I found myself squirming awake from a nightmare, involving lots of slimy tentacles and a haunted sweater vest.
Magnavex’s voice rang out clearly, her tone tinged with concern. “My Lord, are you unwell? Should I wake Dormathis?” The words reverberated in my head, clear but distant at the same time.
I blinked and realized I wasn’t alone. Beside me, on the same massive bed, a figure lay buried beneath a sticky blanket. The fabric clung at the edges like it had partially melted into the mattress. Dormathis. His green, tinged red skin glistened faintly, his chest rising and falling in a slow, syrupy rhythm. He looked more like he’d been poured into the bed than placed there.
Now that I wasn’t freaking out, and I’d actually slept a little, I could tell… it wasn’t just a dream. They weren’t warped echoes or leftover thoughts.
They were real.
I was real.
The realization settled deep in my bones, equal parts awe and terror.
Magnavex peeked at me as she leaned over the bed. “Is something wrong, my Lord?” she asked again, her voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. I couldn’t answer her. Not yet.
It was like hearing her with one ear underwater. I could understand her, but everything felt wrong and muffled.
“My Lord, if you need assistance, please say so.” She leaned in slightly, her amethyst eyes catching the torchlight. They were… really pretty, actually. Deep and kind of glowy.
I forced a breath through my lungs, grounding myself. “I’m fine,” both of me said simultaneously, slightly scaring myself. “I just… need a moment.”
Magnavex moved back to give me some space.
The weight of the truth pressed down on me, impossible to ignore. This wasn’t just something I made up, not like that time I pretended the pale merchant was a vampire to scare Mira. This wasn’t some echo in my head. This was real. Tangible. Alive.
He was—
No.
He is—
He’s... me.
A second body, just as real as mine.
I’m… both.
“My Lord, is everything alright?”
“Yes, Magnavex, everything is fine,” I spoke from my, our mouths.
The overwhelming senses were still going. I could feel both beds, my normal one and this waterbed description.
How had I handled this before? Was it fear?
No… I was, or Olive was, asleep, while I…
I mean, the I that’s not Olive… was trying to escape.
Oh Lumisiel, my head hurts, and this nonsense isn’t making it easier.
Maybe if I just had Olive go back to sleep, this would die down.
We looked up at the same time, and I saw Magnavex overlapping with my dresser.
It looked a bit like when you look at your nose with both eyes, it’s there but see-through all at once. except for the stinging pain in my brain as it tried to view everything at once.
“I need to close my eyes for just a second longer,” I told her as an excuse, as we stumbled to our feet and moved toward the bed.
I hoped no one could hear me, Olive, speaking to an empty room.
I, Olive felt really weak, my muscles were asleep, as we lay down again.
Which was actually helpful.
I, Olive quickly drifted to sleep.
Once I was sure Olive was asleep, I tried to move and found that she remained still.
Suddenly feeling restless, I stood up.
“I would like to see this Lazeth fellow now,” I said.
“I will lead you to him straight away,” Magnavex responded, giving a small bow.
We left without waking Dormathis, who was still sleeping on the bed.
She brought me into a corridor. The floor was stone, etched with swirling inlays, polished smooth, but cold all the way through. The hallway spiraled downward in perfect symmetry, each step unyielding.
Back home, moss cushioned each step and lightning bugs lit the path instead of torches. There were no vines here. No moss. No scent of fresh bark or springtime.
The torchlight glimmered against the wall’s surface, reflections flickering like trapped fire, but there was no warmth. No softness. Only the sharp precision of something built to last forever.
Magnavex stopped beside me, studying my gaze as I faced the stone and closed my eyes.
There were no windows here, only endless corridor. Back home, there were windows every few steps. You could see the horizon, the endless wave of green.
But here… the corridor offered no sky, no sun, no hint of anything beyond itself. Just statues in shadowed alcoves, looming in judgment.
We walked the hallways. We passed closed doors leading to who knows where, some so small I wouldn’t even fit; others so tall our local general store could walk right in. Not that our stores can walk. Towering columns stretched toward vaulted ceilings; each carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift in the flickering torchlight. I bet Mira would love to see these patterns for her tailoring. The walls were smooth obsidian, polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the glow of the flames like rivers of molten gold running through the darkness.
