Chapter 29 - I'll Tell Ye Everything I Know

"I hated everythin'. I hated ma ain shadow. I hated the sounds, the cursed clatter that filled my ears. I hated the sight o' what ma eyes were forced tae see. I hated feelin', tastin'. I hated drawin' breath in this world I despised beyond all reckonin'. I hated livin'. Aye... I hated masel'. Ma ma and da, ma auld brither, the hated me, even ma sister, they hated me right enough. They hated me for nothin' but bein' different frae them. Everythin' I did, nae matter how grand the deed, put disappointment writ plain across their faces. Day after day in that cursed hoose, I felt like a stranger. It tore at me, aye, it tore and tore, till the day I died inside. An' efter that... naught mattered anymore."

"Still wearin' that dreich face today, Alfons?" A half–white–tiger hybrid worked beside Alfons in the dead fields of the kingdom of Storber, his ragged clothes the mark of a field hand.

"How d'ye think I look today, Zlafar?" Alfons asked, his tone flat and indifferent.

"How ye look?" Zlafar snorted. "Like somebody's taken yer lass in front o' ye and ye couldnae lift a finger. Ah, but then again, who'd bother takin' up wi' you in the first place?" he said, chuckling to himself as he kept at the earth with his hoe.

"Aye. I agree," Alfons replied, voice still monotone.

"The state o' our land's worse than it's ever been. We kill the criminals, we bury 'em, we work this cursed earth we dinnae even ken why we're workin'. It'll no' bring forth any food. Every household's steeped in bitterness an' spite between its own. You're no' the only one sufferin', brother," Zlafar said.

Alfons stared at him working, letting his own task fall idle.

"What is it? Move yer hands," said Zlafar.

"Why d'ye keep on livin'?" Alfons asked.

"Why d'ye live? Maybe... because I dinnae want tae die. The world's more than just this we're doin'. Even if—"

"I stopped listenin' to Zlafar. Lost interest altogether. Maybe whatever he was about tae say could've given my life some meanin', but no. Neither that, nor the traitors' heads I spiked along the roadside, nor the soldiers I'd cut down in battle, nor the criminals... none of it meant anything anymore. Whether some family waited for them, or some sweetheart, or kinfolk, I couldnae care less.

Oft times I'd forget their names, the names o' those I even shared a roof with. Each day was naught but a cycle of forgettin', my mind droppin' into a pit like domino stones toppled one after the other. I was standin' on a winding stair whose end I couldnae see. And the cruelest part? I still havenae learned the reason for all this hate. I still dinnae ken why I live like this. I still dinnae ken why I push myself tae suffer inside, unheard by anyone. I still dinnae ken why I'm sufferin'."

"You intrigue me immensely. What's your name?"

"A voice. A voice I'd never heard before came from the kitchen o' ma house. Along the path that voice carved through the air, pale spirits o' a woman wi' golden hair an' a crimson dress floated above it, lurin' me toward her mysterious words. Their faces were voids, empty hollows, but somehow I could ken what they were tryin' tae tell me.

I followed them inside. The spirits vanished, and the first thing I saw was blood, spreadin' its murderous glow across the room. It reeked o' death.

Seated in a chair was a young man in a dark jacket, wearin' fingerless leather gloves, waitin' for me wi' the most unsettlin' calm imaginable. His face was hidden by the darkness cast by the blocked sunlight, yet I could see his eyes clear as day, red and sharp, like blades cuttin' intae ma soul.

Ma mother, Jolie, I think she was called, had three knives buried in her throat. Ma father, whose name I cannae even bring mesel' tae say, was hacked intae dozens o' pieces. Ma sister's head was spinnin' playfully in the stranger's hand. The remains o' ma brothers were scattered all ower the house.

I should've been horrified by the sight. But no... for some reason, I felt calm. It was like gazin' at a classical paintin', a beautiful landscape that pulls ye inside.

I didnae ken what tae do. Memories came floodin' back, ma father lashin' me across the back for accidentally touchin' his hand... ma aulder brother spittin' in ma face for nae reason... ma sister mockin' me wi' her friends as I trained behind the fence. Ma mother throwin' food in ma face just tae vent her anger at someone else.

