Masked

The whole night, Granny explained the imprint her shadow procured at the picture. There was a speck of dust forming in the air around them, dancing fervently as though they’re in some kind of feast. Through this, she inferred that the photo was taken when there was a party, but it also became colder on the same day, which means, Blame must have gone afterward.

Any other thing that was imprinted with memories turned cold when one host who contributed to its imprinting disappeared. However, the thing wouldn’t be cut or burned or, to put it simply, be destroyed, as the bindings wouldn’t allow it unless one of its hosts died.

Granny did not notice her audience slipping into a deep stupor. She drowned on and on with her speech, releasing all of her thoughts, theories, to, somehow, make a sense of it.

Just like before, she got nothing.

There was something about Z. Her shadow’s gone, her ability never manifested. There’s still the fact that her move’s calculated, though. Was Granny supposed to be nervous now? She felt as though they’re being played with. Never in her years of studying Wielder’s Psychology had she encountered someone whose features differed from one Wielder to the other and who survived being shadowless for about a year.

A Wielder and a Shadow were like a package deal. They both existed to provide each other sufficient energy to prevent themselves from deteriorating. Shadows, though not always by the Wielders side, could be summoned and unsummoned, but it’s simply different to Z’s case. If she just unsummoned her shadow, they’d still be linked together. This means that the shadow would appear at the moment the Wielder’s threatened.

That never happened, though.

Granny could clearly remember when about three Wielders robbed their shop about six months ago. In Z’s attempt to ward them out, she’d been held hostage; however, no matter how much closer the dagger to her throat, no shadow appeared to save her. Fortunately, the protectors were quick to respond to their calls. If it weren’t for them, Z would’ve died.

Granny’s never a fighter. She’s physically frail and couldn’t even throw a punch.

This proved that Z’s shadowless, further making Granny wonder how she could have a painless life. A Wielder separated from her shadow was haunted by an unspeakable pain. Again, the case was different with her.

Shaking her head, she stared at Z, a big smile curving her lips. Her head was leaning on George’s shoulder just as his head was leaning to hers. They looked good together, but she knew they’re not meant for each other.

Granny was well-aware, the moment George was born, that he’d be successful early in his life. Her inner seer had never been wrong, for he’d been the first-ever consultant who’s been hired at the age of twenty-five.

It’s a wonder because the council required a Shadowest who finished ten years of education in the Shadow Wielders Institute of Knowledge. They must also achieve a dark crown in their final test at the school, which indicates an outstanding performance. After all of this, they would have the chance to train for ten years under the council. To cut the story short, George only trained for three years for the council to see how skilled he was.

She wanted to celebrate it, but she just couldn’t, knowing that his Life-String’s already severed.

“Mary, do you think we can change his fate?”

‘His father already tried. You know what awaits those who dare oppose destiny.’

“I know he died pouring his string to his son, but there must be something we can—”

‘I’m afraid there isn’t. You already sacrifice half of your string just to lengthen his life. He’s already dead when his mother conceived him. You’ve done your best.’

Life-Strings. A Shadow Wielder had different strings. It’s interconnected with their shadow, so whatever happens to it would happen to the shadow, which would further reflect to the Wielder. Only a seer could see the flow of strings and how long it was, but they couldn't influence it.

Granny’s not a seer, though. It just so happened that she’s the last descendant of the mighty seer of all time.

Staring at George’s birthmark, she then remembered the excruciatingly painful sacrifice she’d made. His scar was the remaining proof of the strings she lost. She could always take it back but that would mean George would die.

Not wanting to succumb to her sadness, she brewed some tea, her eyes intent on the sunlight now reflecting on her glass panel. In all her years, she’d been trying to, somehow, thwart destiny again. If only she could give all of her strings, she needn’t worry, but that’s not how things work. The absolute law kept each Wielder from taking their life, and so, she continued her search; however, she’s no closer to finding the solution, just like how far she was in unraveling Z’s identity.

While she’s drowning in her thoughts, the tea’s aroma awakened the other two. They stretched, blinked, and complained to the stiffness of their neck. She could only look at them, wishing for both of them to stay with her. It’d be a selfish wish, but they’re her only happiness. Yet, she’s aware they’d be gone soon: Z with the other students, and George in his eternal slumber.

She hated the idea of being fully aware of the future. It made it hard to live in the present.

“Granny, are you okay?” said Z, wiping the sleep off her eyes.

