George's Helping Hand

The Protectors’ Guild rested at the farthest corner of the villa. From the outside, it looked more like a square-shaped gift, surrounded by what seemed to be dark sparks. There was a short fence bordering it and its gate was made out of steel, appearing and disappearing each second.

One of the protectors stood at the gate as a hole emerged on its middle part. There was a clicking sound as a yellow light scanned through him, followed by a pop, until the fence moved away, bringing the gate with it. A twisting lane then greeted them, punctuated by a rectangular sphere that moved forward when detecting presence.

“Wicked,” said George under his breath, his eyes set at the sparks uniting in a nearby post, leaving the infrastructure unguarded.

The sphere stopped moving when they were barricaded by yet another door. From where he was, it looked transparent, reflecting a counter that was pasted with different portraits, containing either the Imperial Principles or basic rules.

George looked over his shoulder and was fascinated by the electrical shield now radiating at the Guild’s radius. His attention was caught, however, when a rotten egg wafted the air.

With his nose wrinkled, he turned back to the door—it was now melting. Wanting to know what triggered it, he rounded the protectors and found one of them pressing a bell-shaped button.

Before he could say anything, the wind pushed them onwards. When they passed through the melted door, a heat like no other washed through him as though he, too, had been burnt.

There were about hundreds of protectors walking back and forth in a banquet-like hall. George found it hard to believe that the small building he could see outside couldn’t compare to what his eyes were taking in now that he’s already inside.

Wheeling around, he gaped at the mounting frames of the protectors’ achievements, each of which was paired with the portrait of a certain protector.

The biggest portrait in the middle made him smile. It featured a man who looked exactly like him. He was holding a knight’s head, his small lips pursed, his beard assumed a lion’s mane, and his eyes that were so alike with George’s were narrowed. There were about hundreds of medals and ribbons painted in his background. The sight made George swell with pride.

Like his deceased father, he wanted to be a protector, to be a firm foundation of their nation’s protection.

He remembered how spoiled he was when his father was still alive. They used to stroll around the Main Centre, wasting money for a toy weapon that he liked very much. This made his mother mad that they wouldn’t be allowed to enter their house until she cooled down. Although George ought to feel bad, he didn’t, because his father had the knack to make every situation—no matter how intense—funny.

When he was six, his father tricked his mother to walk out of the house, just so they could binge-watch gothic and brutal movies.

Even as a child, George displayed a very disturbing behavior.

Oftentimes, he would run in public, bringing his father’s spear and using it to threaten his playmate. Though it looked so huge and weird for his small body, his posture as he held it was enough for the other kids to run away from him.

His mother would reprimand him for it, telling him it’s an action a son of a protector wasn’t expected to do. However, his father thought otherwise. He believed he’s just playing around and that she should let him.

He’s just a child, after all.

“It’s not as if anyone had been hurt,” he would reason out.

That kind of reasoning always ended up with them bickering. This they did in front of George who, surprisingly, wasn’t even crying. He was just staring at them, a smile on his face, betting whoever of the two would lose.

It was when he was eight did his mother had it all. His father, after months of being away for his mission, permitted him to use any weapon he desired. He remembered trying everything at once, his father watching over him, proud to know that his son was a natural when it comes to weapons. His mother wasn’t happy, though. She went basilisk. They had a row for the whole night and that was the end of their relationship.

His mother flees and was never to be seen again. When his father tried looking for her, he found her dead on the cliff three weeks after she left. As a tradition, they burned her body. After that, his father was never right again. He kept saying she’d been killed, so he’d been on the look-out for the culprit who might have never existed, leaving George alone with her Granny.

They lose contact with his father for a few weeks and later on found out that he died on the same cliff where his mother was found.

There was an investigation after that, but the protectors ended up concluding it wasn’t a murder and that inference made George lose his trust in them. His father believed there’s anomaly to the way his mother died and none of the protectors heeded him. It seemed unlikely to be a coincidence.

George buried that recollection years ago. He didn’t want anything to do with that stained past. Though he could never forget the process from which Granny put him in, just so he would recuperate, he wanted to never deal with it again.

