The cold winter air, heavy with frozen moisture, seeped through the cracks of the dilapidated house, which seemed darker than usual. The warmth of the small heater had vanished, leaving behind only hardened ash, indicating that the place had been devoid of human activity for several days. Even the few potatoes inside the cracked supply box had begun to rot or sprout small roots.
In the corner of the room, on a desk cluttered with crumpled papers, sat a pale-skinned human youth. He leaned his forehead on his right hand, which rested on a white sheet of paper filled with cryptic writing, while his left hand dangled limply beneath the table. The rest of his lifeless body sat in his wheelchair, which seemed frozen in place.
He appeared hunched over strangely, his limbs stiff and blue, his skin pale, and his breath cut off. Without a doubt, Sollivan was a lifeless corpse, devoid of any signs of life. And yet...
"Hah..."
"Khhh..."
Suddenly, his chest expanded, and he lifted his head, taking a long, deep breath. Due to the dryness of his throat and mouth, devoid of even a drop of moisture, it felt as though the cold air was laden with thousands of needles that pricked his throat, making him cough hoarsely and dryly.
His black eyes opened wide, but despite that, his vision was blurred, and he looked around hazily, unable to make out his surroundings. His thoughts raced, and he tried to understand his situation, but his mind, frozen from the extreme cold, couldn’t think clearly.
After a few seconds of waking up, he felt an overwhelming sense of terror and disbelief. As the slow seconds passed, he began to regain some clarity in his vision and thoughts, and then he said in a voice barely audible, "Appear."
However, nothing happened.
"Hah..." He sighed in frustration and tried to move his frozen hands, but he couldn’t. His face darkened, and his gaze dimmed. He stared blankly at the table nearby, but suddenly, his eyes lit up.
He slowly lifted his head and looked at a specific spot beside him, where his loyal companion, Noctis, emerged from the shadows of the ground. Unlike usual, Noctis didn’t stand firmly in front of him but instead took a step back, trembling with fear and panic. His body contorted strangely, as if he couldn’t maintain his human form.
A dry smile appeared on Sollivan’s haggard face, and he ordered firmly, "Pull yourself together." His words weren’t just a command for the shadow but also for himself. In response, the lost and confused Noctis turned to look into his eyes, and then he became slightly more stable.
Sollivan raised his finger and pointed to the frozen stove: "Light the fire. Put the kindling in the stove and create a spark using the two stones." Despite the difficulty of speaking and the accompanying pain, Sollivan didn’t hold back on the explanation, as he understood the importance of the task. He had little time to warm his frozen body, or he would die. At best, he might have to amputate his hands or fingers, which was worse than death for him.
Noctis hesitated for a moment before responding, and after a few seconds of stillness, he turned his head and looked at the stove before walking over to it and placing the kindling inside.
Then, with unsteady hands, he picked up the two stones and struck them together. His actions were very erratic, but after a few attempts, he succeeded in lighting a small flame, which grew gradually and became more intense after adding some small pieces of wood. Sollivan’s eyes widened at the distant warmth, and involuntarily, he leaned forward, wanting to get closer to the stove.
"Tsk..." He snorted in anger before looking at Noctis and ordering, "Bring me closer to the fire." This time, the shadow didn’t hesitate and quickly moved to his side. However, it suddenly stopped and looked at his immobilized body in confusion, as if unable to lift him.
The shadow wasn’t physically strong enough to carry Sollivan easily. For the first time, it seemed to be thinking on its own. Its body turned into a black liquid that clung to the ground, flowing smoothly and beginning to merge with the wheelchair. The old brown wood disappeared, replaced by a shiny black that reflected the firelight.
Sollivan was stunned by this strange development, and before he could react, his body shook slightly due to the sudden movement of the wheelchair. The wheels turned, and the chair quickly approached the fire, stopping directly in front of the stove. The beautiful warmth of the fire touched his cold skin, making him feel a pleasant relief.
He raised his hands and moved his fingers carefully and slowly, as if roasting them leisurely. After the numbness subsided and he regained sensation, he quickly grabbed a cup of water from a clay pot beside him. After quenching his thirst, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned back in his chair and, without realizing it, fell into a deep sleep.
...
Time passed quietly, and after several hours, Sollivan finally opened his eyes. He looked around comfortably and took a long breath, but it was hindered by his stuffy nose.
"Khhh..."
"I’ve caught a cold." He didn’t seem bothered; on the contrary, he seemed happy that the complications from his frozen body were mild. He looked at the burning stove, now filled with firewood, and noticed that the distance between them had widened slightly. A look of sudden realization appeared on his face, and he looked at his black wheelchair with deep gratitude and said, "Thank you, my friend. Without you, I’d be dead now."
His words came from the depths of his heart, but his softness didn’t last long, and his sternness returned. He stared at his familiar home.
