Grey Matters
Chapter Sixteen
Orán
I continue to shield my presence as I follow the woman with the stallion that’s not entirely of this world.
I don’t know who she is, but the essence drifting from her is… different. More than human. Less than ethereal. Something altogether other.
If I’m not mistaken, the horse belongs to Mardoch—a hybrid creation. I suspect it can sense me… and my mount, Nexzursus. Or Nexus, as I call him. He unsettles most creatures, and Mardoch’s offspring is no exception.
It tosses its head and quickens its pace whenever I draw near. The woman, however, gives no sign she’s aware of us.
Still, I can’t be certain. At times, she will stop abruptly and look around, dark colors instantly filling her aura as if a sudden bout of anxiety overcomes her. However, she never looks my way, and soon after, it dissipates.
One thing above all is clear.
She is nothing like the demons I’ve encountered on my journey across this ruined world—the creatures who have clawed their way up from the depths of hell, crossed over through the fissures in the earth, and are slaughtering defenseless humans they come in contact with.
She is neither beast nor man.
But something else entirely.
Something I never encountered—on this plane or any other.
Like me, her true color is blotted out with divine essence.
How… I do not yet know.
Her identity is a mystery. Her face is half-shielded by a silver mask, and the cloak she wears hides her well, with the added benefit of protecting her from the endless ashfall.
I first saw her days ago, emerging from a hidden door set into the forest floor. I had paused along a mountainside, drawing life from the ridge to return it to whence it came, when the faint groan of metal carried through the trees.
The door had been invisible to the naked eye until it opened, and she climbed out, carrying a large pack.
I lingered, expecting others to follow.
But no one did.
She is alone. And based on the armor she wears and the finely crafted twin swords crossed over her back—hilts rising just above her shoulders—she believes herself capable of defending herself.
However, that’s not the only thing that gave me pause.
The nature of her aura did. The flexes of color, the iridescence, and the way it blends and swirls with colors now absent from this world compelled me to learn more about her.
For the past two hours, I’ve watched her track small game through the forest. Her skill and stealth are absolute and something most humans aren’t capable of. Two pelts now hang from her belt, and fresh meat has been cleaned and packed away with practiced efficiency.
Not twenty feet from me, she lets out a sharp, deliberate bird call, and moments later, I hear the quick rhythm of approaching hooves.
The stallion, trained well enough to come at her summons, appears.
She reaches for him with practiced ease, catching the reins, and deposits her game in the side satchel before swinging up into the saddle in one fluid motion. She directs him south.
I follow.
Keeping my distance, but I match her pace.
My purpose had been to come here and test those remaining.
To displace them. To fracture what little stability they’ve managed to rebuild and carve the world into pockets of survival by creating scarcity, desperation, and discord.
My task is to return some of God’s essence in his creations on this plane back to him.
If, of course, the scale at the end of the days weighs in his favor, God can then use that power and remake this world anew, or transfer it to another.
Up until I came across the demons now roaming this plane, I had no reason to doubt all would go as planned.
But their presence here does not bode well for Heaven, nor for my brothers and me.
They are not a part of the agreement, and I am not sure whether my brothers are aware of the perils humanity now faces or that our mission has this added complication.
Thirty-one days ago, I was hunted by a pack of them, no more than five, and I barely survived. I spent the better part of my days healing and then backtracking their path to find out where they came from and what damage they wrought since their arrival.
Three smaller settlements lie in total ruin. Eight survivors. Ninety-three dead. Left behind were distinct markings no earthly creature could have caused, along with the lingering scent of brimstone.
Eventually, I discovered their origins. Large holes that were created, I imagine, from the many earthquakes that have shifted the foundation of this world.
Gaps wide and deep enough to split apart the earth’s thick core.
Hell’s inhabitants must have taken advantage and slipped through the gates somehow.
Whether by design or simply seeking an escape is another mystery to be solved.
It makes no difference either way. The point remains—they are slaughtering souls and eliminating some of the hope that Heaven has for the scale to sway in our favor.
More than ever, God needs the power this plane holds. Because that same power can be molded to do anything he wishes. Imbue his angels with extra might. Blight out the demons ravaging the world. Or place it within Heaven’s Gate so Lucifer and his army cannot breach them a third time.
A niggling, disquieting sense tells me all of this is connected.
That higher plane that only I can tap into.
It doesn’t speak in words or whispers but in feeling, and it probes me onward after this woman and down this path of discovery.