I was the black sheep, aye. They say the fourth bairn brings misfortune intae a home. After they died, I understood. Tae them, I was just a mistake. I shouldnae have existed at all. They saw me as an error. Well, it's their fault, is it no'? They chose tae have a fourth child. Maybe they wouldnae have ended up wi' a wretch like me otherwise."

"Alfons. Alfons Barner," I said.

"Alfons, eh? Doesn't it bother you that your whole family's been brutally murdered? You were right there, watching, listening to their screams for help. I saw you through that window," said the young man, his quiet voice carrying an eerie tone.

"Aye, I saw. Truth be told, I dinnae even ken who they were that ye killed, though they shared ma blood," Alfons replied flatly.

"I see. And why such indifference, then?"

"Indifference, eh? I dinnae ken. I've nae answer for that question."

"What if I told you I could give you a reason to enjoy life the way it should be lived, Alfons? Would that interest you?" the boy asked with a sly grin.

"A reason tae savour life?"

"Yes. From what I can tell, this existence you've been living can hardly be called life. To live, you need something worth telling. Something interesting, not bleak and lifeless. Something that captivates an audience, entertains them," said the boy.

"I didnae ken what tae do. Memories came floodin' back, ma father lashin' me across the back for accidentally touchin' his hand... ma aulder brother spittin' in ma face for nae reason... ma sister mockin' me wi' her friends as I trained behind the fence. Ma mother throwin' food in ma face just tae vent her anger at someone else.

I was the black sheep, aye. They say the fourth bairn brings misfortune intae a home. After they died, I understood. Tae them, I was just a mistake. I shouldnae have existed at all. They saw me as an error. Well, it's their fault, is it no'? They chose tae have a fourth child. Maybe they wouldnae have ended up wi' a wretch like me otherwise."

"Yer right," Alfons said quietly. "Even breathin' feels like somethin' I oughtnae do. Now that they're gone, maybe..."

"Alfons," the boy interrupted softly. "You're a free bird now. You take no orders, and you owe no one an explanation. Life is yours. The world is yours. It's not just this pit you've wasted your days in. Find yourself. Leave this place. You're free."

"It was temptin'. Far too temptin'. Provocative. Irrational. Unholy. Wicked. A voice that burst wi' pure evil. Somethin' that vile shouldnae exist in this world. Yet... that very evil made me see the light. That voice, so pure, so calm, made me break the iron bars o' the prison I'd lived in since the day I was born. I felt... saved.

I cannae remember what it was I once desired, but one thing I ken for certain. I feel better. I feel like masel'. I've left the nation o' hybrids, that cage that wouldnae let me fly. I've wandered this continent for hundreds o' years, findin' freedom, seekin' knowledge. I've met humans, elves, vampires. I've come tae ken everything there is tae know about my life, about how I see the world, how I live.

I've powers now, aye, powers beyond the bounds o' any mortal. I've visited every library, every kingdom, every landscape, every village, every place, every forest. I ken the four corners o' Zagros as if they were carved in the palm o' my hand.

Until one day, I found somethin' strange, a place unlike any other, in the far southern edge o' the human lands. A house wi' a sharp purple roof, restin' atop an ancient tree. A tree older than any other that stood around it."

"A traveler in my region? It's rare for anyone to pass through here," came the voice of a woman, mysterious and melodic, echoing between the trees.

"Ah! M-My name's Alfons Barner. I'm just a pilgrim seekin' knowledge, ye see. I suppose ye live in that strange-lookin' house up there?" asked Alfons, a bit startled by the sudden greeting.

"'A pilgrim seeking knowledge'? Hahahahahaha! I haven't heard something that stupid in ages. That was so cringe, honestly," the woman said mockingly.

"Heheh... ehm... dinnae ken what else tae say," muttered Alfons, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"From what I can see, you're not armed. And you don't give me the impression of being dangerous. You can come inside this house, if you wish. That is, if you truly want to know more," said the girl.

"From what ye can see? Hm?" Alfons glanced upward and noticed several strange birds, white toucans with dark beaks, perched on the branches, staring right at him. Then, suddenly, they flew off.

"(She can see me through the birds... must be a witch...)" he thought to himself as he began walking toward the treehouse.

He stopped before the massive trunk, puzzled. The house was at least thirty meters above the ground, he could see no way to reach it.

"Ehm... how am I supposed tae climb u—"

Before he could finish, the bark of the tree began to shimmer. Steps formed, spiraling upward like a helix along the trunk.