All those sessions with his grandma were his nightmare. She was determined to steer George’s perception, to eradicate the violence encrypted in his soul, and to do that, she subjected him to a lot of tests at the expense of his growing hatred.

Of course, once he’d realize what she’s doing was for his welfare, he’d been grateful. He would’ve succumbed to the darkest side of himself if Granny did not exist.

Shaking his head, he joined Z at the counter. There were a lot of files mounting from it, together with a reflective monitor that showed names of different Wielders. A bespectacled bearded Wielder was analyzing those datasets, his big hand massaging his chin. He wasn’t wearing a suit of armor; instead, he fashioned himself with a thick vest and a blue polo.

“Chief, attention, Chief!” chorused the three protectors, their fingers on their forehead, their shoulders squared.

The Chief gave them a sweeping look before focusing back at the monitor. “You’re acknowledged.”

“The Second Imperial Principle has been breached, Chief!” said one of the protectors, his chest bulging.

George would’ve mistaken him for a breathless corpse if he wasn’t blinking.

“Go on!”

“And we suspect she isn’t registered to the Supreme Council.”

There was a loud click, and the next thing they knew, Z was already seated on a swivel chair, all the bindings gone, a bulb illuminating her crumpled face. The Chief adjusted his round glasses.

“Are you or are you not registered to the Supreme Council?”

Z was sweating profusely. She’d been shaking for a while now, and her heart would’ve won if only she’s on a race. Truth be told, she expected none of these things to happen. She’s not even sure if she would be here if George only let her be. Trying to fix her composure, she answered, just as George did.

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

“She is.”

The corner of the Chief’s lips twisted. “We’ll find that out later, but first, I want to know if you have a defender. If you cannot provide yourself one, the Council will.” He turned and started working on the monitor once more.

“There’s no need for that, really. The driver here—” George pointed the driver who was standing rigidly in the corner. “—has already been paid, so basically, the Second—whatever it is—is not breached or something. As to the registration thingy, she really is registered.”

“The protocol says she has to undergone a trial. We have to follow.”

“As far as I know, the trial only foregoes if the victim will file a case. I’m not even sure if you can call him a victim. Come on, Z didn’t do anything wrong. I bet you anything she didn’t know she should pay—”

“She did say that earlier,” said one of the protectors, nodding.

“See, she didn’t know—”

“Ignorance is not an excuse to commit a crime. I hope you understand what you’re talking about, Mister.”

“Okay, fine! But I already pay for her fare and the victim—I mean, the driver—already backed out to the case, right?”

“I don’t—Yes!” He swallowed hard, thinking not of the glares steaming off from George.

“Well then—” The chief put his hands together. “—she only needs to defend herself with one case.”

George’s face fell. “What?”

“Sixth Part of the Imperial Principle states that for a Wielder to be qualified to stay in Pasithea, he or she must be registered in the Supreme Council.”

“I already told you, hadn’t I? She is registered!” He pulled the strands of his hair. “Why don’t you check the names? I bet you anything she’s listed there.”

For a moment, the Chief stared at him, seemingly interested in his whole being. “You remind me of someone I know.” His voice became softer.

Smiling a little, he looked at the monitor. “What’s your name, Miss?”

Z stared at George, her eyes tearing. She’s grateful he’s helping her out of this mess, but somehow, it also gave her the feeling of vulnerability and idiocy.

If only she’d been born with a complete identity, she needn’t worry about these things, and she might not even need help from anyone. It’s not that she didn’t want it. It just added to the feeling of hopelessness slithering from within her.

She didn’t want any of this.

She wanted out.

“Miss?” The Chief waved his hand in front of her.

She shook her head and cupped her face, biting her lips to stifle the sobs she couldn’t stop.

George clenched his fist. “Z Williams. That’s her name.”

His eyes were so sharp as it stared at the Chief who felt the need to analyze things with urgency. His glares. It’s too familiar for him. He just couldn’t remember where he’d seen it.

There was a loud pop as the result of his browsing emerged. There were three tables presented on the monitor. It featured the deceased, the registered, and the banished, respectively.