I feel her emotions more strongly than any other being I’ve come across.
Her aura is far brighter than any mortal’s should be.
She is neither a fallen nor an angel, yet here she is.
Her soul gives off a glow nearly as bright as mine, if a bit muted, and it reveals her to be much more than she seems.
This is what drives me to become her shadow. Her silent protector.
The days begin to blend into one another, marked only by a few things of note.
Mainly, that my new female companion appears quite at home in the wilderness. She navigates the treacherous landscape effortlessly and seems to have prior knowledge of the paths she takes. Rarely does she draw out a map or use a compass to guide her way.
It’s far from the first oddity.
She also likes to hide away from time to time, disappearing into camouflaged hollows in the ground, only to reappear days later.
Her days are mostly spent above ground, and she’s never more active than under the sun—hunting, fishing, or crossing countless miles of terrain on foot or on horseback.
Her aim often seems to be to visit the settlements scattered throughout the countryside, but more often than not, once there, she chooses to linger at the edge, observing from afar rather than entering.
And I watch her while she watches them, attempting to ascertain what her true motives may be.
Some nights, when I can sense she’s fallen asleep, I chance getting closer. Close enough to get a better look at her. Not where she might sense my presence, but just enough to stand guard and occasionally catch sight of the steady rhythm of her breaths as I scan our surroundings for predators.
In the early hours of the morning, she reads. She keeps a collection of books with her, tucked away inside the saddlebags on her stallion.
She also builds fires with ease. Hunts with precision. And when the quiet stretches too long, she practices—twin blades flashing in controlled arcs as she moves through imagined battles, facing enemies only she can see.
In truth, I am enamored with her.
The realization comes on slowly, settling in after nearly a month of trailing her. Though she doesn’t know it, I am her silent companion as well. Saving her from dangers she will never be aware of.
My moods begin to rise and fall with hers, and I spend a great deal of time studying the shifts—searching for causes, for patterns—what stirs her from calm to unrest. From quiet contentment to anxiety-ridden.
I determine only that she is a complex riddle I have no chance of solving from afar, and these feelings grow as we head into a warmer climate.
Because the change begins then.
She changes.
The cloak is discarded, and awe and wonder grasp hold of me. I’m so distracted by the sight of her at first that I miss the nuances of change and write them off as nothing more than her having spent too long under the hot rays of the sun.
Because akin to the constellations of stars that have long held my attention—distant, unreachable, impossible to fully comprehend—so too is she.
Beautiful in a way that could stop a mortal man’s heart and snatch breath from their lungs.
Not only does her skin take on the hues of summer, but her lips flush with pink, and her hair—once an ashen white, a few shades lighter than my dulcet grey—darkens into a richer chestnut brown.
Her freckles remain, but soften, becoming less stark, more natural, as though they belong to this version of her.
In truth, she transforms from a creature who could blend with the backdrop of winter to one at home among the alluring tones of autumn.
Even the way she carries herself shifts.
The lightness in her eyes drains out. And though I loved her alabaster skin and the cinnamon dots covering her opal cheeks, the sight of her in full bloom somehow shakes the foundations of my soul, confined as it is behind this facade of flesh and bone.
Somewhat concerning, though, is that it appears as if this change pains her in some way.
Her stealth and grace vanish overnight. Her once graceful movements become slow, stilted, and encumbered.
It’s as if the magic she once held recedes without notice.
Which leaves me fascinated, full of worry, and perplexed.
What is happening to her? Is she even aware of it? How is this possible? Who in the bloody hell is she—and what part does she play in what’s to come, if any?
I can’t get the answers to these great mysteries from watching her. I’ve tried and failed. Yet drawing closer risks exposing myself, and with it, my ability to remain her silent watcher.
And so, all at once, I realize the choice before me.
I can remain as I am, driven near mad with curiosity, and falling for a woman who has no idea of my existence…
Or I can let down my shield, step out of the shadows, and work to get the answers I seek from her pert and delicious mouth.
She will likely not take kindly to my presence. But the longer she roams this world alone—especially in this weakened state—the greater the risk. Eventually, her luck will run out, and if I can barely hold my own against a pack of demons, she has no hope of doing so.
Having pondered on this problem long enough already, I make plans to approach her and offer my aid, so I might earn her trust…while concealing the truth of what I am.
My subconscious warns me I will pay for such duplicity in time. But I see no other path forward.