"Oh, right. My bad," said the woman's voice.

Alfons climbed the spiraling stairs until he reached the door. He opened it carefully and stood speechless.

Endless shelves of thick, multicolored books lined the walls. Magical artifacts of every kind, wands, orbs, grimoires sealed under glass, filled the room. Jars containing tiny, preserved creatures, a frog, a dwarf, an artifin, sprites, fairies, stood on display. Alfons wandered curiously down the corridor, his eyes wide.

At the far end, to his left, sunlight poured through an open doorway. He turned, and there she was.

A young woman, perhaps in her twenties, with long, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She wore a pointed red hat like a true sorceress, a dark cloak, a crimson scarf around her neck, and matching red boots. She sat at a desk, writing with a black-feathered quill. A blue parrot with three bright green eyes stared at Alfons from a cage beside her.

"The bastard's here! The bastard's here!" squawked the parrot, flapping its wings.

"Arnerd... I invited the bastard, remember? Don't mind him," she said, turning to Alfons with a faint smile. Her eyes, bright orange, slit like those of a goat, studied him from head to toe.

"N-Nae problem. Yer a witch, aren't ye?" asked Alfons hesitantly.

"The last witch, as far as I know. Quite depressing, really," she replied dryly. "So, what do you think of my lair? Pretty cool, right? Took me years of study to build it from scratch."

"It's truly somethin' special. Can't say I've seen anythin' like it before. And tae think... I'd heard witches were all gone. I cannae stop amazin' masel' with this journey I've taken," said Alfons, his accent thick with awe.

"Oh? And what made you take on such a journey?" asked the witch, intrigued by her guest.

"I'm tryin' tae find masel' through the knowledge this world hides. Thought I'd learned all there was tae ken, till I ended up here. I've heard witches existed thousands o' years ago, but were hunted down for the danger they posed. They kent too much. Folks thought they were servants o' the Devil, and such a thing they couldnae abide. A war broke out between them, must be seven hundred years ago, if memory serves. But the humans had the support o' the Visionaries, gave them the edge, and they won. Those who survived were executed in the hearts o' kingdoms. So now the question stands, who are ye, and how did ye survive?" asked Alfons, his tone suddenly serious.

"My, my... you're quite the curious one, Alfons. So curious you'd dare to ask about me?" said the witch, her voice teasing, almost seductive.

"I-I mean, only if ye dinnae mind, of course. Just... curiosity, nothin' more. If ye cannae—"

"Depending on how you answer my next question, I'll tell you everything you wish to know... and how to learn things this world could never teach you. Are you ready, Alfons?" she asked softly, her voice smooth as silk.

Alfons listened intently to the witch, his eyes fixed on her as the flicker of candlelight danced across her face.

"Where do angels come from?" she asked suddenly.

"'Where do angels come from?' From the Three Moons, of course," Alfons replied with confidence, crossing his arms as if sure of himself.

"So," said the witch, smiling slyly, "I'm glad to know you're ignorant."

"Whit? Is that no' the truth? Angels come fro—"

"Yes, yes, I got it," she interrupted. "But at least you've passed the test."

"Passed it? Did I answer wrong, then?" Alfons asked, brow furrowed.

"Precisely. Because you answered in the stupidest way imaginable, you're perfectly qualified to learn the truth. I quite like meatheads like you," she said with a grin.

"Ahhh... right then. Ye win. So, tell me, where do angels come from?" Alfons asked, half-amused, half-curious.

"Prepare to bless your ears with knowledge that is absolutely priceless! Hahahahahaha!" she burst out laughing, like a manic scholar who'd finally found an eager listener.

"(What kind o' language is she even speakin'? She's meltin' ma brain...)" Alfons thought to himself, both fascinated and bewildered.

The witch told him everything. About Ladnoria. About the angels, the Dominions, the demons. About worlds he had never even imagined existed. Alfons was captivated, hanging on every word, like a child discovering a long-lost secret he'd always longed to know.

"And that's that. Oh, almost forgot to tell you my name. Elionarta. A pleasure," she said, extending her hand toward him.

"The pleasure's mine as well," Alfons replied with a nervous chuckle, shaking her hand awkwardly.