Drying the tears trickling past her cheeks, she smiled. “Of course, I am. I’m just happy that both of you reconcile.”

George snorted. “I know why you’re being dramatic, Granny.” His finger threaded her cheeks. “You’re having wrinkles.”

“Oh, don’t worry! I’ll fix that later. For now, you should warm yourself up with these.” She handed them two cups, and they drank altogether, sighing as the warm sensation boiled down to their stomach.

“You know, Granny,” said Z absently, her fingers tipping the now cold tea. “I decided not to go with them. I’d rather stay here with you.”

“That’s unwise, Z. If you go with them, you might unravel who you are. The headmaster might help you. I’ve known him for years, and he’ll know you’re not the one they’re looking for, or you might be. Maybe something’s just playing with your identity.”

“I still can’t believe Z has different features. I mean, I’d always see her that way. Why do you think that happens, Granny?” George casually sipped his tea, indifferent to its coldness.

“I’m not sure, but I know it’s connected to her lost shadow.”

Leaning against the counter, Z crossed her arms. “Do you really think I’ll find what I’m looking for with them?”

Granny and George spoke at the same time.

“There’s nothing bad in trying.”

“I think it’s fantastic, Z. You’ll be able to see the school. It’ll show you of Pasithea’s beauty.”

“Really, George? You’re still going on with that thing?” Z shook her head, smiling a little. “You really are hopeless.”

“Oh come on, Z! Do you think I, the man who’s already at the height of power, will easily give up?”

Z smirked. “Well, keep trying then.”

“You don’t need to tell me that ‘coz I really will.”

Granny just smiled while gazing at them. If only they could stay that way forever, there wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not life, but she’d rather bet her everything for it than go over her day knowing she’d lose everyone she cared for.

Before she could be swayed by her own emotion, she started cleaning, which acted as a signal for the other two to stop arguing and start doing something useful. They grabbed some broom and cleaned the ground, humming a tune of their own.

The shop found itself shining after a moment of cleaning, no speck of dust whatsoever dared remain. Their clothes, however, were drenched with sweats, while their body was now sticky. Granny told them to shower before going to their respective daily works. She pointed to the two cubicles in the farthest corner: one for the male and one for the female.

When Z was already inside, she was greeted by a wide chamber, complete with a full-length mirror, a sink, and a bathtub surrounded by hundreds of taps. She opened two on the left. It released clear water that smelled so much like milk. The other released foam that filled the tub in an instant.

Giggling, she hurriedly removed all of her clothes, her eyes twinkling at the foams bubbling in the tub. At first, she tried soaking her toes, feeling the coldness jolting up to her brain, and then, she dived like a child who’s lusting over the water.

“Heaven,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

The foam acted like some hands massaging her back and shoulders. She didn’t know how tense she’d been till the tub let go of the weight pressing her down. It’s like inhaling the new breath of life. It was the best feeling she’d ever felt in all her life.

Truth be told, it’s her first time soaking in the tub. Sure, she’s cleaning herself every day, but it’s either in the river or in the rain. She couldn’t afford this luxury, and now that she experienced such a wonderful sensation, she now felt as though she missed half of her life.

Granny’s not the wealthiest woman in Zorphe, but her husband left her enough wealth before dying. She used it as the capital of her shop. Even if it wasn’t infamous yet, they’re still profiting a fair amount.

Z wondered whether things would’ve been different if she accepted Granny’s suggestions. What if she lived with them? Would that change the fact that she had an unidentifiable identity? She guessed no. That fact wouldn’t be evicted from her thoughts, hunting her until she could no longer stomach it.

In her daydreaming, something throbbed in the lower part of her stomach. She groaned as the feeling intensified, as though a sharp stick was poking it. Trying to ignore it, she hummed. It was gone for a while, so she thought she’s just hallucinating.

In a split second of relief, something sharp stabbed her stomach. This made her sat upright, patting the throbbing part, her head taking a sharp turn and the room slid out of focus. Gasping for breath, he looked down, only to see her hands pressed against her woundless skin.

Feeling a little dizzy, she stood in front of the mirror, staring at the reddish and blotchy part of her stomach. Her heart started drumming. Since when did she get those? She tried remembering an encounter, but it wasn’t there when she was chained and was it possible it manifested right after she stood up from the tub? She was sure there wasn’t a thing in there when she’d seen it.

Her breath hitched when her eyes started flickering from midnight blue to sable-black, just as pain like no other stretched from her stomach, as though someone’s carving on it.

