[Reread the first 8 chapters, I've edited them and I may need feedback]
The silence of Orthid was not like the silence of other places.
It was not the silence of nature, where birds sing and the wind blows. It was not the silence of night, where dreams hide. It was a surgical silence, a silence that had been forcibly ripped from people's throats, a silence maintained by fear and mutilation.
Ethan walked back to the warehouse, his footsteps echoing on the basalt stone. His hand still hurt where he had cut himself to save Merá Fulta. The memory of the blood dripping into the cup, of the judged woman's empty eyes drinking his essence, still burned in his mind. The maid's promise, the promise he had made to a woman who loved a man who no longer existed, weighed on his chest like a stone.
And then, the cry.
It wasn't a loud cry. It was muffled, smothered, as if someone were being strangled in the middle of an attempt to speak. Ethan turned, instinct overriding his exhaustion. The street was deserted at that hour—the citizens of Onité were in their rooms, accumulating fragments to sell the next day, or simply waiting for the day to end.
In a side alley, a beige figure held a man against the wall.
Ethan recognized him immediately. The voluminous cloak, the smooth porcelain mask, the aura of contained power that seemed to suck the light out of the surroundings. Ether.
But something was wrong.
Ether was not calm. He was not using his magnetic eloquence to manipulate or convince. He was gripping the man's neck with both hands, his gloved fingers sinking into the flesh with a strength that was not human. The man—a thin, unshaven man with a scar on his left eye—beat his hands against Ether's arms, his eyes wide with panic.
"I didn't... I wasn't going to kill her," the man stammered, his voice coming out in hoarse whispers. "It was just a memory... a childhood memory... it wasn't worth anything..."
"Wasn't it worth anything?" Ether's voice was different. It was not the sweet, hypnotic voice Ethan knew. It was a hoarse, trembling voice, as if he were holding back an explosion. "Wasn't it worth anything? She's eight years old. Eight years old. And you were going to rip her childhood away. You were going to sell the first time she saw the sun. You were going to turn her into a Void before she knew what it was like to be Whole."
Ethan approached cautiously. The child was leaning against the wall, a few steps away from Ether and the man. She was a dark-haired girl, with a gray dress and a broken porcelain mask—one of the many children of Orthid, who had already learned to hide their faces before they learned to read. She was trembling. Her eyes, visible through the broken mask, were full of tears.
"Ether," Ethan called, his voice low. "Stop."
Ether didn't hear him. Or he heard and ignored him.
"You were going to steal her memory of her mother," Ether continued, his voice trembling. "You were going to steal the smell of bread from the bakery. The sound of her father's laughter. You were going to leave her empty. Empty and walking, like a corpse that doesn't yet know it's dead."
The man tried to say something, but Ether tightened his grip on his neck. The sound of bones cracking echoed in the alley.
"Ether!" Ethan stepped forward, grabbing Ether's arm. The masked man's strength was immense, but Ethan pulled with all his accumulated rage. "Stop! Don't kill him!"
Ether turned his head. The smooth porcelain mask reflected the pale neon light, but behind it, Ethan could feel the gaze—a gaze that was not one of anger, but of pain. A pain so old, so deep, it seemed to come from another time.
"Why?" Ether asked, his voice still trembling. "Why shouldn't I kill him?"
"Because..." Ethan hesitated. The image of Mira came to mind. The curly-haired girl who walked with Zirinos. The girl who trusted a monster. The girl who died devoured by dogs. "Because there are people who deserve a second chance. Because if you kill him, you're just like him."
Ether stood still. His fingers, still wrapped around the man's neck, trembled.
Ethan seized the hesitation.
"Get out of here," he said to the man. "Now. And if I ever see you doing this again... I swear I'll kill you myself."
The man fell to the ground, gasping, his hands clutching his neck. He crawled out of the alley, his eyes wide with fear. He disappeared into the darkness of the streets of Onité.
Ether dropped his arms. He stood motionless, staring at his hands as if he didn't recognize them.
"He was going to rip her childhood away," Ether said, his voice lower. "He was going to sell it. As if she were a thing. As if she weren't a person."
"I know," Ethan replied, his voice softer. "But that's not how you solve it. Not with violence."
"No?" Ether turned. The porcelain mask fixed on Ethan. "Then how? With words? With promises? With your blood?"
Ethan felt the weight of those words. The blood. The blood that Dantella Uthuryar had said was special. The blood he had used to save Merá Fulta. The blood that Ether, apparently, knew existed.