The next day, Alfons was training with a wooden staff he had found beneath a tree. Strangely enough, the staff showed remarkable resilience and strength. It was a simple, practical weapon, perfectly suited for a duel.

"Odd, isn't it? That a staff so plain could be that powerful?" asked Elionarta, watching Alfons lean against a tree.

"Aye, ye're right. In fact, I've noticed the trees here as well. They look... different," replied Alfons.

"The witches lived here for two thousand years. Over time, the trunks of the trees absorbed fragments of magic, which gave them resilience and power. Witches also used the trees to communicate with one another. So don't expect to be dealing with an ordinary forest," Elionarta explained.

"I see. But ye still haven't told me why ye're the last witch. And... I've another question. Elionarta, that was the name of the last queen o' the witches. D'ye perhaps have a connection to her?" Alfons asked, his dark hair falling over his serious gaze.

The witch looked at him intently, blinking slowly before shifting her sorrowful eyes to a broken branch lying on the ground.

"Yes. I am connected to Queen Elionarta, because I am her," she said.

Alfons' eyes widened in shock.

"I-I see..." he muttered, gripping the staff tighter, unsettled by the revelation.

"The older a witch grows, the more magic she possesses. You can imagine how much power I hold at this moment. The form you see before you now is the result of something I did seven hundred years ago, something I regret every single day. I betrayed all of the witches," Elionarta confessed, her voice heavy with sorrow.

"You... betrayed them? How? Why?" Alfons asked, bewildered.

"The Divine Isle of Ladnoria is protected by three barriers. One belongs to the angels and the dominions. Another shields the whole island itself." Her hands trembled with fear and hate as she spoke, while Alfons listened closely.

"All of this began with an obsession I carried for centuries. I wanted to prove the existence of the woman in the red dress," Elionarta said.

"The... what now?" Alfons asked curiously, lowering the staff to the ground.

"It is said the dragons were exterminated by demons thirteen thousand years ago. I never believed that. The dragons' power, influence, intelligence, there's no way they were inferior to demons. Especially with the existence of the Eleven Kindu. But the woman in the red dress... I believe she was the one pulling the strings from behind the curtain. She must have had some tie to the dragons. I was always fascinated by her existence, by the riddles and mysteries surrounding her. I longed to know what her true motives were, and above all... who she really was."

"S-So ye tried to find her? The disappearance o' the dragons pushed ye that far?" Alfons asked.

"Eight hundred years ago, I decided to fly to Ladnoria, the isle considered barren by mortal eyes. But it was not so. I had a powerful sense that the land concealed something, so I cast the Incantation of Martyrdom, in the ancient language of witches. It was a spell used to alter the souls of those corrupted by the petals of darkness. Since altering a soul granted access to another world, within the spiritual realm, I presumed the same could happen there."

"And... did it?" Alfons pressed.

"It did. Our dimension rippled like a tidal wave, and before me appeared a vast forest, its trees dark, with leaves glowing red, blue, and golden. I had crossed into another world," she said.

"By the gods... Incredible! What did ye do next?" Alfons asked, awestruck.

"I began to fly deeper into the forest. I saw creatures unknown to me, ancient monuments in ruins, traces of civilization of which I had no knowledge. The sky itself remained frozen for most of the day. There was no night, only the sun, circling above three moons that shimmered brightly even in daylight. In short, I was in another realm. But as I flew onward, something caught my eye: a massive labyrinth. Its walls rose dozens of meters high, covered in moss and greenery, stretching for miles. Strange inscriptions were carved into the stone, in a language I had never seen. It seemed to be a sophisticated technology the dragons had built, lost to time. Fascinating. Curious, I flew closer on my broom... but I was not alone," Elionarta whispered.

Alfons shifted his fingers in a subtle reaction.

"A man was walking along the labyrinth walls," Elionarta continued with a dramatic tone. "He wore a dark jacket, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. His skin was pale, but what struck me most... was his hair. It was green."

"What d'ye mean by the color o' his hair? What's the weight o' that?" Alfons asked, confused by the emphasis she placed on that detail.

"From what I've read, dragons were said to have green hair. But they no longer exist. Don't you find that just a little contradictory?" she asked, provoking the hybrid deliberately.

At that moment, Alfons remembered the boy who had slaughtered his whole family. He tried to connect Elionarta's description with his memory.

