Clothes were folded and shoved into bags.
With heavy breaths,
She slid the glasses off my face, set them back, tilted, adjusted again. Her fingers shook against my cheek as if the frames were the problem.
"You'll hate me for this," she said.
I tried to laugh, but the sound wouldn't come.
"For what?"
She took a deep breath which just made me more uneasy.
Identify transfer , possession. I know you used to take your father's book, the ones he told you not to.
"Mum, what are you saying?"
"Listen to me, Aiden… all of that knowledge—you will need it."
Her eyes never once found mine. She moved her hands gently across my eyelids.
I could barely keep them open. The room tilted, fading in and out like I was underwater.
Her hand brushed my cheek—gentle, almost absentminded. The warmth of it sank into me, heavy as lead. My eyelids drooped. It felt like her touch was pulling me under, deeper, deeper—until the world turned slow and distant.
When I tried to speak, my tongue wouldn't move.
She laid me down—carefully, lovingly—my head resting on her lap. I was still conscious, barely, but my body refused to listen. Through the faint light slipping between my lashes, I saw her drawing something on the floor. Symbols. Circles. Lines glowing faintly red, crawling outward until they surrounded me.
"It will come back in parts," she said. "You're smart… so I know you'll survive."
I wanted to answer—ask what would come back—but the darkness pressed harder.
Then, for the first time, she looked directly at me.
She leaned close… too close.
Her breath trembled over my skin.
And then—her hand flashed.
Steel glinted.
Pain exploded.
The blade sank into my throat.
I choked, a wet sound ripping out of me as blood bubbled up, hot and metallic. My hand flew to my neck, useless, slipping against the warmth pouring out.
Her voice broke into a frantic, shaking chant:
"Accipe hanc carnem… et pone in aliam…"
Her words throbbed through the symbols on the floor. The red light flared—bright, violent—blinding me as the blood filled my mouth and the world snapped shut.
When I opened my eyes again, it felt like I was being dragged out of a nightmare by the throat.
Air tore into my lungs in one brutal gulp.
Then the smell hit me.
Rot.
Blood.
Iron.
I screamed—raw, animal—because the pain in my neck detonated all over again. My fingers clawed at it instinctively, expecting to feel the blade still there. Instead, I felt only slick skin, sticky and unfamiliar.
I jerked upward and slipped—my hands landing on something cold and soft.
Bodies.
I was lying on a pile of bodies.
Cold.
Pale.
Slick with death.
I saw symbols carved into the ground all around briefly before they vanished it was the same kind my mother had drawn.
Then I looked down—and froze.
My stomach bulged slightly, round like a small pot. A strange mark was burned into my skin. A name—my name—but I didn't recognize it.
And next to me, in the red mess, was… a duck. Tiny. Still. Its feathers matted with blood.
My throat locked up. I wanted to cry, to scream, to remember anything—but all I could do was move.
Somewhere nearby, a voice gasped.
"Sister Bola! One of them is alive!"
Footsteps. Two women came into view. One was tall, her eyes hard and tired; the other smaller, her hair tangled but her face almost kind.
Fear surged through me like a jolt of lightning. I didn't think—I just ran.
Branches clawed at my face, the earth slanted beneath me, wet and uneven, but I kept going. The trees blurred into streaks of black and rust, their shapes folding over one another, and still I ran. My breath came in ragged bursts, my heart thundering so loud it drowned the sound of the forest.
Then, as I stumbled through the undergrowth, pieces of memory began to bleed through the panic.
A name. Mine. Rin.
The way they had dragged me out from the corner of the house, shouting, saying "He's one of them!"
Faces half-lit by oil lamps.
Hands clutching silver coins.
I had been living with them—people who once called me child, who shared their food and warmth. But when the marks appeared, when the first spark of power trembled through my veins, everything changed.
They sold me.
The memory burned behind my eyes—an old man counting coins, a woman refusing to look at me, the temple's black wagon waiting outside.
After that, everything blurred. Prayers, corridors, a circle of chanting. Then darkness.
My lungs ached. I could taste iron. The forest stretched endlessly before me—same trees, same fog, same stench of blood hiding in the leaves.
I thought I saw an opening ahead, a patch of pale light. I threw myself toward it, desperate.
But when I broke through, gasping—there she was.
The same woman. Sister Bola. Standing before me as if she'd been waiting the entire time.
I crashed straight into her legs.
Bola's frown deepened. She turned on the other woman.
"Miriam," she hissed, "how did you mess up the spell? I told you everything had to line up perfectly! If she finds out—"
She stopped, then raised her hand. A glowing mark formed in the air, and an arrow of fire appeared between her fingers.
Her other hand shifted into a killing stance.
"Wait—please! I didn't—
Miriam stepped forward slowly, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flickered with pale blue veins of light, tracing down her temple like living cracks. I froze.
She raised her hand—not to strike—but to touch the center of my forehead. Her fingers were cold, the chill biting straight through my skin.
"Sleep," she whispered.
It wasn't just a word. It moved through me, heavy and soft, a current flowing under my thoughts. For a heartbeat, I felt myself slipping—like pages being torn from a book. Memories peeled back one after another: the blood, the faces, even my own name—
No.
Something deep inside pushed back. A spark, faint but stubborn, flared behind my eyes. I didn't know how I did it, only that I held on. Clutching at myself. I let the outer layers fade, loosening everything but the core.
My mind blurred, but I pretended it was gone. My eyes glazed over; my mouth went slack.
Miriam stepped back, studying me. "It's done," she said.
Bola didn't look convinced. She circled me once, her hand hovering over the air, sensing for traces. The silence dragged until even the wind seemed to wait.
Then, finally, she gave a short nod.
"Good. If he remembers anything… we'll finish it tomorrow."