Nero was lying on the
floor. But the floor was wooden, and it was covered with torn-out pages from
countless books.
He was back in the library.
He looked around, and the room curved. It was a dream, like all the other
times.
However, the décor had changed. Instead of neat sequences of books arranged by
height and color on shelves, or stacks of manuscripts carefully placed to form
geometric structures, everything was scattered about.
It was as if a battle had taken place there. And yet, Nero felt no hostility.
No magic lingered in the air, not of any kind.
“How strange,” he thought. Every other time he had dreamed of this
place, he had felt an arcane, powerful, mysterious magic radiating from
everything around him. From the lecterns where books wrote themselves, to the
shelves where tomes seemed to pulse as if alive, everything had emanated a
special kind of magic. Wrathful. Ancient.
But that day, all was silent.
—Hello? —he said,
raising his voice as he stood up. The floor warped beneath him, but Nero had
good control over his own dreams—. Is anyone there?
—Silence, young one —said a voice. It was the same woman’s voice he had grown
used to hearing whenever he dreamed of that place—. There are ears everywhere.
—Who are you? —said Nero, trying to locate the source.
The woman appeared
before him. She seemed surprised at the state of the library, glancing around
in confusion. Nero studied her. Her face was young, yet she must have been
hundreds of years old. After a soft sigh, she turned her attention back to him.
—I am she who watches over time —said the woman, leaning toward Nero. Up close,
he realized she stood over two meters tall. Yet, surely because this was a
dream, his perception of her was that she was rather small—. I need not say my
name, Nero, for you already know it.
Nero met her gaze, and
woke up suddenly, in his bed.
—Scheherazade —he whispered.
-----
By two in the afternoon, Nero was wandering through the gardens of the Raven’s Order’s Academy, trying to put his thoughts in order. He had met the mistress of the library. Nero had no proof, but he knew she was the one meant to contact Flute.
But it wasn’t her she had contacted: it was him.
“Maybe Flute is right, and we really are the ones who…” Nero thought,
but quickly dismissed the idea. It was too much for them. There were far more
qualified people, professors, experienced warlocks, even Principal Valion
himself was a better candidate to defeat the villain Flute wanted them to face.
Without reaching any
conclusion, Nero arrived at the fountain in the center of the garden. There,
students from all years gathered to relax, eat, or practice magic duels, supposedly
without teacher supervision.
Sitting on a bench, surrounded by a group of girls, was Larinca. Nero pretended
not to see her and quickened his pace. Ever since their descent into the
catacombs, they hadn’t spoken. Nero didn’t dare ask who she had killed to avoid
killing him, though he suspected Larinca had ended her grandmother’s
life. The thought disturbed him so deeply that he couldn’t bring himself to
talk to her, not about that, not about anything. He had even begun to
question whether he could still call her his friend, since he neither dared nor
wanted to have any conversation with her at all.
Besides, he wasn’t the
only one avoiding the other. Larinca had been waking up extremely early each
day and leaving their room, only returning long after he had gone to bed.
But she stood up and followed him. With a few quick strides, she caught up and
cornered him against a tree.
—You’ve gotten fast —said Nero, unable to hide his surprise, or the fact that
he’d tried to leave her behind.
—I’ve… improved my physical abilities thanks to the pact, that’s true —said
Larinca, straightening her hair. It was tied up as always, and yet it somehow
looked twice as thick as usual. She stepped closer, and Nero began to notice
the sweet scent that emanated from her: the same smell that lingered around the
academy kitchens at any hour of the day—. Have you spoken with Siphone?
—With the class representative? No, not at all —said Nero, uneasy with his
friend standing so close.
—Then go find her. It’s a Warlock matter, so hurry —said Larinca. She stepped
aside and adjusted her uniform. She didn’t lift her head; her eyes never met
his.
—Do you know where she might be? —said Nero.
—Try the teachers’ room —said Larinca, softly.
Nero nodded. Both
stood there for a moment, waiting, perhaps for the other to make the first
move.
But nothing happened. Larinca nodded faintly, hands clasped before her, and
with a few small hops returned to the group of girls she’d been sitting with,
leaving Nero alone, heart pounding in his chest.
-----
A while later, Nero reached the door of the teachers’ room. He thought about knocking, but since the door was already open, he simply peeked inside.
Professor P’Zain was there, reading several documents at once. He was a
broad-shouldered man, with a heavy build. He wore golden-rimmed glasses, a
loose robe, and several necklaces hanging from his neck. A geometrically shaped
hat adorned his head, tilted to one side under the weight of numerous pendants
engraved with intricate runic inscriptions. Professor P’Zain was an expert in
observation magic, which allowed him to divide his attention as many times as
he wished: to see far beyond what anyone else could. Sometimes, he could even
see things that had not yet happened.
—Can I help you, young
man? —said Professor P’Zain, without looking up. Nero hadn’t made a sound and
hadn’t yet crossed the threshold.