"He kept walking calmly along the walls, and then vanished from my sight. Hesitant, I chose to follow his steps. The mysteries of that place burned within me, clawing to be uncovered. What would I see if I followed someone who could perceive the labyrinth so clearly? As I rose with my broom to fly above the walls, something horrific and unexplainable appeared before me. Like a vision, one that even in the worst nightmares could not be seen.

I was elsewhere. It felt as though I were dreaming with my eyes wide open. I saw something I was never meant to see: a barren desert, a sky pure blue without a single cloud. In front of me moved pale, naked children, so white they seemed like porcelain dolls cracked and broken across their bodies. They walked in jagged, crooked lines, singing with voices at once innocent and terrifying. Their song was monotonous, perhaps in the ancient language of the dragons.

At the center of their strange procession rested a great egg. But its shell was not strong, fluid, unstable, unlike any egg I had ever known. The children's singing swelled as the egg swayed weakly, rocked by their chant. Then, fingers pressed against the shell from within. First one hand... then another. A leg. A head. Like a fetus straining in its mother's womb, it sought to emerge. The sight, together with that dreadful song, raised every hair upon my skin. For some reason, I could not move. I was trapped, unable to escape the ritual.

The egg cracked. From its insides came a stiff, lifeless arm, followed by a grotesque stream of blood, running into the grains of sand. The children sang louder, their steps quicker, their rhythm rising. Half a body slithered forth, like some malformed serpent. It had no face, yet clearly the body of a woman. Her long blonde hair, dulled nearly to white, hung limp. Her flesh was frail, death clinging close about her. The image was pure horror.

The children began to march toward me, their feet smeared with the blood spilling from the egg. Still I could not move a single muscle. Helpless. They carried me as though I were some object of sacrifice. They brought me closer to the woman of the egg. My body shook with terror. Never in my entire life had I felt so small, so powerless.

She stretched out her left hand to touch my face. Her nails, long, filthy, coated in mold. With her other hand, in an act of unspeakable horror, she tore into the skin of her own face. She carved a false mouth through soft, revolting flesh. Blood streamed down as her nail sliced deeper. At that moment I thought I would faint from the sheer terror. She opened that gruesome mouth, where the torn flesh was irregular and obscene. And then she smiled.

She made noises, attempts at laughter. She widened the false mouth with her right hand, and inside... I saw my own dead face. My mouth, my eyes, filled with dozens of tiny replicas of my head, staring back at me from the corners of their eyes. And—"

Elionarta shuddered violently, her whole body trembling at the mere act of recounting it. Alfons listened with deep empathy. He did not interrupt, only listened, with respect and with grim understanding.

"And then," she went on, her voice breaking, "I found the strength to scream out the same incantation I had spoken to enter that isle: 'Alahi, Usdrek, Usrik, Ucnen, Euk. Aliah, Zayrys, Euhi, Utekai Irni.' At once, the terrible vision vanished.

I was back in the forest, gasping for breath. Drenched head to toe in sweat. Never in my existence had I faced such evil, such malice, such horror. I looked to my left, then to my right, and I ran. I ran as fast as I could from that cursed place," Elionarta whispered.

"When even ye, a witch, call that place too cursed for yourself..." Alfons muttered under his breath, both intrigued and unsettled.

"I returned to Tertes and dedicated nearly a whole century to forging a spell strong enough to ensure that spirit would never escape that labyrinth. Days without sleep, endless searching for grimoires, research upon research. I experimented on magical creatures in the most damned of ways, desperate to find a solution. My obsession with that vile spirit grew to an unhealthy madness. And at last, I found the answer. But it was the worst possible answer. Foolishness, truly... but at the time, I was so desperate I saw it as the only light on my path.

The Zangh'Untres Barrier. A magical veil witches weave to hide themselves from the rest of the world. Normally, it takes a considerable amount of magic to erect one, but this time, the amount required was madness itself. For I planned to cover the entire island of Ladnoria with it."

Alfons' eyes widened in shock.

"And so," Elionarta whispered, "I sacrificed all the magic of the witches to create this barrier. Every witch was turned into an infant, while I... was left with this form. They could never hate me, for they could no longer understand me. I was alone upon that desolate isle when I cast the spell. My magical strength collapsed to a shadow of itself. I was no longer the witch humans feared. They took advantage of this incomprehensible phenomenon and began slaughtering every infant witch they could find. We have always been persecuted by mortals 'Servants of the Devil,' 'Children of Evil.' And I... I was powerless to protect them.

