The boy's eerie questions and demeanor put me on edge the longer I looked at him. My gaze then shifted to the female servant, who remained smiling as she gazed at the boy with a placid expression. Shortly after, her grip around his hand tightened.
"Did you tell Mr. Isaac here your name?"
"Bertram." The boy replied in his monotone voice.
"Good job, Bertram." The female servant addressed him like an owner would address a small animal.
The room grew quiet as the boy nodded, his gaze unblinking as he continued to look at me.
"Does he...always ask those weird questions?" I whispered, looking up at the female servant.
She nodded her head. "Bertram's one with a vivid imagination. It's almost like he can see ghosts and spirits!"
"Heh, maybe he can." I chuckled self deprecatingly as I took a step back, my gaze continually fixed on Bertram, who had now fallen silent.
"How about you give Isaac here a little tour."
The boy nodded without saying a word, loosening himself from the servant's grip and turning out of the room. He didn't look back at me, his hands remained clasped behind his back as if they had rusted beyond movement capabilities.
"Allow me to show you the rooms of this house. My brothers will be back in twenty-two minutes and forty-five seconds."
"Huh?" I felt my stomach wiggle a tiny amount at the preciseness of the boy's statement. I'd heard of some scarily accurate people back in my home reality, but this extent bordered on terrifying.
"There's nothing wrong with preciseness, Isaac. Everyone must be precise if we are to remain in harmony."
We entered what seemed to be the main dining hall, the pajama-clad boy looking back at me once more.
"Here is where me, my siblings and my mother eat dinner."
In the room was a long mahogany table with five chairs. One chair was on either end and the other three were arranged on one side. On the other side of the table was a large cabinet filled with jewels and other riches.
"They're five chairs, but only four people who eat here. Why?" I asked, feeling puzzled by this sight.
"Mother insists Henry eats here too." Bertram pointed to the chair on the far end of the table. The chair was excessively polished and lacked any dust, in front of the table was an empty plate, some culinary items, and a napkin.
"Who's...Henry? Is he some imaginary friend?"
Judging from the way Bertram had been acting and abiding by the description that Madame Fitzgerald supplied of his behavior, someone like him having an imaginary friend wasn't out of the ordinary. I myself could sympathize. I've had imaginary friends up until about a year ago, though I can't recall any of their names or appearances in my head.
"No, he's our father." The boy replied indifferently.
I recalled the many paintings I had seen walking down the hallway to the room where I and Madame Fitzgerold discussed the job. I had seen photos of Raymond, Wilfred, and Bertram, but none of any men.
"May I ask... Why don't you have any paintings of him?" I cocked my head slightly.
Bertram fell silent for a moment. "Because Mother forgot about him."
I remembered how the woman had called me Zachary earlier, and that aligned with what he had said regarding memory problems. But wouldn't she have questioned the presence of an extra chair and had it removed?
"I assume she suffers from memory issues?"
I once again could relate.
Bertram nodded once more. "Yes. She suffers from dementia, though the magnitude of the issue isn't on the grandeur of medical intervention. Diseases that would require such treatment include scarlet fever, tuberculosis, and cholera. Although many would say they're under control at the moment, for the period between an outbreak and the current day is far beyond my lifetime."
This boy's speech is akin to a damn science paper!
"Ok..."
I fell silent, continually gazing at the empty chair before returning my gaze to Bertram. The boy remained silent for a second before he pressed forward. He stepped out of the dining area and proceeded down another hallway. We were greeted by a door at the end of it, one with a large padlock on the handle.
"What's in there?" I asked, leaning beside Bertram and peering at the lock.
"That's Wilfred's room."
I looked towards the eerily calm boy, feeling my blood rush cold. "Why would his room need such a lock?"
Bertram gazed back at the door and parted his lips. "He screams and cries at night; he claws at the door and hollers for mercy. I installed the lock so we wouldn't hear such things at night. It disturbs my slumber."
"Shouldn't that worry you, or your mother?" My voice raised slightly as I wrapped my hand around the padlock, tugging at the metal object in an attempt to loosen it from the door. I froze when I felt Bertram's hand sharply ensnare my wrist, his neatly trimmed fingernails digging into my skin to the extent of drawing blood.
"I put it there for safety, not for outsiders to meddle with." He said firmly, his usually nondiscriminatory eyes flickering with a small, inscrutable pang of defensiveness. I felt his grip around my wrist tightening even more. A surge of panic coursed through my body as I began to gently tug at my wrist.
"Let go." I said softly, not wanting to rouse the boy.
Bertram remained silent, his gaze focused on my wrist with an indifferent, almost monolith-like expression. His hands were frigid like icy water, and his gaze seemed to contain the heat of the sun. The panic in my body manifested in the form of a cold sweat that slowly trickled down my forehead and back. My tugging slowly grew more incessant as I let out a low whimper.
"Stay calm, Isaac. I ensure you won't suffer."
