Kill Time (1)

Fate is unfair. We couldn't do anything about it. Life isn't black or white—it's a subtle blend of the two, forming a blurry and confusing gray.

There has never been a question of boundaries between Good and Evil.

It's all about personal interests.

A conflict of interests, and it's war.

Thursday evening, 10:17 PM – Killer Wind Headquarters.

I descended with the chief into the basement to give her my report on Edwoyn's situation. She considered this new opportunity from the same angle as I did, but I needed to figure out what was wrong with him or he would be gone as quickly as he had arrived.

I had two leads to start with: the suspicious deaths in his family and the trafficking of prohibited weapons. I accepted her conditions without hesitation, and the meeting concluded.

Until dinner time, I started a load of laundry, reviewed a few mission files, and tallied our morning purchases. Several hours passed without me notice it. I finally left the workshop upon hearing the hum of the hood in the kitchen.

Damn, it's already so late?

I offered my help in preparing the dinner, as I did almost every time. The cook left us no choice: we were all forced to coexist around the large table and ‘make conversation’.

Justine and her idea of family… It make me sick. My only family is Big Brother, and no one else.

While I filled my mouth to avoid having to speak, Edwoyn felt compelled to answer the leader’s trivial questions. Their friendliness became even more repulsive when they started talking about food. It's better not to repeat what they were saying because it was painfully boring... Fortunately for me, this torture ended quickly.

I took advantage of their distraction to slip away into the kitchen with a plate in hand. The fact that the prince didn't associate Justine with his kidnapping made their harmony easier. I didn't mind being the scapegoat, but to believe Justine had nothing to do with it... If he thought he could rely on her kindness to survive in this hell, he would ended up very disappointed.

