I had no idea how these people knew my name, but a cold certainty whispered in my soul that I was in mortal peril. The tavern was vast, its air thick with the presence of over fifty souls, all watching me as if I were a stray doe caught in a trap.
Orosagi dragged me through the crowd, carving a path toward a specific point until we stood upon a raised wooden dais—a platform elevated above the rest, stripped of wine and tables. He looked out at the throng and declared in a booming, resonant voice:
"This is your new witch... the bearer of the Miracle!"
A miracle? What miracle was he speaking of, and what sorcery was he pinning on me? I wrenched my arm from his grip and glared at him with a mixture of bewilderment and rage. "What witch are you talking about? I told you, I am not one! Just take me back to my mother!"
I felt like a lost pup whimpering for its mother's embrace. She was the only one left who shared my blood. Who else could I turn to? Caster? Stacker? They were nothing to me; they were part of the curse I had fallen into. My mother was my only reality.
"When will he return?" one of the girls shouted from atop a table, her face flushed with a manic joy as she stared at Orosagi.
Who was returning? The realization froze my blood, but the answer didn't wait long. He was already here.
The doors swung open with an air of absolute authority, and Joseph stepped inside. His stride was confident, his gaze saturated with that familiar, lethal arrogance—a look that seemed permanently etched into his features, as if the world existed solely for his amusement.
My body went numb. He was haunting me even here, or perhaps this was where he truly belonged. I was terrified he would begin a massacre; I still didn't know what had become of the ballroom back at the manor. I was about to scream for them to run, but what I saw next silenced me.
The girls erupted in frantic cheers, while the elders bowed their heads in profound reverence. The hall shook with the chant: "Welcome back... welcome back lord!"
He ascended the dais and stood beside me, his presence looming. He raked his eyes over me from head to toe, muttering under his breath with palpable disgust, "God... you are filthy and reeking of sweat."
Then, he turned his icy gaze back to the crowd. "I expected a celebration greater than a gathering in a foul tavern like this, which reeks of excrement."
He loathed them openly. He spoke with the dominance of a sovereign, his arrogance filling the room like a physical weight. One of the elders stepped forward, trembling with age, his voice a frail thread of respect and justification. "Had we known of your return sooner, my Lord, we would have held a grand celebration throughout the entire city... but Master Orosagi only informed us minutes ago."
"I have returned... but the question is, who brought me back?" He raised a long finger and pointed it directly at me, his voice carrying a chilling weight.
"I never made an announcement for any sorcerer among you when I first brought them here... but this one... she is someone you all need to know."
I realized in that bitter moment that I had become the "event"—the one who pulled him from the ashes, and the one whose name would herald his return like a sacrificial offering or a forbidden miracle.
From the throng, an elderly man emerged, a figure of pure dread. Half of his face was a tapestry of burn scars, and he wore heavy garments that failed to hide a severely hunched back. He walked with a jagged, limping gait as if carrying the weight of centuries. He reached beneath his cloak, producing a weathered ledger, and began to write feverishly the moment Joseph spoke.
"The last thing I expected was to be resurrected by a teenage girl—a common girl who puts our entire world to the test," Joseph said, his voice laced with venom. "Though the method was specific, it is not the way of the powerful to accept aid from the weak. Yet, that does not change the fact that you are all indebted to her. You are but dregs who didn't dare try for the one who gave you peace in this hole. Therefore, from this day forth, remember well who Diana is and her place here. She is no mere fledgling witch to be raised among you... she is the one who ignited the flames of war by bringing me back."
Ignited a war? The words shattered my soul. Had I revived a leader of a nation, or awakened a beast that would tear existence apart? I couldn't tell if their stares meant hatred for the doom I brought, or loyalty for the king I returned.
The strange old man continued to scribe with hysterical speed. His movements were nauseating to witness; he seemed afflicted by a severe form of Tourette's syndrome, his limbs jerking involuntarily while his tongue flicked out excessively as if in a state of primal hunger or manic panic.
His hands trembled violently around the quill. The second Joseph finished, the man stopped writing, tucked the book beneath his cloak, and vanished back into the crowd with an eerie, silent obedience.
"I want to go home... I want my mother! I am not one of you! Let me go!" I collapsed into a scream, wrestling against Orosagi's iron grip, which felt as though it might snap my shoulder.
But silence was their only response. Not a single grain of pity could be found in their eyes; their gazes were fixed on me with a cold, clinical curiosity, as if I were a microscopic specimen under observation.