’How much time has passed? But that doesn’t really matter.’ Then he asked cryptically, "You feel it too, don’t you?" His chair shook strangely, as if saying, "Yes." At that moment, he lifted his head and looked at the sky—or rather, the ceiling.
"There are restrictions on our bodies. More precisely, there are restrictions on you and my Primordial Blood."
The reason for Noctis’s initial disorientation wasn’t just the shock of the change in environment but also the sudden, mysterious pressure imposed on him. Due to their bond, Sollivan had also sensed this pressure before faintly realizing that he was being subjected to it as well. He cleared his mind of this issue because it posed no danger to him. He knew that the world could reject and restrict certain things. However, he felt a slight unease at the possibility of facing some ordeal in the future.
"So, the legends are true." His source of information on this matter wasn’t something reliable but rather fantastical tales of strange monsters and mythical heroes. If it weren’t for his sense of that pressure, he would have remained convinced that they were just myths.
After organizing his thoughts, he began reviewing the basics. He turned and looked at the table where he had placed the book earlier, but it wasn’t there. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and thought of something specific. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and closed his eyes. After clearing his mind through regular breathing, he focused all his attention on the key he had grasped when he wanted to return.
After a minute of stillness, he opened his eyes, which had darkened even more, and smiled. "So, it’s become part of my body." He raised his hand and placed it in front of his wide smile. He suppressed his laughter, yet for the first time in a long while, he felt genuine happiness and incredible joy. At the same time, a sense of relief made him forget his worries and look forward to the future again.
Grrrr!
His empty stomach growled loudly, snapping him out of his daydreams. He touched his stomach and found it stuck to his back from extreme emptiness. ’If I’m right, I’ve spent five days without any food. If I had known that my body remained entirely in this world and only my spirit had transferred, I wouldn’t have hesitated to return. Dying here means dying there.’
Without moving a muscle, he sent his thoughts to Noctis, who guided the wheelchair toward the food box. After the chair stopped, he reached out to grab a potato that was still somewhat good, but he suddenly froze in his position and narrowed his eyes. Then he leaned back and relaxed in his seat before ordering, "Return to your normal form."
The shadow emerged from the wheelchair, which returned to its dilapidated state, and stood obediently beside him. With a faint smile, Sollivan said to him, "I’ll borrow your body for a bit."
He quickly transferred his senses to Noctis and saw everything around him covered in a faint red hue. His ears picked up the sound of heavy footsteps on the muddy, snowy ground outside. Overwhelmed with joy, Sollivan—or rather, the shadow—walked to the door and opened it slightly, letting in a wave of extremely cold air laden with snowflakes. He looked at the narrow alley covered in a thin layer of snow and observed the people walking with hunched, reddened bodies due to the cold.
Without giving it further thought, he closed the door and went to prepare a hearty meal to satisfy his hunger. But this time, he didn’t hold back. He used all the good potatoes he had, generously added salt, and even some dried pepper. In the end, he made a strange porridge with a slightly sweet and spicy taste.
He watched the mixture in the old pot as it cooked slowly. But his red vision suddenly darkened, and he opened his eyes to find his perspective and angle of vision had changed. "I’m back? So, I can’t stay in Noctis’s body for too long." Originally, he didn’t fully transfer into the shadow but only transferred his vision and hearing, controlling its movements through their bond.
However, he didn’t feel what the shadow felt. He had tested this before by placing his hand in the fire. Although he sensed Noctis’s discomfort and pain through their bond, he himself felt nothing. "If I can exploit this ability well, I might be able to fight using Noctis while staying hidden."
Noctis heard what he said and looked at him with great displeasure. At that moment, Sollivan turned and stared into his emerald eyes, reassuring him, "Don’t worry, I won’t do anything that hurts you too much."
He removed his smile and took another cup of water to hydrate his body, which still needed moisture.
After contemplating the pot for a short while, he decided to take out the black book and examine it while his food cooked. He directed his mental strength to a specific point in his mind and thought of pulling the book, and then the black book appeared out of thin air in front of him. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and placed it on his lap, then began examining it with sharp, curious eyes. However, the book seemed very ordinary, with no changes to its cover or texture. After one final inspection, he opened it to the first page. At that moment, he narrowed his eyes in confusion.
’The writing I saw earlier is gone?’ He quickly flipped to the next page and found it filled with writing, but without reading it, he turned to the following page, only to find it blank as well. His confusion deepened, and he frowned slightly. He quickly examined every page of the book, only to find them all blank.
He stared at the last page in confusion for a full minute before sighing and returning to the only page with writing.
’The book was filled with writing earlier, but at the same time, there was something strange about it. As far as I remember, the first page was written in the language of the other world, while the rest of the pages were incomprehensible to me.
But upon closer thought, perhaps all the writing was just an illusion, and the only important page is the first one, which points to the method of the contract.’