He moved directly to the registered and scan through the three columns which contained the personal information, the type of shadow, up to the livelihood of the said Wielder. Trying to believe George’s words, he refreshed it, but the results were the same.

“There are only two Williams that is alive, and Z isn’t here, only George and Granny. Are you sure she really is registered?”

Williams. The surname rang in his head a million times. Even the name rings a bell. Where did he hear it?

“Are you sure?” George moved closer, his hand twisting, releasing dust of smoke that slithered sneakily past the protectors, circling them before stopping at the monitor.

“Can you try refreshing it?”

“I already did.”

“I want to see. There must have been some kind of error.”

Breathing heavily, he pressed the rotation button. It took a moment to refresh. There was a pop, and when the name appeared, it flickered at first, until Z’s name emerged.

George chuckled. “See! I told you, she’s registered.”

The driver and the protectors peered at the back, nodding. They didn’t expect things to go this way, but their job was to persecute guilty ones and not to imprison the innocent.

They were stalled for some time, signing different files. The protectors even called a doctor to calm Z down who was shaken by what happened. It took her a Lavender Tea to finally hiccup the stress.

With her eyes puffed, her heart a little bit heavy, George and Z took their leave, with the driver at their back. Before they could go out, however, the Chief’s voice suddenly echoed.

“Frederick,” he was saying. “Your father’s name was Frederick Williams.” He was nursing a big smile, his eyes twinkling.

George turned, his hand formed like a gun, winking. “Bingo!”

“Did I hear it right?” said one of the protectors. “The celebrated protectors of all time had a son?”

It was the last thing they’ve heard, for they were already outside the gate. Looking over his shoulder, he now found the Protectors’ Guild inviting. “If only…”

‘If only his father didn’t die…’ he supplied in his mind.

“Are you saying something?” said Z who’s now more relaxed that they were out of that hell-like place.

For a moment, George stared at her, deciding what to do, until his finger flicked on her forehead.

“Ouch! What was that for?” She massaged the part where his finger landed.

“That’s for making me worry.” He crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll pay you, somehow, so don’t worry!”

“Really?” he said, disbelieving.

“Yeah, I’ll ask for an extra shift to Granny—”

“Nah, let’s just go for a stroll. That’s more than enough for me.” He reached out for her hand, but she already moved back.

“I don’t—I don’t know if that’s a good idea, George.”

“I’m not asking for your permission, though. This will be your payment. Come on! I already have a job. Money isn’t a problem.”

“I have a shift—”

“Then we have to hurry.”

Without waiting for her response, he dragged her to the carriage where the driver was waiting.

“Where shall I take you?”

“Main Centre,” George said simply, keeping a firm hold on Z’s wrist who was still struggling to get away from him.

“Let me go! This really isn’t a good—”

George put his cold fingers on her lips, feeling its softness. “Ssh, Z! Trust me, we won’t be long.” His brown eyes were reflected on her pea-green irises, and so, Z found herself looking away.

They passed through a narrow, winding street of the villa. Neat-looking torches were lining up in its corner, a dark, transparent glass casing a small bulb standing from its peak, catching the rays of the sun and using it to create its light.

Z had a glimpse of the intricate housing styles of Zorpheans. As they weren’t allowed to use their shadow, it was then decided to build it as their home. It was pretty convenient because a shadow has a high sensitivity that could detect the simplest malice; hence, it would barricade its premise with thorns, protecting its Wielder.

A pain she never thought of crushed her heart. Not too long ago, she was walking on this very street, soaked in the rain, but no one even dared to give her shelter. She’s not asking for it, though. Still, it stung her to know that in this world full of Wielders, no one would try helping her. Well, except for the two Williams.

With Z distracted, they arrived at the Main Centre, which Zorpheans considered to be the most convenient shopping center ever built in history.

Just like before, George paid with his shadow.

For a moment, the thought of her reality vanished, replaced by vain curiosity at the laser-like beam scanning through his shadow.

“So, the shadow’s energy is the payment?”

“Yup, that’s why you can’t pay me even if you want to.” He pinched the tip of her nose before moving toward the entrance.

