While my hand gets shaken by the cold, smooth surface of this imposing creature’s grasp against my will, the thoughts inside my head start tightly wrapping around each and every word it had said until now. T’Salla, the being the Koshak miner was speaking of, is intently observing me, and it somehow seems to know about me, too.

  Is it omniscient? No, can’t be. He was asking me about Kenzie, the angel woman, he didn’t know I had murdered her. Or is perhaps something else at play? Maybe there’s a reason it doesn’t know. Maybe it actually does know, and it’s just toying with me.

  My mind floods with innumerable possibilities, each one more horrifying than the rest.

  The notion of this T’Salla being having met me already fills me with more dread than the possibility of a godly figure able to know everything about my life. Just who was I in the past?

  “Ah.” He audibly inhales a harsh, weak breath through the fissures in his mask, the sound resembling that of someone enjoying a sniff of expensive perfume, just as he lets go of my unmoving fingers and retreats his unnatural appendage back behind the veil of darkness.

  A low, childish giggle escapes him.

  “Oh, I just love that look of yours. You’re adorable. Who could get mad at you?”

  My emotional turmoil quickly turns to confusion—perhaps even shock.

  Is it mocking me? Fear is keeping me tense, but a hint of irritation pokes its way through the blockade of cautiousness.

  A short silent pause befalls us, as if it’s pondering. His head hanging down, the holes of his mask pointing down at the floor.

  “Son of Arthur.” He breaks the silence, raising his head to look me directly in the eyes. “Provided you spoke true of Kenzie’s fate, things could have gotten quite troublesome. For the both of us.”

  I can do naught but raise my brows in surprise. His tone sounds concerned, which gives it terrifying implications.

  The creature starts to move in an unnaturally straight path towards me, as if his figure was a piece of paper floating atop a body of water, carried by a gentle breeze in my direction. The sheer wrongness of its perfection sends shivers down my spine, its orbits—darker than the shadow he’s hiding itself with—look at me so intensely that I can feel my very soul being inspected. I want to turn away from them, but I’m stuck, completely exposed and vulnerable to his will.

  It stops abruptly at just a hair’s length, his mask now mere inches away from my own face, staring at me with the visage of the Devil himself, as I nervously await his next sentence.

  “Hmm.” It hums shortly behind his mask, before his words pierce into my head once more. “Quite, quite unfortunate. This makes matters quite complicated.”

  Having said that, he proceeds to just watch me. Moments pass, yet nothing else leaves his mouth. Its short, snappy neck twitches now become slow and rhythmical, resembling that of a broken clock’s lancet trying to count time, mechanical, each second that passes ticking sideways, yet inevitably returning back to the place it started from.

  After a few times, his head suddenly locks into place.

  “Son of Arthur, your actions undeniably pose a great affront to what we stand for, who we are, and most despicably, most despicably of all, our mission.” It says. Why is he talking plural? Does it mean him and the forest angel? And what's this ‘mission’?

  His voice becomes distorted, dissonant, like several others follow up on his words, each in their own pitch, volume and pronunciation.

  “Again, again and once again, man has proven his complete, utter inability of preserving his own.”

  A fanfare of spoken sentences strung together—all unique, yet all coming from the same person—invade the chambers of my conscious mind.

  “Like lambs to the slaughter, united in conflict. Incapable of seeing naught but your own lifetimes’ ahead.”

  The voices grow more confusing, resonating inside my head instead of exiting after they’ve spoken.

  “Your wars forever march on the wheat fields of your own sisters and brothers, muddying the grass red for the sake of painting a monarch’s parchment in the color of his banner. You defile nature’s carcass with the indulgence of an overgrown parasite, as your brides and children are being used to compost her replacements. Had you not enough?!” They yell unanimously in anger, as whispers now join the chorus. ‘Enough’, ‘No’, ‘No more’ they beg and plead in pain and desperation.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Ambitionless of your own doing, without a clear path ahead, you decided to carve it through the lives of those who have come before you, and your memory betrays you—you don’t even realize the consequences of your actions. Ignorant, yet guilty nonetheless.”

  The creature’s head slowly tilts to its side, his mask almost completely horizontal, its eyes hooking into my soul and commanding my full attention.

  “Adria, son of Arthur, you have dared defy everything that is—your soul will find no redemption.

  Death will not search for you, for that gratification is fit only for the men and women of people. You will walk upon these lands in insignificance so long as you draw breath, and in death return to nothing. The dust of your bones will be used to mend the strings of fate you have desecrated.

