Remus raised his free hand absentmindedly, as if reaching for something.
A hooked sickle appeared in his hand.
Barbaric yet intricate symbols were etched finely into the blade. It was coated in them. The blade itself gave off a faint but ominous blue glow.
Turning the sickle in his hand, Remus brought it down in front of Davy’s chest.
"What is that?" Davy whispered in horror, feeling a wrongness emanating from the tool.
"It is a hook, Piscis."
Davy’s fight increased once more. He flailed about, trying to get away from the man’s iron grip. His screams for help echoed off the unforgiving dirty walls of the room.
"Don’t cut me! No! I can change! I can do better! I can—"
But the screaming man stopped as he saw what was happening.
Remus had been lowering the sickle’s point to his chest, tilting the hook as if to dig in.
But strangely, there was no pain. The blade just phased through him.
There was no pierced flesh, no blood, no pain.
Just an alien coldness.
"What are you doing to me?" Davy whispered.
"Helping you," Remus responded simply. He was continuing to slowly dig the blade in.
"Helping... me?"
"Yes, helping you, help the Garden."
"Wha—"
Davy was incapable of continuing speech or thought.
The coldness tore into something precious, something that was never meant to be torn.
The pain was incomprehensible.
Whatever the calm man had finally latched onto with his wicked hook, he began to lift the blade upwards.
Carrying Davy with him off the ground.
The pain was as brief as it was eternal.
Davy wanted to vomit, to wretch up his pain and confusion.
But nothing would come out.
He realized he was being suspended in the air, dangling from the hook in his chest with Remus standing before him.
Despite that unimaginable tearing pain, Davy felt no discomfort at being hung there.
Remus, who had been holding the sickle with one hand, raised his other, holding it out with his palm facing forward.
Davy could see markings appear on the man’s palm, a horrifying glyph that wasn’t tattooed into his flesh, now blended into reality.
The hooked man had to look away from it. Despite the simple markings, it felt awful to look at.
Looking anywhere else, his brain continued to whirl out of control.
There was someone on the floor.
Their leg was crushed, their clothes looking familiar, as Remus carried him forward, more of the body came into view.
"Why does he look like me?" Davy pleaded in a hoarse whisper, unable to look away.
Remus was ignoring him, focusing on something behind Davy. He was channeling something with his hand that required a grim focus.
"Why does he look like me?" The man continued to screech, kicking his legs frantically in the air. Davy was so distraught at seeing his body on the floor that he failed to notice both his kicking legs were perfectly unharmed.
A faint gust of wind hit the back of his neck. Followed by an awful stench.
It was a smell so terrible that it disrupted his pleading.
Then he heard the voices.
"Dentes!"
"Hail, Dentes!"
"Dentes provides!"
Remus extended his arm, holding the sickle out.
The voices, the voices were like the smell. It was something from a nightmare, impossible to put into words for Davy. As Remus moved the hook he was attached to, Davy slowly turned his head to look behind him.
He tried very hard to scream, but he never had a chance.
An erosion shaped like an oval was worn into the air before him, like a grey portal. He didn’t have long to rationalize it. Dozens of arms had already pierced through the oval to claim him.
The arms of various sizes gripped Davy like a lifeline, yanking him immediately off the hook, into the oval.
On the other side, the beginning rattles of a scream finally began.
But Remus closed his hand, holding the door open.
Then he was left alone with silence and a corpse.
Liam had gathered everyone in the small room by the exit. Fisher’s room he guessed.
No one had opted to leave just yet, they stayed to listen to what Liam had to say.
They all knew each other to a degree, despite never having met face to face. Conversations through the walls during the quiet hours, hearing each other’s screams or defiant shouts.
But seeing Liam for the first time, bursting into their rooms one by one, and magically breaking their chains.
It was like a dream. One they were terrified to wake up from.
Liam explained about the mage, Mr. Bell. What he had done, what he had said. More importantly, what he did to Fisher.
All of them listened with a hunger.
No sound had come from upstairs from the ’chat’ between the two adults. It should have been unsatisfying, but frankly, not hearing that horrible Fisher at all was worth it.
Eventually, they heard a door open. Footsteps began on the creaking wooden floor of the upper hallway.
Then the calm, paced footsteps came down the stairs, until the man himself was revealed in the room’s doorway.
The children cautiously observed the fat man, undecided about his intentions.
Mr. Bell seemed to have a kind face as he looked at them all.
Despite Liam’s assurances, many of them were still guarded. A kind face and eyes meant nothing. If anything, it was suspicious, given what they’d been brutally taught.
But the kindness ended at that man’s face. His eyes had nothing but pity.
That was enough.
"You are all free to go." Mr. Bell began quietly, making no move to come into the room. "Mr. Fisher has been taken care of."
"You can go, return to your homes if need be, I will not stop you."
Some of them looked relieved or surprised. Having choices after so long was very strange.
"There is a cafe around the corner. It does a wonderful soup. I will be going round to get a bowl. Anyone is welcome to join me, I’m paying. Whoever comes, I’ll also be calling the City Guard to help them get home."
Then the man nodded and turned without ceremony, opening the stained front door to bring light into the darkened hallway.
Liam immediately followed him.
Everyone soon followed.
The cafe staff looked over the counter at the boisterous crowd of children with a smile.
An older gentleman named Mr. Bell came in and paid for them all to have a bowl of soup. He also paid for one of the staff to fetch the City Guards.
The noise and the smell had encouraged the other customers to leave quickly.
But the staff didn’t mind. Mr. Bell had filled them in on where the children had come from. He also paid extra for the disruption.
As they worked in the kitchen, they eyed the children and Mr. Bell in the empty cafe.
The children were bunched together in the booths, some animatedly talking to each other. Some sat in silence.
But everyone ate.
Mr. Bell kept his distance, giving them space at his own table, enjoying his soup in peace.
When the City Guards showed up, they looked on in astonishment at the situation.
The oldest of the children, nearly a young man himself, stood and approached them. He would have looked comical in that smaller school uniform if the situation were not so grim. But the determined look in his eyes and his tale captured all attention. The Guards listened seriously.
When they asked for Mr. Bell, the young man turned to point out a table.
But he frowned, as his rescuer was no longer there. No one had seen him leave.
On the table, beside the empty soup bowl, was a stack of old pages. Each of the pages was a missing poster. Portraits of happy children all matched the ones enjoying bowls of soup.
Through the cafe window, no one noticed a young man walk past.
A young professor, enjoying a normal Tuesday.