There was a long line-up of Wielder trying to enter. Three protectors were examining their whole body with an oddly large popsicle stick.

At the sight of the suit of armors, Z started breathing fast. It’s as if she’d collapse any time. However, any thought was vanquished by George’s hand entwining to hers. A small smile made its way to her lips, her eyes were intent on their fingers.

Slowly, the line became thinner. She didn’t mind it. She’s even wishing for the line to stop moving, just so she wouldn’t be at the approximate distance of those protectors, but in contrast to her thoughts, she was already in front of them a few minutes later.

George was forced to let go of her as both of them were examined.

She’s trying not to shake that much. She just couldn’t. The sight of the metallic armor made her remember how she’d been chained as though she’s the most disgraceful thing in their world. The thought that she might be chained again crossed her mind a million times, and it brought shivers down to her spine.

Finally, they let her go. The relief might have shown on her face because one of the protectors chuckled. She shook her head, trying to straighten her face, ignoring the impulse to laugh beside herself.

There were brass double doors behind the protectors, divided by a large, rectangular stone. Ink was splashing from it every second or two, encrypting words after words until a stanza was made.

COGNIZANCE OF THE HIGHEST SUPREME

By the Decree of the First Imperial Principle

Issued this May 2020

Inside of this sacred threshold,

Is the world you have to behold.

Magic you’ll see is beyond you,

Stealing you’ll be tempted.

Tear apart this madness,

The consequence is breathless.

The blood you’ll sacrifice is worthless,

So take heed your life is priceless.

Signed and Approved by:

H E N M U L G A

The Highest Supreme

This would then vanish, replaced by Z’s features whose eyes were struck by an arrow, ink flowing from it, down to the ground, adding to the blood already rising to her knees.

Putting her hand to her chest, she tried steadying her breathing.

“Are you okay?” whispered George, caressing her ice-cold shoulder.

“I’m—I’m fine.” She looked away from him and moved ahead.

George gazed at the stone for the last time, from where the real-like painting of his corpse lay. He shook his head.

“I don’t understand what’s the threat for.”

The Protectors’ Guild rested at the farthest corner of the villa. From the outside, it looked more like a square-shaped gift, surrounded by what seemed to be dark sparks. There was a short fence bordering it and its gate was made out of steel, appearing and disappearing each second.

One of the protectors stood at the gate as a hole emerged on its middle part. There was a clicking sound as a yellow light scanned through him, followed by a pop, until the fence moved away, bringing the gate with it. A twisting lane then greeted them, punctuated by a rectangular sphere that moved forward when detecting presence.

“Wicked,” said George under his breath, his eyes set at the sparks uniting in a nearby post, leaving the infrastructure unguarded.

The sphere stopped moving when they were barricaded by yet another door. From where he was, it looked transparent, reflecting a counter that was pasted with different portraits, containing either the Imperial Principles or basic rules.

George looked over his shoulder and was fascinated by the electrical shield now radiating at the Guild’s radius. His attention was caught, however, when a rotten egg wafted the air.

With his nose wrinkled, he turned back to the door—it was now melting. Wanting to know what triggered it, he rounded the protectors and found one of them pressing a bell-shaped button.

Before he could say anything, the wind pushed them onwards. When they passed through the melted door, a heat like no other washed through him as though he, too, had been burnt.

There were about hundreds of protectors walking back and forth in a banquet-like hall. George found it hard to believe that the small building he could see outside couldn’t compare to what his eyes were taking in now that he’s already inside.

Wheeling around, he gaped at the mounting frames of the protectors’ achievements, each of which was paired with the portrait of a certain protector.

The biggest portrait in the middle made him smile. It featured a man who looked exactly like him. He was holding a knight’s head, his small lips pursed, his beard assumed a lion’s mane, and his eyes that were so alike with George’s were narrowed. There were about hundreds of medals and ribbons painted in his background. The sight made George swell with pride.

Like his deceased father, he wanted to be a protector, to be a firm foundation of their nation’s protection.