High above, delicate ribbed arches intertwined like the weaving of a grand tapestry, each detail painstakingly crafted. The floor beneath us was a masterpiece of inlaid stone, deep crimson and onyx swirling together in elegant, sweeping designs that guided the eye forward.
We turned a corner and set into the alcoves along the walls were statues of beasts I couldn’t name, twisted, towering things frozen mid-prowl or mid-roar. Some loomed with wide, outstretched wings, their goat, like heads twisted in snarls or solemn contemplation. Taloned feet curled over broken stone. Others crouched low, predatory, eyes made of inset gems that caught the torchlight like they were still watching.
And among them, more than once, stood the same creature: goat, headed, red, feathered, with outstretched clawed hands and folded wings, frozen in poses of command or judgment.
Except... these statues weren’t meant to look nice.
They looked like sentries.
Eyes forward. Claws out.
They gave the uneasy impression that they weren’t watching the hall.
They were watching me.
We reached a dead end and stood in front of a door, much more reasonably sized than the others and carved with swirling patterns that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. It looked ancient, the kind of door that wasn’t used often. Some strange dark wood I didn’t recognize was framed by blackened metal, twisted into strange shapes. At the center, a red sigil pulsed softly, like it was breathing. Something about it made my skin prickle.
“My Lord, we have made it to Lazeth. He is one of the foremost figures in our civilization,” Magnavex told me, her hand resting on the door handle. I looked at her.
“Really?” My eyebrows shot up. My mouth parted slightly. The most important figure? Was she serious? A mix of disbelief and excitement flickered across my face.
Magnavex must have misunderstood, because she quickly added, “He is a distant second, my Lord.”
The weight of her words sank in as she opened the door. I steeled myself, unsure of what to expect. My shoulders squared on their own. I fidgeted with the cuffs and kept tugging at the hem of my robes, like my hands didn’t know what else to do.
Inside was a chapel, though nothing like the ones I knew. There were pews, yes, but no people. No light through windows, no songs, no soft footsteps, just silence, and torchlight burning low against black stone. Banners lined the walls like silent judges.
The smaller banners showed a monstrous clawed hand reaching outward, frozen in silk. But the central flag behind the lectern dwarfed them all: a great shroud of matte black that drank the firelight, with a red and purple sigil pulsing at its center, its lines shifting like living flame etched in glass.
Runes in an otherworldly script crawled along its surface, shifting when I looked too long. The edges were frayed, battled, worn, as though it had witnessed centuries of blood and reverence.
It didn’t just hang, it loomed.
Beneath the black flag stood a figure draped in robes of molten crimson, stitched with dark sigils that pulsed faintly. His presence hit harder than Alaric's, taller, colder, older.
The air itself seemed to listen when he moved. I shifted my weight and found myself standing straighter without meaning to.
He didn’t introduce himself. He didn’t need to. Not with the way the room seemed to center around him. If this was a chapel, then he had to be… the one in charge. A priest.
My feet slowed. I had to stop myself from stepping backward. The air felt heavier here. Every breath carried the weight of incense and expectation.
I was used to being stared at, Magnavex hadn’t taken her eyes off me this entire time, but this… this wasn’t like being seen.
It was like being measured.
“Welcome, Magnavex. What brings you by... and with a guest?” he said, glancing my way, his face not giving anything away.
“Our Lord has graced us with his presence earlier than expected,” she said, her words edged with steel. “He wishes to begin his studies. If we could move this along.” Her voice trembled slightly as she finished.
Studies? Since when did I talk to her about studying?
Lazeth turned fully toward me. The shift in his body sent ripples through the torchlight.
“Tenebros has called you forth before your time,” he said, not as praise, not as reprimand. Just fact.
“Magnavex, you may go,” he dismissed her without a glance.
“Is that truly necessary?” she asked, her voice quieter.
“It is.”
Magnavex bowed.
She didn’t speak again.
She didn’t look back.
She left because she’d been dismissed.
She left me alone with Lazeth.
The heavy doors closed behind her with a sound like finality.