Just then, the sigil on my forehead ignited in fiery crimson and black flames. I watched in shock as a pair of illusory, crimson horns manifested on my head, emitting a radiant, terrifying light and aura. For a split second, Bertram's eyes glazed over with fear, and his grip instantly loosened around my wrist. The boy stumbled back and pressed his body against the wall with what seemed like enough force to break it.
As soon as they emerged, the fiery crimson horns on my head receded into my head, and the sigil stopped its burning. As the light faded, Bertram's eyes returned to their indifferent demeanor and he silently gazed at my head.
"I apologize for my transgression." He said calmly.
Even after everything had initially returned to normal in a matter of moments, the sheer shock of what had just happened was still palpable in the air.
"What the fuck was that?" I whispered to The Umbridge.
"Your spirit body slightly awakening inside yourself, permeating your physical body for a split second."
Hearing that, I felt my stomach twist. The last mention of a spirit body was when I observed the horned and winged figure murdering my father. If what The Umbridge states was true—and my spirit body awakened for a split second, would that enable me to succumb to violent tendencies in such a state?
"Is that...also a side-effect of stress?" I asked, my breath returning to normal as the cold sweat I found myself in gradually dissipated. The surrounding air gradually warmed once more.
"Yes, also of potion digestion. Though, it's unusual."
"Unusual?" I felt the knot in my stomach only coil tighter.
"I'll explain a little later." The Umbridge then fell silent.
I observed Bertram for a few more seconds, noticing the boy had calmly adjusted his loose pajamas and stepped back, his gaze continually fixed on me as if nothing had occurred. He parted his lips and spoke in an unurgent tone.
"It's time for my bath."
...
The boy had been escorted upstairs by a servant or two and nestled into the bathroom. I, on the other hand, had been left downstairs to entertain myself with anything available. One of the servants had shown me to a common room lined with numerous bookshelves, game tables, and other accommodations.
In my world, this was akin to an arcade.
"Raymond's collection is in the right corner; it's prohibited to anyone outside of him." The servant callously said as he stepped out of the room. My gaze shifted to the right corner of the room, catching sight on its peculiarity in contrast with the rest of the environment.
The bookshelf was a darker-colored wood than the rest of the bookshelves, and what stood out the most was a life-sized skeleton standing within a glass case. Below the glass case was a metal sign in a language I couldn't decipher. It most likely corresponded to the identity of the skeleton or the year it was found.
Judging by the technological advancements I had seen in the short period I had been here, I wouldn't be surprised if DNA technology, mixed in with mystical abilities, were the norm in identity deciphering. After all, the strange cloaked figure in the tent stated there were fifteen pathways available. Or at least fourteen considering what I had heard about the uniqueness of the Apocalypse pathway.
I stepped back from the collection labeled as off limits and fixed my gaze on the other items scattered across the room, including the other bookshelves and countless volumes. Most of the books near the fireplace were fiction, which seemed oddly satisfying considering the highest of tales needed the most ample light.
On the other side of the fireplace were the non-fiction books, mostly books explaining the history and monetary system of the Prosperous Continent. As my hands slowly traced the smooth bookshelf, one of the books caught my eye.
The book was labeled "History of Our World."
Feeling a pang of intrigue, I snatched the book and sat down in one of the armchairs adjacent to the fireplace. I turned my head and turned on the kerosene-powered lamp and adjusted it to my liking: not too bright, but not too dim. I then turned the page.
Apparently the Prosperous Kingdom wasn't always that prosperous as it was initially labeled. In each of the four cardinal directions were powerful empires. The Katshin Empire, the Indun Empire, the Adligon Clans, and Seraphis Kingdom. The Katshin Empire, at one point in time, was ruled by someone the books could only describe as "powerful and tyrannical," while the rest of the nations were governed in a more peaceful fashion.
Seraphis Kingdom was the agricultural backbone, the Katshin Empire was the main industrial supplier, while the rest of them supplied the weapons and monetary power. Overall, the book explicated the feeling that all the empires supported each other. Without one, the rest would crumble like dust.
I was suddenly roused from my book when I heard a voice call out to me. I immediately looked up and caught sight of this figure. He had slick, black hair, a pair of rounded glasses, and a black tunic with purple trim around the collar. He leaned against the doorframe, his emerald eyes flickering with curiosity, yet his face was reminiscent of a scowl.
"You got the job? Aren't you a bit...juvinile?" The boy asked, his voice possessing a slight regal accent.
"Strange, your mother asked me the same thing." I lifted myself to my feet, tucking the book back into the shelf and turning back to the boy. After a moment of recollection from the photos, I surmised this was Raymond. The boy stood about five foot eight.
"Well, I've always believed that offspring are like their parents, down to the most inscrutable assets."
The boy walked over to the right corner of the room, placing his palm on the glass case containing the skeleton within it. "Did you obey the servants directions?"
"Nothing looks ajar, you should have guessed it the moment you walked in here." I cleared my throat, my lips curling into a small smile.
He looked back, pushing his glasses up the frame of his nose and smiling. "Quite the temperament, don't we?"