—I’m looking for the representative… —Nero stopped. That title was no longer
correct—. No. I’m looking for the Warlock Siphone. Is she here?
Professor P’Zain
looked him up and down. The pendants on his hat jingled as they clinked
together. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his robe.
—Remarkable —said Professor P’Zain—. You have a great deal of potential, young
man.
—Me? Not at all —said Nero.
—Don’t be modest—especially not falsely so. I dislike those who lack sincerity.
Tell me, with which demon or demons have you forged your pact, boy? —said
Professor P’Zain.
Nero frowned. The
Professor tilted his head forward and peered at him over his golden spectacles.
His eyes shifted in hue, turning reddish for an instant.
—With the archdemon Barust, sir —Nero finally said.
—How interesting to see how little the youth of today know. You are unaware
that one may forge pacts with more than one demon, provided the first allows
it, as in your case —said Professor P’Zain.
—I… —Nero hesitated, but resigned himself to the obvious. The Professor was
famous for knowing things no one else could possibly know, so he swallowed his
embarrassment and spoke the truth—: Yes, that’s right.
—Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it. Sit down —said
Professor P’Zain. With a flick of his wrist, a chair slid across the room until
it stopped before his desk. Nero, looking uneasy, obeyed—. What do you know
about the first demons?
—Little, or rather, nothing —said Nero.
The man stood, shaking
the dust off his robes. He dragged his feet until he stood by the window, hands
clasped behind his back. He coughed, his body slightly hunched. Suddenly, Nero
thought he looked much smaller than before.
—At the dawn of time, demons were not as they are now. Some bore wings and flew
through the skies, yet they were considered angels, fallen ones, yes, dark
angels, with wicked hearts and malicious intent. In due time, of course, there
was rebellion. Many of those “demons” were destroyed, though the demonic
essence never truly vanishes; it merely transforms —said Professor P’Zain.
The man made a
theatrical gesture with one arm. A cloud of dust rose, covering the window and
half the room. But instead of settling, it hovered in the air, like a mist: solid
and impenetrable.
—Then, the True Goddess Velmar appeared. She split this dimension, Yomidgard,
in two. She trapped the demons and extracted their infernal essences, turning
them into what they are now: creatures of pure malice, driven only by the will
for absolute destruction. But she also divided the world itself, creating the
Sea of Blood, making it impossible to travel from Axbryn to Kathora. And now
you may ask: why am I telling you this? —said Professor P’Zain.
Nero nodded. It was
exactly the question he was about to ask.
—Because not all
demons succumbed to the Goddess Velmar. Some, the most powerful, managed to
reincarnate in new forms. These are what we call “archdemons.” But one, one
among them all, not only regained his form but stood against the Goddess
herself. His name is still feared: Varkuzhal, the Devourer of Gods —said
Professor P’Zain.
—I think… I think I’ve
heard that name before —said Nero. He felt a sudden itch in his mind—the same
sensation as when one has a word on the tip of the tongue but cannot recall or
pronounce it—. It’s… strange.
—Varkuzhal and Velmar fought for weeks. The place where their battle took place
was left utterly devastated. Hundreds of soldiers fought alongside the Goddess
Velmar, clashing against the horde of lesser demons that Varkuzhal unleashed
upon this land. It was a true massacre. Today, that place is known as the
Bloodfire Battlefield of Yomidgard: a land where nothing grows and the soil
remains forever scorched. It is also where Varkuzhal fell, struck down by the
holy light of the Goddess Velmar —said Professor P’Zain.
The dust that hung in
the air finally dispersed, letting the dim light filter through the window. The
man drew the curtains aside and opened a cabinet. From within, he produced a
demon’s skull, with four eye sockets and a serrated horn protruding from its
forehead.
—Is this Varkuzhal? —asked Nero, staring into the skull’s empty eyes.
—Varkuzhal was immense, boy. Ten times larger than this entire building. But he
could change his size at will. And the Goddess Velmar used that very power
against him: she severed his limbs and head, scattering them across Yomidgard,
for even with all her divinity, she could not destroy them. The demon’s head
now roams, trapped in the size it had when it was defeated, forever seeking to
reclaim its body —said Professor P’Zain.
—You still haven’t told me why you’re telling me all this, Professor —said
Nero.
The man turned toward
him, his expression unreadable. He began to shake his head, but stopped halfway
through the motion.
—Forces beyond understanding will soon recruit you for a fate greater than that
of any mortal, boy. And before you sign your third pact, he will find
you. It is inevitable —said Professor P’Zain.
Nero jumped from his
chair. It was another version of what Flute had told him, only far more direct,
and far more terrifying.
—I’m not making any more pacts with demons, nor getting involved in any
“destiny,” or whatever it is you think the future has in store for me —said
Nero, fists clenched.
—I wish I could believe you, young Nero. Ah, the person you were looking for
has arrived. Please, come in, miss! —said the Professor, returning to his desk.
Before Nero could reply, Siphone entered through the door. The Professor gestured toward him and then buried his face once again in his studies.