"What do you mean by that?" Ethan asked, his voice tense. "What do you know about my blood?"
Ether didn't answer. He knelt down. The child, still leaning against the wall, was trembling. He reached out his arms, slowly, like someone approaching a frightened animal.
"Come," he said, his voice now calmer. "I won't hurt you."
The child hesitated. Her eyes, visible through the broken mask, fixed on Ether's mask. Then, slowly, she took a step forward. Then another. And she let herself fall into Ether's arms.
Ethan watched, astonished. Ether, the masked man, the manipulator, the man who had destroyed a sun to prove his power, was on his knees, holding an eight-year-old child as if she were the most fragile thing in the universe.
"Let's go," Ether said, standing up with the child in his arms. "Let's go to the warehouse. She needs a safe place."
Ethan said nothing. He just followed.
+-+
The warehouse was dark when they arrived. Ether lit a candle with a flick of his fingers, and the light danced on the stone walls, creating shadows that seemed to have a life of their own.
Wermilyass Ol'Clor was standing by the window, his chained wings glinting with the faint light of the neon lights outside. The black ribbon covering his eyes was still, but his head turned when they entered.
"You brought a child," Wermilyass said, his voice neutral. "That is... unexpected."
"She was being attacked," Ether replied, placing the child on a wooden bench. "A man was going to steal her memories."
Wermilyass didn't respond. He just tilted his head, as if listening to something others couldn't hear.
Ether turned. The porcelain mask fixed on Ethan.
"I'm going out," he said, his voice tense. "I need time. To think."
"Wait." Ethan stepped forward. His hand touched Ether's arm. "You're not going to run away. Not this time."
Ether stopped. His body went still.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice now cold. "What do you want from me?"
"I want to know," Ethan replied, his voice trembling but firm. "Are you using me?"
Silence settled. Wermilyass, motionless by the window, did not intervene.
"Yes," Ether replied, finally. "I always have been."
Ethan felt the ground slipping from under his feet. Dantella Uthuryar's words echoed in his mind: *"He can't bring them back. But what you have in your blood can."*
"Why?" he asked, his voice faltering. "Why did you save me? Why did you bring me here? Why did you make me believe you cared?"
Ether didn't answer. His hand, slowly, descended to the sword at his waist—the colliding sword, the one Ethan had never seen him use.
"He can't bring them back," Ethan whispered, repeating Dantella's words. "But what you have in your blood can. That's what she said. That's what Uthuryar told me."
Ether hesitated. His hand, which was reaching for the sword, stopped halfway.
"She shouldn't have told you that," he said, his voice low.
"But she did." Ethan took a step forward. "And now I want to know the truth. Why did you save me? Why did you bring me here?"
Ether didn't answer. His hand went to his sword. The blade, silvery and sharp, gleamed in the dim light.
"Don't do this, Ether," Wermilyass said, his voice calm. "He is not your enemy."
"He is," Ether replied, his voice tense. "He is always the enemy. All of them are. All those who have important blood."
The sword rose. The blade pointed at Ethan's neck.
"I can kill you now," Ether said, his voice cold. "I can end it all."
"Then kill me," Ethan replied, without backing down. "Kill me. But before that, tell me why you're doing this."
Ether hesitated. The blade trembled.
"Because," he began, his voice faltering, "because only you can go to the world of the dead. Only you, with your blood, can bring back those who still exist."
Ethan felt his heart tighten.
"The world of the dead?" he repeated. "Who do you want to bring back?"
Ether didn't answer. The blade lowered slowly. The porcelain mask, which once seemed an impenetrable barrier, now seemed fragile, broken.
"Someone," he said, finally. "Someone I lost. Someone who shouldn't have died."
"Who?" Ethan insisted.
Ether didn't answer. He just sheathed his sword and turned toward the door.
"Wait!" Ethan shouted. "You can't leave! You can't do this and then run away!"
"I'm not running away," Ether replied, his voice now calmer. "I'm thinking."
"Then think here." Ethan took a step forward. "Think with me. Tell me who it is. Tell me why you need me."
Ether stopped. His body, motionless, seemed like a statue.
"I can't," he said, finally. "Not now."
"Then when?" Ethan felt the rage rising in his throat. "When are you going to tell me the truth? When it's too late?"
Ether turned. The porcelain mask fixed on Ethan.
"When you trust me," he said. "When you stop doubting."
"That's a bullshit answer," Ethan replied, his voice trembling.
"It's the only one I have."
Ether left. The warehouse door closed behind him, and the silence returned.