He looked at the page filled with writing and shook his head: "Yes, that might explain it. Also, doesn’t this mean that this writing only appeared after my return?" Thinking about this, he felt excitement and began reading quickly: "...." With every word he read, his face grew more grim. When he reached the middle of the page, he stopped his finger and wondered.
"What is this incomprehensible nonsense? There’s not a single logical word...??" He thought silently about the purpose of the writing, certain that it was something valuable and not just nonsense, but he simply hadn’t grasped its meaning yet. Due to the change in his blood, his memory had greatly improved, allowing him to recall many events in detail. Because of this, a specific scene came to mind.
The priest Otieno stood before him, placed his hand on his head, and began uttering some cryptic and mysterious words before sealing him with the well’s mark. Because his ears weren’t accustomed to hearing such a language and its obscurity, his memory of it was slightly blurred. However, as soon as he recalled the melody and rhythmic weight of what he had read, he felt a deep shock that quickly turned into overwhelming excitement. Quickly, he continued reading aloud, trying to confirm his hypothesis. When he finished, he lifted his head and looked around, but nothing happened.
"Was I wrong? Or did I forget something?" He raised his hand and scratched his chin.
"Thinking about it, isn’t this a living language? If I treat it that way, things make more sense."
Living languages were extremely difficult vocal techniques that required specific conditions to succeed. However, there were some positive aspects to these techniques, which made Sollivan, despite his anxiety, feel a bit of joy.
Many of these languages didn’t require Auraxis energy to be spoken; all the speaker had to do was adhere to their difficult rhythm and meter, along with preparing a strong medium. However, neither common people nor even Arcane Lords could speak them, as they required a strong soul and a will of steel.
Living languages, on the surface, were vocal techniques, but at their core, they were abilities to communicate with the world. This is why they were called living languages—each one was unique, capable of making the world fulfill a condition or witness a sworn oath. This is why oaths made in living languages were sacred and could not be broken, or the world itself would punish you.
"Still, I think this isn’t the complete language, just a part of it... As I recall, they called it the well’s seal. When the priest cast it, that strange pit was the medium."
Involuntarily, he turned to look at Noctis and narrowed his eyes.
"Could I change some of the language’s words and make the medium something else?"
Then he mocked his crazy idea and quickly dismissed it.
’If I’m looking for death, I’ll try that.’
Boiling!
He turned his head toward the pot, from which steam was rising densely, and smiled happily when he realized his food was ready. Everything he had done earlier was just a waste of time to distract himself from his intense hunger. He closed his eyes, trying to transfer his senses to the shadow, but he felt a strange resistance that made him open his eyes in surprise.
"I can’t do it now... Do I have to wait longer?"
"Never mind, my chair can do it as before."
Noctis quickly merged with the chair and guided it toward the pot. Hastily, Sollivan poured himself a large bowl, then grabbed a spoon and headed to the messy table. Due to the cold weather, he didn’t wait long for the food to cool, and he began eating without any manners. His mouth moved strangely due to the heat, and after a minute, he finished his bowl. He looked at the empty plate and sighed.
"It tastes bad."
He drooled a little when he remembered the rich, fatty meat dishes he had eaten in the Red Horns tribe, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he went to the pot and took more porridge. After eating almost everything, he leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach contentedly.
For him, even if the food was bad, it was still a blessing that shouldn’t be wasted.
He looked at the empty plate in confusion, thought deeply, and then suddenly something occurred to him. His eyes narrowed.
’Could it be...?’
Quickly, he summoned the black book and looked at it with wide eyes.
"If the book can copy the language... couldn’t it act as a medium?!"
His question contained shock, along with anticipation and indescribable excitement.
Without hesitation, he opened the book and began reading the words slowly and carefully, trying to maintain their rhythmic meter. However, he failed.
"No... no... the pronunciation isn’t right."
After reading it a third time and reviewing his memories of how the priest had chanted, he had a clearer idea. He took a deep breath, cleared his slightly choked throat, and began chanting in a rhythmic voice that quickly turned into a mysterious, obscure muttering.
After finishing the page, he looked around carefully, but nothing happened.
"Is my soul’s strength too weak...?"
As soon as he said that, he felt a sharp pain in his head. He raised his hands and held his head, but his eyes remained fixed on the book, whose pages had turned completely black, as if they were rippling like a dark liquid, as dark as despair.
From the midst of the dark pages, a thin black chain emerged and flew forward. It hovered in the air for a moment, and when it found no target to cling to, it dispersed and turned into smoke that vanished in all directions.
The book’s pages returned to normal, and then it disappeared from its place. As for Sollivan, he froze in his position, staring blankly at the emptiness in front of him. His body was drenched in sweat as if he were under a grill, and suddenly, a line of blue blood trickled from his nose and stained his clothes.
His confusion lasted a long time before he returned to his senses. He raised his hand and wiped his nose, then looked at the blood.
"As I expected... the color hasn’t returned to normal."
And without realizing it, he lost consciousness.