It's not me who accepted the mission from the Revolutionaries for money... What do you think you're worth to Justine?

~~~~

Under the shower was the only place I allowed myself to touch my back. My fingers knew each of the outlines that unfolded like a flower from my coccyx. A hundred filaments lay beneath my skin like veins so swollen they could burst at any moment. This burn had long since healed, but when I touched it, I could still feel the heat of the flames that had consumed me. No matter the illusion spells I used to hide my injury, these marks remained seared into my memory.

Thus, I would never forget how weak I had been in the past. How much the girl had unjustly suffered. A pain that today was impossible for me to imagine. Everything had been replaced by emptiness, and without this lack of feeling, I would have been consumed by madness in no time.

I shut off the tap abruptly. A few drops continued to escape from the magic crystal, tears my body was unable to produce. I wrapped a towel around my shoulders and opened the window to release the condensation. My memories were as hazy as the air, but the truth hit me hard when I stood in front of the mirror. I didn't appear in the frame, not even the towel.

I feel nothing, and yet, I sacrificed myself for her. I had no logical reason to do so, and yet, I saved her that time.

It had been a very difficult week for Justine. We hadn't managed to save the group of hostages in time, although the rest of the mission had been a success. This failure had reminded her of her own past, a past she had never really wanted to talk to me about.

I didn't notice it right away because Justine knew how to deceive appearances, but her condition deteriorated over the course of a few days. The first thing I observed was that she no longer went out into town. To ease her anxieties, I offered to conclude communication with our intermediary. After that, I let my guard down because I thought the problem was resolved.

Justine needed time to move on after all. However, as time passed, she became more and more peculiar. Who was she talking to when there was no one around? What did she want to suppress by using painkillers? What did she see in the roses she stared at for hours?

The evening I decided to confront her with these questions, guilt had already overwhelmed her. A dark picture unfolded before me: this woman with a sterile smile and eyes gleaming with malice was not Justine. It was her specter, the darkness of a madness she no longer had the strength to contain. We lunged at each other like two rabid dogs. I struck her hoping the pain would bring her back to her senses, and in response, she grabbed her magical sword. If she let the flames of Purgatory escape from it, her condition would be irreversible.

Justine had warned me that the moment she lost control, she would need to be put down. That moment had come, but I didn't listen. Instead, I gambled everything with a hex. I didn't think for a second about the random backlash that accompanied such spells.

From start to finish, I had one thing on my mind: to get back the Justine who cooked me good meals, to remove that horrible glint of magic escaping from her red irises.

She had done nothing wrong. On the contrary, she had devoted her life to making the world fairer. So why did she have to endure all this? Without her strength and determination, the Wind Killer would never have come into existence. Without her as my leader, I would be nothing.

It turned out that the price to restore her balance was to give up my reflection. Nothing could capture my image anymore, and the moment I died, there would be no trace of my existence.

In fact, within a year, I had forgotten what I looked like myself. This hex backlash gave me a lot of trouble when it came to take care of my appearance, but the upside was that Justine was there to help me. We then took a long break to travel after that incident.

On that nostalgic note, I returned to my room and slipped into a nightgown. With nothing else to do, I daydreamed in bed. Edwoyn had settled in the adjacent room and hadn't left since the afternoon. Only a few strides separated us. Would the prince try something against me tonight?

The violet sky darkened into a dark blue. With the darkness came boredom again. It was always lurking around, how annoying... The curious thing about boredom was that it could sometimes give rise to very ingenious ideas.

My plan to reshape my hostage's personality was one such idea, and it turned out I could put it into action tonight. People are so tired at this hour, they are easily influenced by your suggestions with surprising ease!

Determined, I rolled over on my mattress, left my room, and tiptoed towards the prince's bedroom. Now that the tension between us had subsided, perhaps we could speak openly.

I planned to offer him sincere apologies and express concern for his well-being. Then, I would reassure him and explain that magic was a very effective means to save and protect lives. He didn't need to learn prohibited magic, just a few basic useful spells. I was there to help him become strong.

As I approached his door in the hallway, it was slightly ajar. I discreetly peered inside to catch a glimpse of his silhouette seated on the double bed. However, to my disappointment, the bed appeared unused.

Frustrated, I turned on my heel. Edwoyn was nowhere to be found, and I needed to figure out what he was up to first. Guided by a faint light halo, I continued my way to the living room.

There you are, impostor.

The prince sat on the same stool as that morning, holding a remote control. His pallid face was fixed on the images flashing across the flat screen. Every few seconds, the lights projected on his skin changed colors, from blue to black, then white. Like devoid of will, the boy remained silent before the magical terminal’s screen.

I thought he might retrieve a knife from the kitchen and try to assassinate me in my sleep, escape through a window, or force the front door... Against all expectations, his intentions were far from sinister. He was merely a victim who had too easily accepted his fate, someone without passion to drive him forward.

Come on, don't worry, this issue can be remedied with a few promises.