He remembered how spoiled he was when his father was still alive. They used to stroll around the Main Centre, wasting money for a toy weapon that he liked very much. This made his mother mad that they wouldn’t be allowed to enter their house until she cooled down. Although George ought to feel bad, he didn’t, because his father had the knack to make every situation—no matter how intense—funny.

When he was six, his father tricked his mother to walk out of the house, just so they could binge-watch gothic and brutal movies.

Even as a child, George displayed a very disturbing behavior.

Oftentimes, he would run in public, bringing his father’s spear and using it to threaten his playmate. Though it looked so huge and weird for his small body, his posture as he held it was enough for the other kids to run away from him.

His mother would reprimand him for it, telling him it’s an action a son of a protector wasn’t expected to do. However, his father thought otherwise. He believed he’s just playing around and that she should let him.

He’s just a child, after all.

“It’s not as if anyone had been hurt,” he would reason out.

That kind of reasoning always ended up with them bickering. This they did in front of George who, surprisingly, wasn’t even crying. He was just staring at them, a smile on his face, betting whoever of the two would lose.

It was when he was eight did his mother had it all. His father, after months of being away for his mission, permitted him to use any weapon he desired. He remembered trying everything at once, his father watching over him, proud to know that his son was a natural when it comes to weapons. His mother wasn’t happy, though. She went basilisk. They had a row for the whole night and that was the end of their relationship.

His mother flees and was never to be seen again. When his father tried looking for her, he found her dead on the cliff three weeks after she left. As a tradition, they burned her body. After that, his father was never right again. He kept saying she’d been killed, so he’d been on the look-out for the culprit who might have never existed, leaving George alone with her Granny.

They lose contact with his father for a few weeks and later on found out that he died on the same cliff where his mother was found.

There was an investigation after that, but the protectors ended up concluding it wasn’t a murder and that inference made George lose his trust in them. His father believed there’s anomaly to the way his mother died and none of the protectors heeded him. It seemed unlikely to be a coincidence.

George buried that recollection years ago. He didn’t want anything to do with that stained past. Though he could never forget the process from which Granny put him in, just so he would recuperate, he wanted to never deal with it again.

All those sessions with his grandma were his nightmare. She was determined to steer George’s perception, to eradicate the violence encrypted in his soul, and to do that, she subjected him to a lot of tests at the expense of his growing hatred.

Of course, once he’d realize what she’s doing was for his welfare, he’d been grateful. He would’ve succumbed to the darkest side of himself if Granny did not exist.

Shaking his head, he joined Z at the counter. There were a lot of files mounting from it, together with a reflective monitor that showed names of different Wielders. A bespectacled bearded Wielder was analyzing those datasets, his big hand massaging his chin. He wasn’t wearing a suit of armor; instead, he fashioned himself with a thick vest and a blue polo.

“Chief, attention, Chief!” chorused the three protectors, their fingers on their forehead, their shoulders squared.

The Chief gave them a sweeping look before focusing back at the monitor. “You’re acknowledged.”

“The Second Imperial Principle has been breached, Chief!” said one of the protectors, his chest bulging.

George would’ve mistaken him for a breathless corpse if he wasn’t blinking.

“Go on!”

“And we suspect she isn’t registered to the Supreme Council.”

There was a loud click, and the next thing they knew, Z was already seated on a swivel chair, all the bindings gone, a bulb illuminating her crumpled face. The Chief adjusted his round glasses.

“Are you or are you not registered to the Supreme Council?”

Z was sweating profusely. She’d been shaking for a while now, and her heart would’ve won if only she’s on a race. Truth be told, she expected none of these things to happen. She’s not even sure if she would be here if George only let her be. Trying to fix her composure, she answered, just as George did.

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

“She is.”

The corner of the Chief’s lips twisted. “We’ll find that out later, but first, I want to know if you have a defender. If you cannot provide yourself one, the Council will.” He turned and started working on the monitor once more.

“There’s no need for that, really. The driver here—” George pointed the driver who was standing rigidly in the corner. “—has already been paid, so basically, the Second—whatever it is—is not breached or something. As to the registration thingy, she really is registered.”

“The protocol says she has to undergone a trial. We have to follow.”