Ethan stood still, staring at the door. Rage boiled in his chest. His hand, the one he had cut to save Merá Fulta, ached. The blood that ran through his veins, the blood everyone seemed to want, felt like it was burning his skin.
"He is using you," said a voice behind him.
Ethan turned. Wermilyass was still by the window, motionless, his chained wings glinting with the neon light.
"I know," Ethan replied, his voice tired. "But why? Why does he need me?"
Wermilyass didn't answer immediately. The black ribbon covering his eyes seemed to fix on Ethan, as if he could see through it.
"He lost someone," Wermilyass said, finally. "Someone important. Someone who shouldn't have died."
"Who?"
"I don't know. He never said." Wermilyass tilted his head. "But I know that's why he's here. Why he brought you here. Why he trains you. He doesn't want you to be strong. He wants you to be useful."
Ethan felt the weight of those words. All of Ether's promises—revenge against Zirinos, the promise to bring Ana, Sara, and Ariny back—all of it was just a facade. A lie. A way to use him.
"Then why did you save me?" Ethan asked, his voice low. "When the woman attacked me. Why did you save me?"
Wermilyass didn't answer. He just turned to the window.
"Because there are things," he said, finally, "that are more important than revenge. Things he hasn't realized yet. But he will. Or he will lose everything."
Silence settled. The child, on the wooden bench, was sleeping. Her eyes, which were once full of tears, were now closed.
Ethan looked at her. At the broken mask. At the small hands, which still trembled slightly.
"What's going to happen to her?" he asked.
"Tomorrow," Wermilyass replied, "we will take her to an orphanage. There are few, in Onité. But they exist."
"And then?"
"Then, you decide. You stay with Ether. Or you leave. But whatever you choose, remember: he may be using you. But that doesn't mean he doesn't need you."
Ethan closed his eyes. Dantella Uthuryar's words, the maid's promise, Ether's rage, the child's fear—everything mixed in his mind, like a whirlwind of fragments.
"I'm going to talk to him," Ethan said, finally. "Now."
"Go," Wermilyass replied. "But don't expect him to tell you the truth. The truth is the only thing he doesn't know how to give."
Ethan left the warehouse. The Orthid night was dark, the pale sun shining in a sky that never fully illuminated.
He found Ether sitting on a stone bench, a few steps from the warehouse. The beige cloak, once impeccable, was now crumpled. The porcelain mask, which once seemed an impenetrable barrier, now seemed fragile, broken.
"Ether," Ethan called, sitting down beside him.
Ether didn't answer. He just looked at the horizon, where the pale sun shone without warming.
"Why did you save me?" Ethan asked, his voice low. "When the woman attacked me. Why did you save me?"
Ether took a while to answer. When he did, his voice was low, tired.
"Because I needed you," he said. "Because I needed your blood."
"Is that all?"
Ether turned his head. The porcelain mask fixed on Ethan.
"No," he said, finally. "That's not all."
Silence settled. The two of them sat on the stone bench, staring at a sun that never set, in a sky that never lit up.
"I lost someone," Ether said, finally. "Someone who shouldn't have died."
"Who?"
Ether didn't answer. He just closed his eyes.
"Someone I loved," he said, his voice faltering. "Someone I promised to protect. And I failed."
Ethan said nothing. He just sat there, looking at the horizon.
"And you want to bring her back," Ethan said, finally.
"I do," Ether replied. "More than anything."
"And my blood," Ethan continued. "My blood. Is it the only way?"
"It is," Ether replied. "The only way I know."
Ethan felt the weight of those words. The weight of a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.
"Then help me," he said, finally. "Help me become strong. Help me learn. Help me get back to Júlia. And then, I'll help you. I'll help you bring back who you lost."
Ether fell silent. The porcelain mask, motionless, seemed to be thinking.
"Do you promise?" he asked, his voice low.
"I promise," Ethan replied. "If you promise me you won't lie. You won't hide. You'll tell me everything."
Ether hesitated. His gloved fingers gripped the edge of the bench.
"I promise," he said, finally. "I'll tell you everything. When the time is right."
Ethan sighed. It wasn't the answer he wanted, but it was the answer he had.
"Then fine," he said. "Let's go. The child is sleeping. Tomorrow we have a lot to do."
Ether didn't answer. He just stood up and walked back to the warehouse.
Ethan remained seated, looking at the horizon. The pale sun shone, and the Orthid night continued.
"Hide the sorrow, Ether," he murmured to himself. "Hide the sorrow. But one day, you'll have to show it."
He stood up and followed the masked man into the darkness.