I turned to find Joseph, but he was gone. He had vanished in the blink of an eye without a trace. Was this another of his demonic abilities? I felt as though I were trapped in a fever dream or a descent into madness; what I was seeing defied reason, as if I had fallen into one of my own dark fantasies or a twisted, endless series.
The tavern erupted into whispers. They muttered to one another while casting suspicious glances my way. Some returned to their ale and betting, while others continued to scan my modern clothes, my sweat-slicked skin, and my disheveled hair with blatant disdain.
"Let me go!" I shrieked at Orosagi once more. He silenced me with a brutal slap that stole the air from my lungs.
"Raise your voice again," he hissed with terrifying intent, "and I will cut out your tongue!"
"Is cutting out tongues... the only... talent you possess... you spiteful creature?"
A raspy, tremulous voice intervened from the side. I turned to see the face of the old man who, moments ago, had been feverishly scribbling in his ledger. He was staring at Orosagi with an unnervingly innocent smile, his eyes blinking with a rapid, involuntary intensity as if caught in a strange, flickering trance.
"You? Again? Are you still clinging to life?" Orosagi snapped, his voice sharp with irritation. But the old man merely smiled back with a vacant indifference, his gaze appearing weak and strained as he squinted, trying to discern Orosagi's features through the haze of age.
He reached out and took my hand, liberating me from Orosagi's iron-clad grip. His touch on my shoulder was gentle, lacking the familiar bite of pain; he began to pull me toward him as if leading me toward a sanctuary.
"Your mission is concluded now, Orosagi," he stated flatly. Then, he turned and began to lead me away, ushering me out of the tavern under the bewildered stares of the crowd.
I followed him without a word. Something in my gut whispered that this man posed no threat to me, and my heart followed his lead without hesitation.
"Excuse me... where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice hushed and hesitant.
He glanced back at me, his hand still firmly yet gently holding mine. His slow, deliberate steps—hindered by the weight of his years—never faltered. With a serene, almost childlike smile, he whispered, "To Paradise..." then returned his gaze to the path ahead.
I was stunned by his answer. Paradise? What could he possibly mean? His smile and his words felt utterly eccentric, bordering on the surreal. Yet, there was a small mercy in his choice of words; at least he had promised me Paradise, and not the Hell I had come to expect.
I follow him, our footsteps brushing through the spring grass as we enter the heart of a strange, vibrant city.
Merchants are everywhere, flaunting a dizzying array of goods: silken robes that shimmer like liquid, intricately engraved chalices, painted masterpieces, and exotic, gentle animals that look as if they stepped out of a fable.
I pass by cafes serving aromatic folk dishes, street theater performances gathered for a cause, and the distinct scent of Japanese cuisine being prepared...
My eyes behold one of the wonders of the world; it's as if I've stumbled into Wonderland. No one looks at me; no one cares. People shop in tranquility, others sell in peace, while some simply wander or sit in quiet contemplation. It is the very portrait of serenity and peace of mind.
The old man greets more than five people as we walk, and it's clear from their warm gazes that he is a beloved figure here.
Momentarily, we leave the market's din behind. We don't leave the city, but rather weave through eccentric houses until we reach the fortress where Orosagi first led me out.
It is a palace that embodies the raw strength of the Middle Ages—solid, massive, and towering. Although the place where I was imprisoned felt secluded and distant, it is undeniably an integral part of this sprawling manor.
"Are you going to lock me up too?.. Where are you taking me?" I ask, my voice trembling.
He pulls a water bottle from his pocket and drinks, as if regaining his senses, then tells me with a soft smile: "You are safe with me, do not worry..."
He releases my hand and walks away without ordering me to follow. The air is cold and still, the stars blazing brilliantly above. Against my better judgment, I follow him anyway; I sense no scent of treachery or malice in him.
The palace features a colossal central door, seemingly too heavy for any mortal to budge. Many small side doors ring the exterior; he approaches one, pushes it open, and enters. I run to catch up and follow him inside, finding a place entirely different from where I started.
In his hand, he carries a flaming torch, lighting the way even though the starlight illuminates the space. We are in an open-air courtyard, much like a Riad; a fountain sits in the center, cats play nearby, and the area is a labyrinth of rooms, exits, and lush greenery.
He enters one of the rooms without calling back to me. I stand for a moment, mesmerized by the Victorian beauty of the place—ornate, carved, and built from ancient earth and timber.
I head toward the room he entered, and I step inside...