She lost control of herself as the pain arched high. She felt as though her whole body’s burning and was poke by thousands of sharp pins.

Before she knew it, she was already screaming. The voice of hers echoing around the room allowed yet another series of excruciation that made her nauseous. She tried covering her ears, but she ended up lying on the ground, blood now trickling from her stomach.

There was a yellowish flash and the pain vanishes just as suddenly as it had come.

Lying with her chest on the cold tiles, she tried steadying her breathing. Her eyes were stinging while she stared at the door. She wanted to stand, ask for help, but she couldn’t find her voice. Tears trickled past her cheeks. It didn’t matter whether or not the pain was there, because now that it’s gone, she couldn’t move a muscle.

It’s as if her nerves had been frozen.

There were footsteps, followed by George’s shaking voice, telling Granny he heard Z screamed.

When she tried raising her hands, her eyelids drooped, and the door opened.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Granny, her hands on her mouth. George, on the other hand, looked away, his ears reddening in a flash.

“Quick, get me some clothes!”

He did not need telling twice, for he’s glad to have an excuse to walk away, just so he could dispose himself of the familiar surge of heat coursing through his body.

Meanwhile, Granny was already beside Z, her hand traveling from her rough back down to her toes. There’s a trace of blood in her skin, but there’s no sight of wounds. She’s also cold and unresponsive. To make sure she’s not facing a corpse, she checked her eyes. It took her a great deal of courage to not scream.

Her irises were rolling eerily in its socket, its tint changing from darker and back to lighter.

“What’s happening to you, Z?” She brushed the gray streaks off her hair. “You’re confusing me.”

It didn’t take long for George to come back. As he handed the cloak he bought to Granny, his head was tilted towards the wall. He proceeded outside after that, feeling rather sick of himself.

The moment George closed the door, Granny pushed Z’s body, so her back would be the one lying on the floor. However, she found herself gasping, her eyes widely intent on the yellowish map-like scar dominating the lower part of Z’s stomach up to her chest.

Swallowing what seemed like a lump on her throat, she cautiously threaded the scar, feeling its roughness. Her touch, somehow, triggered yellow beams to sparkle at its line, which, as it turns out, crumpled Z’s face, groans tuning out of her mouth.

“Granny, is everything okay?” said George whose ears were on the door.

“Yeah! Everything is—everything is just fine.”

Shaking her head, she put the cloak on Z’s body, thinking not of her reaction once she realized what she’s wearing. She then told George to carry Z to the room beside the counter.

The whole morning, Granny was disoriented. She was anxious to find the root of the circumstances circulating Z’s identity. It’s just hard because she didn’t know where to begin. She looked at the customers dining in. As usual, the shop wasn’t full, but her mind’s preoccupied that she didn’t care much whether they profit or not.

Earlier, George was planning to stick around, but she did not allow him. It’s his first week, so it’s rather a bad impression to miss a day where he could impress the council with his skills. It took a lot of heavy persuasions before he allowed her words to dominate him.

Inside the room where Z’s confined, there’s a dark energy webbing around, interlinked by a silver thread that was formed through the tears trickling past her cheeks. The sweats soaking her body solidified as it hovered in the air, seemingly attracted to the creepy webs.

In front of the bed was an odd full-length mirror, its edges bore the markings of the Ancient Shadow Wielders: the hook, the skull, and the tail. Reflected in its flat surface was a background splashed with the mixtures of gold and black, emphasizing a slender man who’s wearing a crescent mask and a heavy coat. His eyes were purely black. The sight of it felt like falling under the deepest hole where escaping was nearly impossible.

The man smirked. He raised his almost intangible hands, dark mists surrounding them. As the web glided toward him, a sorrowful tune orchestrated, its vibration dancing in circles around Z’s body till she sat upright, her eyes still closed, both her hands raised.

When the web touched the man’s hand, the silver thread knotted in the air, its thickness smashing to the mirror. Cracks slithered from it and a dark beam flashed through. It took a moment for the cracks to fill each of the gaps. The moment it did so, the sound of breaking glass echoed as its fragments exploded in the room, its sliver stabbing Z.

At the sliver of the mirror rose the slender man, his body becoming transparent and solid every now and then, an evil smile curving his lips.

“My lady!” He bowed, his eyes still set at Z’s unconscious body. “I’m of debt to you.”

Then, with one last smirk, he jumped out of the window and vanished in thin air.