I don't know if it was the right choice. I don't know if that wicked entity would have ever set foot in Zagros. But still, I did wrong. I have never forgiven myself for such madness. I am a terrible person. No different at all from that woman I saw," she said, clutching her arms tightly against herself.

"The vision mortals once held of angels has plummeted these last seven centuries. Now it makes sense," Alfons said quietly.

He stepped forward toward her. Elionarta looked at him, confused, sadness etched deep in her eyes.

"Ye did the right thing, Elionarta. Some acts... they demand sacrifice. Give nothin', get nothin'. Ye gave yer identity, yer very kind itself, so Zagros would never taste the terror ye felt that day. To me, ye're a heroine," Alfons said firmly.

A flicker of hope and warmth returned to her eyes.

"This isn't a reason for ye to keep yerself imprisoned in a cage that doesnae exist. I think the woman in the red dress is deeply tied to the vision ye saw in the labyrinth. In fact, I'd wager they're one and the same," Alfons declared.

"I-I believe that too. I no longer have the magic to pursue her, but—"

"Ye've got a plan though, aye?" Alfons interrupted.

"Yes. I've longed to uncover her identity all this time, and at last, I've found the way," she said, looking at him with fierce determination.

"Now that's the witch I like," Alfons replied with a smile.

"I'm certain she's connected to the Eleven Kindu. Unlike angels and dominions, demons are not shielded by a barrier. They dwell within a massive tower of nine circles. Demons are reincarnated sinners of angels. Practically, they are not alive, and therefore cannot cross barriers. The barrier only works upon life, upon the interaction between two living energies. They could have left the isle before, but they never did. That is what puzzles me," Elionarta explained.

"Maybe somethin' else held them back. Or maybe... they had a different motive. I've heard tell of the petals o' darkness. Perhaps that's the reason. They're bound tae them in spirit," Alfons said.

"That theory holds some weight. The demons believe in their own god, Agh'Urunda. Their king, Xael, is his son. The Guardians are fragments of Agh'Urunda's lost power, along with the six petals of the Dark Tulip. The petals are near impossible to find, for they wish not to be found. They hide themselves, masking their presence to avoid falling into the wrong hands," Elionarta said.

"The wrong hands... But aren't they already meant to fall into the wrong hands? They're evil petals at the end of the day," Alfons remarked.

"True. We could learn more if we held them ourselves. But for us, it is far more practical to defeat the Guardians of Hell," she replied.

"Isn't it a bit mad dangerous tae face them? They're the Guardians o' Hell itself," Alfons said warily.

"Well... you'll be the one facing them, not me," the witch replied calmly.

"WHAT!?" roared the dark lion in sheer disbelief.

"Why so surprised? You won't go unprepared, of course. You'll train here with me. And lucky for you, I know nearly everything about them," Elionarta said with a mischievous smile.

"I hope ye're right. But what makes ye so sure I can face them?" Alfons asked.

"Your magic's attribute is absorbance," said Elionarta.

"What does that mean, then?" asked Alfons, raising an eyebrow.

"It means you can copy the abilities of others, within a certain limit. In ordinary cases, if you kill someone, you gain the powers they possessed. But with the Guardians, since they use Lagus, an energy different from yours, you can not only copy their skills and adapt them into your own magic, but there's also a strong chance you'll absorb a fragment of their subconscious. In other words, part of their personality and memory might merge with you.

The Guardians are fragments of Agh'Urunda, and if you manage to defeat them all, you might learn the truth about the Petals of Darkness and the identity of the woman dressed in crimson gown," said Elionarta.

"Aye, that's quite the explanation, that is. But how'd ye ken I've got such an ability?" Alfons asked.

"Because I'm a witch, duh. I can sense another's magic just by looking at them," said Elionarta.

"Frightenin', that..." murmured Alfons.

"Indeed. Now move your ass and put in some effort. We've got work to do, kitten," said Elionarta as she summoned her broom and flew toward the house. She felt a spark of purpose beside Alfons; for the first time in years, she had found the will to face her fears.

