, measured breath.
Mareth appeared beside them a moment later.
“Well? Any luck?”
Aldric shook his head.
“None. They won’t even speak to me.”
Mareth went very still.
His jaw tightened.
His gaze swept the crowd, tracking every oracle who hastily turned away, every figure that shifted course to avoid them.
“This shouldn’t be happening. They should be lining up to—”
He stopped.
His eyes fixed up on a distant figure in the crowd.
Something hard flickered across his face.
“…I need to deal with something.” A brief pause. “Keep trying. I’ll find you afterward.”
Then he was gone.