Seeing the spark of life dim in his glassy eyes, I became curious about what he was watching. Perhaps he wanted to pass the time that he couldn't spend sleeping? Just like me? Across the elevated workbench, Edwoyn watched people gathered in a very flowery park. The figures were dressed entirely in black, as if depriving themselves of happiness.

A master of ceremonies, a magician at the center of the group, was uttering an incantation that we couldn't hear due to the muted sound. His hands, raised towards the closed coffin, conjured a swarm of silvery magic that evaporated into the air. A somewhat cloudy sky shaded the people, most of whom lowered their heads to stifle a choked sob. All turned toward a gigantic picture frame placed in front of the dark coffin.

In the image, the prince stood with clasped hands, dressed in royal attire. He looked neutrally at a point on the horizon, something we couldn't see even if we followed his gaze.

Was he seeing beyond the curtains of Death? Did he hold the ultimate secret to existence? This prince they were commemorating was still named Nathan, a naive son dependent on his father, who was absent from the national-scale ceremony.

Many Court journalists had been invited on this ordinary afternoon, filming and photographing government or army members, the Council of Ministers, and the great noble families in attendance. Edwoyn's cousin must have been there, hidden among the motionless crowd.

It didn't take much for me to understand what the boy had in mind: regrets. If he was watching a replay of his own funeral, there was reason to worry about his mental health. Edwoyn shed no tears, but it was certain he suffered as much as those mourning him. He suffered from being believed dead.

His disappearance would likely precipitate the downfall of his newly established dynasty and deliver the country into the hands of other foreign leaders, who had been vying for control of Asyria and its magic for centuries.

As I spied on him, his light green irises slid to the corner of his eye, catching sight of me without turning around. I hadn't made a sound, yet he managed to detect my presence. Since his kidnapping, the prince had been constantly on guard. Likely, being attacked in his sleep had fueled his paranoia for the next ten years.

"Aurora?"

"The one and only."

I hated his voice. His condescending tone and ignorant gaze annoyed me to no end.

Don't stain my name. It sounds yucky coming from your mouth. It's unbearable.

Despite my repulsion, I had to make a few small concessions to achieve my goals. Strangely, Edwoyn had never asked me my name. He had patiently waited for Justine to serve up the answer at dinnertime.

"Do I not have the right to come here?" he asked, barely concerned.

"It's not about sequestering you to your room. It's just that you were nowhere to be found, and I know how tempting it can be to rummage through the workshop for weapons..."

The boy stared at me, unable to discern from my expression whether I was exaggerating or being sincere. He chose to forget what I had just said, too tired to dwell on it.

Was I supposed to pity him? Did he want comfort, or simply to be alone? What was the point of questioning it? Edwoyn was merely a tool to satisfy my ego; it's not as if I cared about his mental state. However, anyone who works with tools knows there's a fundamental rule: to endure over time, tools need maintenance.

So, I decided to stay and move on to the second stage of my plan: teaching him to control his weird power. I crossed the dimly lit room and took a seat beside him. We watched the rest of the documentary in silence, tracing the prince's life and hearing a few testimonials from his loved ones. I learned that a march on the Grand Avenue of the Palace had been organized that night to honor his memory. Clearly, this documentary was filled with trivialities to avoid revealing the truth...

"You know..." I began hesitantly.

"I wanted to apologize," he said at the same time.

To my surprise, we had spoken simultaneously.

What? But I haven't manipulated you yet! Don't spoil all the fun by skipping ahead!

He flashed a shy smile, which I returned without understanding.

"Thank me for what? I thought we were the source of all your problems..."

"I may have overreacted after training. I can see that you've done everything you could to help me out... It's clear that we come from very different worlds to understand each other. Anyway, that doesn't give me the right to impose my opinion. I've thought a lot, and I think I need more perspective to consider your story of corruption. All of this is very... very new to me. I shouldn't have let my emotions lead me."

"No, you haven't done anything wrong, it's me who abused the situation. I thought you had been lying to us from the beginning because of that inexplicable magic..."

"Since we're both at fault, let's leave this disagreement behind us. No objections?"

I silently shook my head, then followed Edwoyn's gaze to the screen he was pointing at. "Look. Your intervention at Hiven Palace didn’t only have bad consequences: she finally came out of her room."

I examined the only woman in the foreground of the funeral images. Queen Désirée possessed unparalleled beauty. She seemed both majestic and fragile, and there was no doubt that Edwoyn shared her sensitivity.

"What do you mean? She had locked herself in?"

"Oh, that's right, no one knows: Mother suffers from aphasia. She lost her ability to speak years ago. It's psychological, the doctors said. As far back as I can remember, she never came out of her depression, but on the other hand, no one really tried to help her... In the end, she spends most of her time locked in her room."

"But your mother often speaks on screen; she sings for the monarchy’s anniversary every year..."

"They hired an actress who plays her double to make people believe she was fine."

"Another one of their damn charades..." I murmured so he couldn’t hear.

I was impressed that Edwoyn could differentiate the real Désirée from her double at first glance. It was certainly an achievement that only maternal love could enable.

The queen was radiant even in tears, in a puffy black dress adorned with lace and green jewels. Her corset must have been very tight as it didn’t rise when she blew into her handkerchief. In the eyes of the doe, only her golden figure existed, and he was pleased to see her cry. It didn’t matter if it was through pain: she was alive.

What a wonderful bait.