Alfons began his training. He did push-ups in astronomical numbers; stayed at the bottom of the lake for hours to expand his lung capacity; punched at the air to increase his speed; meditated endlessly; read Elionarta's books without pause, studying them intently; leapt from the highest mountain peaks nearby to train for aerial duels, even though, of course, he couldn't fly.

Three years passed, each day a repetition of rigorous training. His discipline was absolute, and results inevitable.

"The day's come, right?" asked Elionarta, watching as Alfons fastened his yellow cloak.

"Ye think this cloak suits me? Bit much, innit? I'll stand out like a bloody torch in the dark," said Alfons, inspecting his outfit with mild disbelief.

"I made it myself. It's an artifact that stimulates the physical attributes of the one who wears it. You'll be facing opponents one on one. In fact, it benefits us if you stand out," said Elionarta in a calm tone.

"Aye, I get it. Hope we meet again, then... if I make it out alive," said Alfons with a crooked grin.

"Try to defeat as many Guardians as you can. I've told you everything I know. The first Guardian you'll face is Edda of the First Circle. It'll be a battle full of tricks, as she doesn't fight physically. This fight is the one you should give the most importance to, since you'll rely solely on your own strength. Afterward, it'll be easier. You'll absorb Edda's power when you win. Fight as hard as you can, but never fight—"

"Xael, aye? Don't need tae tell me twice," said Alfons, cutting her off.

"Exactly. He's in a league of his own. Even the Dominions fear to face him. Here, take this map," said Elionarta, handing Alfons a hand-drawn parchment.

"This is a map I made myself through centuries of study. Here you'll also find the incantation that lets you pass through the barriers. It's written in the ancient language of witches. But I strongly recommend that you don't say it."

"Why's that, then?" asked Alfons.

"If someone passes through the barrier by using the incantation, the whole thing lights up, making it known to every inhabitant of Ladnoria that someone has entered. If a divine being crosses it, the sky glows yellow. If a mortal like you does it, darkness covers the island for several seconds."

"So how am I supposed tae do it, then?" asked Alfons.

"You're lucky you're speaking to the creator of the barrier. Here." The witch handed him a strange green pair of scissors, with a glowing red gem set in the middle.

"What's this? I mean, what do the scissors actually do?" Alfons asked, frowning curiously.

"The island of Ladnoria behaves like a world of its own. If you go there without guidance, it'll appear as a flat, lifeless land. But if you take those scissors and make a cut in the air while you're there, the dimension will split in two like a sheet of paper, and you'll pass through it as if walking through curtains. I'm sure you understand what I mean."

"Aye, I think I get ye," said Alfons, scratching his mane.

"When you arrive, you'll see it clearly. I'll give you another one when you return," said Elionarta.

"If I return..." Alfons muttered, gripping the scissors tightly. The witch looked at the hybrid with a strange empathy; she knew the weight of his task.

"Good luck," said Elionarta, placing her hand on the lion's arm.

"Aye. I'll need plenty o' that," said Alfons, walking southward. The witch watched him go with quiet sorrow, but deep inside she was certain, he would achieve his purpose.

He traveled far and wide, across swamps, forests, plains, mountains, and small villages. At night, he'd build himself a fire and sit close to it, letting the warmth keep his solitude at bay. Every now and then, he'd share a brief chat with a traveler heading the same way, before parting ways again on the endless road.

Two months passed since his journey began, and at last, Alfons reached the southernmost point of Zagros. Technically, it was still part of the Hybrid Nation, but the land there turned wild and cruel, a range of jagged cliffs rising high above a roaring ocean that battered the rocks below with furious waves, carving them away piece by piece.

"So this is the end o' Zagros, eh? Been explorin' near three hundred years, and still feels like I dinnae ken a thing about this world," Alfons muttered to himself.

"Hey there, brother!" called a voice from afar.

"Who's that?" Alfons turned toward the sound.

"What are you doin' here? Lost, are you?" It was a hybrid, a magpie-headed fellow wearing a grey beret and a white shirt, puffing lazily on a cigar clamped in his beak.

"Ah, nah. I came here for my own reasons. If ye dinnae mind me askin', do ye live here?" asked Alfons.

"I work here. I'm a ferryman. Had to deliver a shipment to the Kingdom of Strugnes nearby. This is my post. Not many folk come this way. Barren place, no life, no business," said the magpie, lighting his cigar with a flick of a match.

