There was something wrong, something hidden beneath her calm exterior. Ansel sensed a presence, a spirit lurking just beyond the surface, shadowing her every move.
He wished, more than anything, that fate would bring her back to the Vuloyi one day. When that moment came, Ansel vowed he would not let the opportunity slip away. He would uncover who she truly was and what secrets she carried.
"Ansel, what are you looking for?" Andrew asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"Sword." Ansel replied curtly, his eyes still distant.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "I don't sell swords."
"I know, that's why I asked you to make a sword." Ansel said quickly.
Andrew's expression shifted from amusement to disbelief. Without hesitation, he gently but firmly pushed Ansel toward the exit. "Find somewhere else, I can't make a sword."
"Come on, you can do it. After all, Grandpa asked me to." Ansel's determination didn't waver.
Andrew paused, caught off guard by the mention of Mr. McVeigh. He knew better than to refuse a request from the old man.
"What did Mr McVeigh want a sword for?" Andrew asked, curiosity now mingling with concern.
"Of course, for Exorcism. Grandpa wants you to do it." Ansel answered without hesitation.
The word hung heavy in the air. Exorcism was no trivial matter. It was a dangerous, sacred task that required skill, courage, and precision.
He knew that crafting such a weapon was more than just forging metal; it was about creating a tool imbued with purpose and protection against forces unseen.
Ansel could not understand, Grandpa's request became a very heavy burden, and it was far beyond his ability. Moreover, it was used for very sacred things and, of course, used special materials and shapes.
Ansel looked at Andrew, his gaze steady and resolute, with a determined look in his eyes. "I'm sure you can do it. Grandpa also really believes you can do it."
Andrew sighed, running a hand through his hair, a mixture of doubt and frustration flickering across his face. "I also know I can do it. But I doubt if Mr. McVeigh disappointed with the sword that I made. It will definitely look bad in his eyes. It embarrasses me."
Ansel smiled reassuringly, refusing to let Andrew's doubts take hold. "Don't worry, no matter how ugly it is and as bad the result is, I will force Grandpa to accept it."
Andrew reflexively pushed Ansel's shoulder, half in jest, half in exasperation. "Why don't you do it by yourself?"
Ansel laughed, shaking his head. "Hey, I'm just kidding. Just make a sword, please..."
"Okay, I'll make a sword. But what sword does your Grandpa want?" Andrew's expression softened, and he nodded slowly.
"Crystal, coated sword." Ansel replied without hesitation.
Andrew's eyes widened slightly. "But with all my ability, it takes a long time."
Ansel walked towards Andrew's back and patted his shoulder. "Just relax, no need to rush. We'll be waiting for you."
Andrew hesitated for a moment before asking. "What about the crystal?"
"About that, Lorena is looking for it." Ansel hoped silently that she wouldn't encounter any trouble in acquiring the rare crystal needed for the sword.
****
Ansel had told Grandpa that he wanted to stay at Andrew's place for a night. Ansel did it because he just wanted to laze for a moment. For now, he allowed himself this brief moment of respite.
Because after that he would spend a lot of harder days. He wasn't sure if he had enough time for him to just relax.
Ansel was sprawled on the couch, surrounded by the comforting clutter of Andrew's comic collection.
Yet, despite his focus on the comics, the television remained on, casting flickering light across the room. He paid no attention to the images or sounds coming from the screen; the program could have been anything, and it wouldn't have mattered to him.
To anyone else, leaving the television on while reading might seem like a waste of electricity, but for Ansel, it was a small comfort.
Just then, Andrew entered the room carrying a steaming cup of coffee. "Here is your coffee."
"Thank you." Ansel replied, his eyes still scanning the comic pages.
"Would you like to watch a movie?" Andrew settled into the armchair nearby, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Ansel looked up briefly, considering the offer. "Well what about the movie 'The Unholy'?"
Andrew choked on his own breath, surprised but not entirely shocked. "Again? Aren't you bored? You've watched it almost hundreds of times?"
"I don't know. I don't understand myself either. I just don't have any idea about what the movie is supposed to watch." Ansel shrugged, a faint smile on his lips.
Andrew studied him for a moment, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. He said softly. "It looks like you really want to be a true exorcist like Hansel."
Ansel's gaze returned to the comic in his hands, his voice quiet but resolute. "Perhaps this has indeed become my destiny. It is just a family legacy."
Andrew reached over and took the comic from Ansel's hands, flipping through the pages with interest. "Hey…What are you reading?"
"Conan." Ansel replied, reaching for another comic from the pile.
He admitted that Andrew's comic collection was completed. He became the one who often borrowed it.
Before they could continue their conversation, the doorbell rang sharply, cutting through the quiet room. Without even looking, they both knew who it was.
"The pizza has arrived." Andrew announced with a grin.
"Go get it," Ansel said casually.
Andrew hesitated, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't you just take it?"
Ansel smiled faintly, his tone light but sincere. "This is your home. You're the host, and I'm just a guest."
Andrew laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood to answer the door. The simple exchange was a small moment of normalcy amidst the uncertainty that surrounded them both.
***
At 8:00 a.m., Ansel's phone rang sharply, cutting through the heavy haze that clouded his mind. He groaned softly as he opened his eyes, feeling the dull throb of a headache pulsing behind his temples.
His head still felt dizzy, a lingering consequence of last night's excess, or perhaps the unforgiving hardness of the floor where he had fallen asleep.
Across the room, Andrew was still asleep on the couch, the television screen casting a faint, flickering glow in the dim morning light.
Ansel's gaze swept the room, taking in the aftermath of last night's mess. Empty beer bottles lay scattered in careless disarray, some toppled on the floor, others precariously balanced on tables and sofas.
The pizza box, half-opened and forgotten, sat abandoned on the coffee table, a silent testament to their late-night indulgence.
Then, with a reluctant hand, he picked up the phone that had just stopped ringing. Mr McVeigh called him "Grandpa..."
He was very surprised and curious why Mr McVeigh called him so early. Not a single thing crossed his mind about the thing that made Mr McVeigh call him.
"Hello, Grandpa!!!" Ansel answered, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fog clouding his senses.
"Go home right now! He has come." Mr. McVeigh's voice was firm, urgent, and carried a weight that sent a chill down Ansel's spine.
Though Ansel had known deep down that this day would come, the reality of it was far beyond anything he had expected. Apparently, he wasn't ready, not even close, to face what was coming.
"Okay, I will be home soon." Ansel replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Yesterday, he had been lazy, indifferent, trying to escape the looming responsibilities. But now, the desire to run away and hide had vanished, replaced by a stark realization: there was nowhere to escape.
A deep sense of responsibility settled over him, heavier than ever before. It was a burden far beyond his current abilities, a challenge that threatened to overwhelm him completely.
Doubt gnawed at his resolve. Could he survive what lay ahead? Or would he falter and bring ruin upon everything he cared about?
One thing was certain: the time to begin had come. No matter how hard it would be, no matter how exhausted he felt, he had to face it head-on. There was no room for hesitation or despair.
He had already endured the hardest trials life could throw at him. That was enough to know there was no place left to run, no refuge far enough to hide from his fate.