—Finally, I’ve found you. Get ready. We leave tonight —said Siphone. She looked
exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and a bandaged arm.
—What happened to you? —asked Nero.
Siphone didn’t answer.
She handed him a rolled parchment, sealed with wax. The seal bore the crest of
King Valgott himself. Nero took it carefully, realizing it was an official
summons. King Valgott could command the service of any warlock in Sylthmir without
prior notice, and that seemed to be exactly what he was doing.
—Open it. It’s your first mission. We depart tonight, you, Larinca, and I, by
order of His Infernal Majesty, bound for Ravidra, one of the forgotten cities.
Take everything you need for the journey and be ready. The mission won’t be
easy —said Siphone.
—What’s the mission? —asked Nero, breaking the seal. Indeed, the parchment
contained the same orders Siphone had spoken aloud, with one addition: the
mission’s true objective—. Ah. To retrieve a flower.
—Ambrosia —said Professor P’Zain from his desk—. The divine fruit. An
intriguing task, indeed.
—You know of it, Professor? —asked Siphone.
—Of course, child. Ambrosia is the only plant ever planted by the Goddess
Velmar herself. It allows any Velmardian to attune with the Goddess, elevating
their divinity to unprecedented heights. It should be extinct. If His Majesty
Valgott sends you to retrieve one, it is very likely the last that exists in
all of Yomidgard —said Professor P’Zain.
Nero read the
parchment again. There was a section Siphone hadn’t mentioned, one that spoke
of an enemy war party after the same objective, already ahead of them.
—Velmardians? —asked Nero.
But Siphone was no
longer there to answer. Along with the parchment, she had left him a document
detailing the rendezvous time and location, and every instruction needed to
fulfill his duty as a warlock.
Professor P’Zain waved
his hand, and a sudden gust of wind pushed Nero out of the room. The door
slammed shut in his face the moment he stepped outside, leaving him alone, with
his first official mission now begun.
-----
Nero arrived at the academy gates as night fell. This time, his luggage was much lighter: he had learned from his descent into the catacombs. He carried only what he considered essential, far less than the last time.
Larinca was already
there, standing beside Siphone. Both were waiting next to a demonic carriage, a
vehicle forged with the academy’s ancient magic, a blasphemous yet remarkably
useful blend of technology and sorcery. The carriage itself was a demon, and no
beast drew it. The entity inhabiting it was the one turning the wheels, acting
as its engine. Such carriages were exceedingly rare to see, for traveling
across Axbryn’s surface was akin to shouting for danger, and catastrophe, to
come find you.
—The carriage is
impressive —said Nero as he arrived, trying to break the ice.
—You took your time —said Siphone, indifferent to his attempt at conversation—.
Well, now that the four of us are here, we can finally depart.
—The four of us? —asked Nero.
—Professor Morgana, of course. She’s waiting inside the carriage —said Larinca,
taking a bite from an apple. She carried her enchanted paper bag again, filled
to the brim with whatever she pleased, its interior expanded by a spell while
its outward size remained unchanged.
Nero nodded and
stepped into the carriage. As he touched the doorframe, a sticky sensation
clung to his hand: he was entering the living interior of a demon. The walls
pulsed faintly, though the air didn’t reek of entrails as he had expected; it
smelled of old leather and cleaning products. The oppressive awareness of being
inside a living creature didn’t fade, but at least the atmosphere wasn’t so
different from a conventional horse-drawn carriage.
On one of the seats,
strapped by a belt to a cloth bag, sat Professor Morgana’s doll. Her presence
there meant she would accompany them in essence, not in body, just as she had
during the descent.
Makes sense, since we’re warlocks now. She doesn’t need to keep a close
watch on us anymore, thought Nero. It comforted him to know a professor
would still accompany them on their first mission, but it also made him feel
like a child still riding with training wheels.
—Come on, sit —said
Siphone, pushing him inside—. The Velmardians have a head start, but we’ll take
a shortcut through a place no one dares to tread. It’ll cut several days off
our journey.
—Through where? —asked Nero, a bit uneasy. He sat in the empty seat, hoping
Larinca would sit beside him, but she chose the seat across, leaving Siphone to
sit at his side.
—Are you afraid of demon stories? —said Siphone, raising an eyebrow.
—We’re literally inside one —said Nero, rolling his eyes.
—Then you won’t mind that we’re taking the shortcut through the Bloodfire
Battlefield of Yomidgard —said Siphone, knocking on the carriage ceiling. The
locks slid shut on their own, something roared outside, and the carriage lunged
forward at full speed, leaving the academy behind. Nero grimaced, and Siphone
smirked defiantly—: Any problem?
He shook his head. Still, he couldn’t ignore the tingling crawling up his arm.
The Bloodfire
Battlefield of Yomidgard: the place from Professor P’Zain’s story. The place
where Varkuzhal had fallen.
The professor’s premonition was beginning to take shape.