"What's this place called, then?" asked Alfons.

"Honestly? No idea. I just call it the workplace , this sad, godforsaken shore. And you, what's your name?"

"Alfons."

"Edward. Pleasure," said the ferryman, shaking Alfons' hand.

"Likewise," said Alfons, gripping his hand firmly.

"You're dressed a bit strange, mate. Some sort of parade I haven't heard about?" Edward teased.

"Na, not quite. I'm headin' beyond this continent. There's a massive island out there, called Ladnoria, past the Varna Ocean," said Alfons.

"You serious? That place is cursed. Dead land. Cold, empty, lifeless, a true wasteland. If you're askin' me to take you there, that'd be a fool's errand," said Edward, clicking his beak in disapproval.

"For twenty Solis?" asked Alfons.

"Sorry, but—"

"Forty?" Alfons pressed.

"Brother, I don't think—"

"Fifty?"

"Still not enough—"

"Fifty Solis and a magazine o' elven women sketches," said Alfons, pulling from his bag a roll of parchment covered in rather risqué drawings of elven ladies.

"When do we set sail?" said Edward, instantly.

The two of them departed for Ladnoria the next morning. The sea was treacherous, waves crashing and twisting beneath a dark sky. Clouds gathered and broke apart in bursts of storm.

"Now that I think about it, Edward, why don't ye use yer wings for yer job? Seems a lot faster than rowin' this wee boat," asked Alfons, bracing against the wind.

"You're right, brother, but you need a flying license in my kingdom," said Edward, rowing steadily.

"Flyin' license? What kinda nonsense is that?" scoffed Alfons.

"Too many criminal birds were fleeing from Portras, my homeland, just by taking off. So they passed a law to stop that. I got caught up in it myself. The license costs a fortune. I barely make enough to feed my wife and kids," said Edward, his tone weary.

"Aye, I see. Tough life ye got," said Alfons quietly.

"We do what we must. Not everyone's born lucky in this world," Edward replied.

Those words struck deep in Alfons' mind. He knew well he wasn't born lucky, quite the opposite. Cursed, in fact. Yet even so, he'd found a reason to keep living with that curse, perhaps even to turn it into a gift. The twelfth Kindu had given him this fate... but was it truly a blessing, or just a punishment that needed time to bloom?

They rowed for days, and finally, Ladnoria appeared on the horizon.

"Land!" shouted Alfons, his voice filled with relief.

"Barren land, more like. I won't ask what you plan to do there, not my business, but be careful, Alfons. You seem like a good lad," said Edward.

"Dinnae worry, Edward. I ken what I'm doin'," said Alfons firmly.

"Do you? Well then, fair enough," said Edward, reading the determination in Alfons' crimson eyes.

They anchored the boat by the shore. It truly was a dead land, patches of withered grass scattered unevenly across dry, cracked earth, dust and dull sand, small puddles of muddy water glimmering faintly under a pale sky. The bleakness stretched as far as the eye could see.

"See what I meant? But I've been paid well, so I've no reason to complain. Good luck," said Edward, stepping back onto his boat.

"Aye. Safe travels, friend," said Alfons with a small smile, watching the ferryman disappear slowly into the misty distance. He waited until Edward was long gone. Waited. Waited... and finally, when the horizon was empty, he reached into his bag.

"All right then..." he muttered, pulling out the green scissors. "Let's hope ye work."

He opened them slowly. The red gem at their center shimmered faintly, and as he closed the blades, the air before him tore open like a curtain, revealing a wavering reflection of the lifeless island, shifting side to side in an eerie rhythm.

"Elionarta was right," Alfons said as he continued cutting the air until the opening was wide enough to step through. Hesitantly, he entered the rift.

On the other side, everything was different. A desert stretched before him, where violent gusts of wind whipped the sand into spiraling tornadoes all around. He covered his face with his yellow cloak, realizing it shielded him from the cutting grains, another testament to Elionarta's craft.

"So this is it... the land o' demons. Her calculations were dead on," said Alfons, unrolling Elionarta's hand-sketched map from his bag.

"Now I'm one step closer tae me goal, and—"

"I'll tell ye everything I know," said Alfons, standing before Igorus, between the towering bookshelves of the great library the sage himself had built from his own wisdom...