“As far as I know, the trial only foregoes if the victim will file a case. I’m not even sure if you can call him a victim. Come on, Z didn’t do anything wrong. I bet you anything she didn’t know she should pay—”

“She did say that earlier,” said one of the protectors, nodding.

“See, she didn’t know—”

“Ignorance is not an excuse to commit a crime. I hope you understand what you’re talking about, Mister.”

“Okay, fine! But I already pay for her fare and the victim—I mean, the driver—already backed out to the case, right?”

“I don’t—Yes!” He swallowed hard, thinking not of the glares steaming off from George.

“Well then—” The chief put his hands together. “—she only needs to defend herself with one case.”

George’s face fell. “What?”

“Sixth Part of the Imperial Principle states that for a Wielder to be qualified to stay in Pasithea, he or she must be registered in the Supreme Council.”

“I already told you, hadn’t I? She is registered!” He pulled the strands of his hair. “Why don’t you check the names? I bet you anything she’s listed there.”

For a moment, the Chief stared at him, seemingly interested in his whole being. “You remind me of someone I know.” His voice became softer.

Smiling a little, he looked at the monitor. “What’s your name, Miss?”

Z stared at George, her eyes tearing. She’s grateful he’s helping her out of this mess, but somehow, it also gave her the feeling of vulnerability and idiocy.

If only she’d been born with a complete identity, she needn’t worry about these things, and she might not even need help from anyone. It’s not that she didn’t want it. It just added to the feeling of hopelessness slithering from within her.

She didn’t want any of this.

She wanted out.

“Miss?” The Chief waved his hand in front of her.

She shook her head and cupped her face, biting her lips to stifle the sobs she couldn’t stop.

George clenched his fist. “Z Williams. That’s her name.”

His eyes were so sharp as it stared at the Chief who felt the need to analyze things with urgency. His glares. It’s too familiar for him. He just couldn’t remember where he’d seen it.

There was a loud pop as the result of his browsing emerged. There were three tables presented on the monitor. It featured the deceased, the registered, and the banished, respectively.

He moved directly to the registered and scan through the three columns which contained the personal information, the type of shadow, up to the livelihood of the said Wielder. Trying to believe George’s words, he refreshed it, but the results were the same.

“There are only two Williams that is alive, and Z isn’t here, only George and Granny. Are you sure she really is registered?”

Williams. The surname rang in his head a million times. Even the name rings a bell. Where did he hear it?

“Are you sure?” George moved closer, his hand twisting, releasing dust of smoke that slithered sneakily past the protectors, circling them before stopping at the monitor.

“Can you try refreshing it?”

“I already did.”

“I want to see. There must have been some kind of error.”

Breathing heavily, he pressed the rotation button. It took a moment to refresh. There was a pop, and when the name appeared, it flickered at first, until Z’s name emerged.

George chuckled. “See! I told you, she’s registered.”

The driver and the protectors peered at the back, nodding. They didn’t expect things to go this way, but their job was to persecute guilty ones and not to imprison the innocent.

They were stalled for some time, signing different files. The protectors even called a doctor to calm Z down who was shaken by what happened. It took her a Lavender Tea to finally hiccup the stress.

With her eyes puffed, her heart a little bit heavy, George and Z took their leave, with the driver at their back. Before they could go out, however, the Chief’s voice suddenly echoed.

“Frederick,” he was saying. “Your father’s name was Frederick Williams.” He was nursing a big smile, his eyes twinkling.

George turned, his hand formed like a gun, winking. “Bingo!”

“Did I hear it right?” said one of the protectors. “The celebrated protectors of all time had a son?”

It was the last thing they’ve heard, for they were already outside the gate. Looking over his shoulder, he now found the Protectors’ Guild inviting. “If only…”

‘If only his father didn’t die…’ he supplied in his mind.

“Are you saying something?” said Z who’s now more relaxed that they were out of that hell-like place.

For a moment, George stared at her, deciding what to do, until his finger flicked on her forehead.

“Ouch! What was that for?” She massaged the part where his finger landed.

“That’s for making me worry.” He crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll pay you, somehow, so don’t worry!”