  None shall weep in your remembrance.”

  T’Salla’s words feel final, like I’m being put on trial. He’s the judge, jury and executioner, and I’ve just been sentenced.

  My skin crawls in terror.

  His eyes are all that exists to me now. I can’t break my stare, no matter how much I want to. I can’t think of anything else but the words dancing and pushing their way inside, like wriggling worms wanting out.

  “Thus has been decided.” He concludes, the voices now unifying into one, returning to the hoarse, guttural one the creature had before. His tone is also calmer, more composed, yet still disturbed nonetheless. My senses also slowly come back to me.

  “And thus shall it be. Yes, it shall.” It says, as if making sure he heard his own words right.

  “I’m afraid that is all for now, son of Arthur.” It continues, as it snaps his neck back straight. “They—Yes. Yes, that is, we—must proceed. Our mission takes priority over your punishment. We’re already behind schedule.”

  Despite the innumerable questions I have, I sincerely doubt T’Salla would answer any of them for me. Truth be told, I had already prodded his fury, or the one of whatever ensemble he belongs to, so I can’t risk the situation getting even worse.

  The mere thought of there being more creatures like him out there, with an equal amount of power as his, if not worse, is enough to petrify me.

  Best outcome right now would be for me to get out of this with my life, but nevertheless, despite my better judgement, I have to ask. I need to know.

  I take a deep breath; practically useless, as I feel it leave my body just as soon as it enters it, but it gives me a semblance of courage.

  “W-Who was I?”

  Just as soon as I finish my sentence, I feel deprived of oxygen. Uttering only a few words makes me queasy.

  “H-H-How do–” Again, I gasp for air, but continue despite the struggle. “...Y-You know me?”

  “Hah!” T’Salla laughs, unmoving, the sound coming from behind his mask instead of inserting itself between my own thoughts. Then, he proceeds talking as he did before.

  “Young Adria! Oh. Tsk. My apologies—Ansel.” He says. I’m unable to tell whether in mockery or not. “It’s improper to ask an old friend how you met. Wouldn’t you agree?” He begins moving again, slowly retreating back into the darkness of the tunnel, painting his mask in the shadows beyond the lamp, before speaking again.

  “I say, I say, let this be my gift of farewell to you. You see, you’ve been quite an obstacle to our plans, and now more than ever.” T’Salla begins explaining.

  “Your very existence is a mistake. An error, you could say. Oh, but I don’t say this out of malice, believe you me, quite the opposite—I find you quite fascinating to say the least.” He continues, seemingly dancing around my question, giving me more doubts than answers.

  “I’m sure all will be revealed in due time. Yes. As it should be. But for now, I’ll leave you with this: seek the black lotus.”

  I blink.

  Just as if nothing happened, I find myself back into Kaytlinn’s arms.

  Without the time to ask anything further, left with even more mysteries than when I entered these mines, I stand frozen in my friend’s comforting embrace, the animated, flickering light of her lantern’s burning oil letting me know that the flow of time had finally resumed back to normalcy.

  I attempt to search for the air in my lungs, and succeed. Starved of the feeling of oxygen belonging inside my body, I inhale profoundly, savoring even the dusty, dry air of these sandstone caves.

  I’m keenly aware of all the subtle sensations that I had previously taken for granted: the blood pumping in my veins, the ragged clothes rubbing against my bare skin, the warm breath exiting my hoarse throat.

  “Ans…?” I hear my name whispered, though my ears are not used to the sound quite yet, as they ring like in aftermath of an explosion.

  While trying to get comfortable with my own bodily functions again, I had failed to remember what had happened before my encounter with T’Salla. It feels terrible to think about, but the intense emotional exchange I had with Kate just before all this paled in comparison to what I just went through.

  “Ans, your heart is practically bursting out of your chest, a-are you okay?” She asks, backing up and grabbing my shoulders, analyzing me up and down with snappy eye movements.

  Her teary, reddened eyes widen, occasionally locking onto mine, before nervously looking away. “A-Ans. Don’t take this the wrong way, I– It’s not like that.” She tries to explain.

  Realizing how this might seem to her, I quickly shut it down before she overthinks it.

  “Ah. No.” I say firmly, still concentrating on breathing manually, trying to get back to normal. “No I just… don’t like this place. I want to get out of here.”

  I can’t give her the time she so desperately needs just yet—there’s something of utmost importance I must do, I can feel it.

  She looks down, looking relieved. “Yeah. I feel the same way.”