“Really?” he said, disbelieving.

“Yeah, I’ll ask for an extra shift to Granny—”

“Nah, let’s just go for a stroll. That’s more than enough for me.” He reached out for her hand, but she already moved back.

“I don’t—I don’t know if that’s a good idea, George.”

“I’m not asking for your permission, though. This will be your payment. Come on! I already have a job. Money isn’t a problem.”

“I have a shift—”

“Then we have to hurry.”

Without waiting for her response, he dragged her to the carriage where the driver was waiting.

“Where shall I take you?”

“Main Centre,” George said simply, keeping a firm hold on Z’s wrist who was still struggling to get away from him.

“Let me go! This really isn’t a good—”

George put his cold fingers on her lips, feeling its softness. “Ssh, Z! Trust me, we won’t be long.” His brown eyes were reflected on her pea-green irises, and so, Z found herself looking away.

They passed through a narrow, winding street of the villa. Neat-looking torches were lining up in its corner, a dark, transparent glass casing a small bulb standing from its peak, catching the rays of the sun and using it to create its light.

Z had a glimpse of the intricate housing styles of Zorpheans. As they weren’t allowed to use their shadow, it was then decided to build it as their home. It was pretty convenient because a shadow has a high sensitivity that could detect the simplest malice; hence, it would barricade its premise with thorns, protecting its Wielder.

A pain she never thought of crushed her heart. Not too long ago, she was walking on this very street, soaked in the rain, but no one even dared to give her shelter. She’s not asking for it, though. Still, it stung her to know that in this world full of Wielders, no one would try helping her. Well, except for the two Williams.

With Z distracted, they arrived at the Main Centre, which Zorpheans considered to be the most convenient shopping center ever built in history.

Just like before, George paid with his shadow.

For a moment, the thought of her reality vanished, replaced by vain curiosity at the laser-like beam scanning through his shadow.

“So, the shadow’s energy is the payment?”

“Yup, that’s why you can’t pay me even if you want to.” He pinched the tip of her nose before moving toward the entrance.

There was a long line-up of Wielder trying to enter. Three protectors were examining their whole body with an oddly large popsicle stick.

At the sight of the suit of armors, Z started breathing fast. It’s as if she’d collapse any time. However, any thought was vanquished by George’s hand entwining to hers. A small smile made its way to her lips, her eyes were intent on their fingers.

Slowly, the line became thinner. She didn’t mind it. She’s even wishing for the line to stop moving, just so she wouldn’t be at the approximate distance of those protectors, but in contrast to her thoughts, she was already in front of them a few minutes later.

George was forced to let go of her as both of them were examined.

She’s trying not to shake that much. She just couldn’t. The sight of the metallic armor made her remember how she’d been chained as though she’s the most disgraceful thing in their world. The thought that she might be chained again crossed her mind a million times, and it brought shivers down to her spine.

Finally, they let her go. The relief might have shown on her face because one of the protectors chuckled. She shook her head, trying to straighten her face, ignoring the impulse to laugh beside herself.

There were brass double doors behind the protectors, divided by a large, rectangular stone. Ink was splashing from it every second or two, encrypting words after words until a stanza was made.

COGNIZANCE OF THE HIGHEST SUPREME

By the Decree of the First Imperial Principle

Issued this May 2020

Inside of this sacred threshold,

Is the world you have to behold.

Magic you’ll see is beyond you,

Stealing you’ll be tempted.

Tear apart this madness,

The consequence is breathless.

The blood you’ll sacrifice is worthless,

So take heed your life is priceless.

Signed and Approved by:

H E N M U L G A

The Highest Supreme

This would then vanish, replaced by Z’s features whose eyes were struck by an arrow, ink flowing from it, down to the ground, adding to the blood already rising to her knees.

Putting her hand to her chest, she tried steadying her breathing.

“Are you okay?” whispered George, caressing her ice-cold shoulder.

“I’m—I’m fine.” She looked away from him and moved ahead.

George gazed at the stone for the last time, from where the real-like painting of his corpse lay. He shook his head.

“I don’t understand what’s the threat for.”