The man whose name I have yet to even learn makes my breath hitch. I knew there was a chance, no, a very high chance, that Edmund was dead or had already lost his mind, but I have been hoping against hope that it was not the case. The man looks at me, and I can see visible sadness even through my current vision made of only chains from Insight.
He looks away, however, and opens the door to the barrack that he’s been leading me to for the past few minutes, revealing the inside to my eyes supplemented by Insight due to their injury. Inside is a large room with tables, chairs, and a bar that has few people inside. But one that I instantly recognize.
Edmund.
Even with this disorienting perspective that I have not yet gotten used to, I can recognize the old man. He is hunched over at a table, unmoving and without any noise. Pale white hair as opposed to his normal gray. I can see the Sigil he has beating almost rhythmically just above his heart at his aorta, only it seems lacking as if the purpose is missing. A kind of meaning is lost. I take slow but soft steps into the room toward him.
The man behind me says something but quickly stops mid-sentence.
“Hey, you don’t have to…”
My heart beats faster and faster, reaching the speed that it did when I faced Iva for that split second in an instant before surpassing it without much effort. I can feel it pumping blood throughout my whole body as if preparing for a fight.
With a shaky hand, I grab the chair beside him and sit down, spinning it so that I can face the unmoving Bloodhound. For a moment I just look at him. His shoulders sag, his back bent, and his body given up. On the back of his neck, I see only two pale white marks. Two deaths… That’s all? Can’t be. I refuse to believe that a man such as him would fade after just two.
I call out to the man, some part of me still holding onto the hope that he is fine. That he isn’t like that madman in the ally, lost of purpose and fragmented of mind.
“Edmund? Old man?”
My voice hangs in the air for a moment as the whole room goes silent and the other people in the room look over at me. I ignore and look at Edmund as the old man moves slowly and turns to face me. His movements are dull, unnatural, and completely unlike the sharp man I knew.
Unwilling to merely see him through Insight, I bring my fingers up to my eyes and pull at my eyelids, forcing them open. It hurts. It hurts really, really bad. Like splitting open already closed wounds with your nails. The pain of seeing that God comes a second, a third, and a fourth time before I can open both of my eyes, revealing the old man to my sight.
As I do so, I hear gasps and whispers along the fringes of the room as the undead here realize that I am alive and utterly unlike them. I ignore them as blood streams from my eyes and down my face. I can see, even if blurry. My goal is right in front of me. Even if… even if he is a shell.
Edmund’s eyes which were once bright orbs of defiance and perseverance are now dull balls of fire devoid of feeling. His hands are shaky and his neck creaks as he simply turns to face the stimulus. It seems he barely even knows his name. No words or sign of recognition even comes from his face.
But I do notice one final thing about him. One that I hate to see but that still makes me proud. Proud to be his last student.
Along the front of his neck are not two marks that denote the number of deaths. There are twelve on the front alone. Fourteen total pale marks that each speak of untold suffering and pain this old man went through. Fourteen times where he without a doubt saved a life as he did to me.
Fourteen deaths and the old man holds. Maybe not strong. But he holds. Silas was worried about a third. A grim smile of both sadness and pride sparks at the thought. This is my old man. Not Killian. Not Aniwye.
The voice from behind me from the man who brought me here only further cements my feelings.
“You must have come very far to see this man… Every single person in this room has been saved by him. As well as hundreds of Unsigiled. We stay with him despite how close he is to losing it for our thanks. I don’t know what you are to him, boy, but if you came this far, he must mean a lot to you.”
I see every person in this room whose numbers are in the twenties nod as the man speaks. All I can do is the same, quietly nod as I look back at my old man who just stares dumbly at me. My voice cracks as I speak up myself.
“~Can he speak?”
A “No.” reaches my ears, making my shoulders slump like Edmund’s. Even if I can’t get the answer of where the vault is, Edmund, I’m happy to see you again. I lean in and hug the old man, once again thanking him for everything with a whisper in his ear. It turns out I was more right than I ever thought when I asked him to adopt me.
“You’re the only one that ever cared. Truly cared. Even if it was for a short time, I’m happy I met you, old man. And… I’m sorry.”
Relief hits me the second I finish speaking. My heart begins to settle as I realize that was all I really needed to do. Say sorry. Coming here for the key was just a reason. Not the goal. I can feel my heart slow to a more stable pace with Edmund just blankly staring at me. As I pull back, I hear an incomprehensible whisper come from his voice, one that I can’t quite understand due to its volume, or lack thereof.
“What did you say?”
He doesn’t make any more noise after I ask him, so I just spend a few minutes in silence. I watch him silently as thoughts burn through my mind. The only thing that really comes back is how? How did he reach this state? I know that deaths damage the soul, but it’s so hard to imagine his old self in his current state.
While I ponder this, the voice from before reemerges. It’s a bit shy, almost as if the man doesn’t want to hurt my feelings at this moment.
“Hey, I don’t know how you know him, whether you're a son, grandson, or whatever, I won’t assume, but just know that he made a difference down here. Almost everyone at the edge of Heights owes the old man. Few, even those who would get onto the Heights Of Hope, are willing to defend the souls who are given the Gift without a Sigil. But Edmund? He didn’t care. He’d give his life gladly regardless of who you were.”
I turn and look at him. My vision is still a bit blurry and highly sensitive to light, but I can manage. The undead in front of me looks young, not teens, but in his early twenties at most similar to Vernon or Blake.
A question comes from me, cracked and raw, but the man doesn’t seem to judge at all.
“How did he save you?”
My question makes me immediately think of all the times Edmund saved me. From when I first met him in that forest when he saved me from Ratbeaks to when he saved me in the fight against those beasts. When he carried my unconscious body to the bedroom when I first touched that edge of Ether. A kind guiding hand.
The man answers as he waves at the other people in the room to leave, and I appreciate the gesture as I’d rather not have an audience. The other undead silently nod before funneling out of the room into the other parts of the building. Some even just walk out into the streets of Heights. It's a bit odd to see, but I figure this man here is their leader or something.
“Sorry for not introducing myself, it was interesting to say the least bumping into you, but I’m Dewey. Some call me Salamander, but that doesn’t matter. I… Edmund saved me during a fight with a horde of Ah-Clitz, small demons that manipulate light and darkness together. Edmund, newly undead at the time and not yet proven, saved my whole squad. I’m a Brave, so I have to take care of around a hundred or so Sigiled with me as the strongest in my group.”
Dewey takes a short break to sit in a chair nearby once everyone has left. The chair creaks against the stone floor of the building and grates on the ears.
“I’m expected to take care of them all. Keep ‘em safe and shit, but that cannot always be the case. We were surrounded and without any backup, as most groups are in No Man’s Land. Slowly our group was being whittled down by the Ah-Clitz, and I was heavily injured. When we got down to only ten of us left and I was at the door of my first death, Edmund arrived like a bloody storm. He tore through dozens of Ah-Clitz in a moment. The old man was far stronger than I despite my higher Sigil. The fact embarrassed me at first, but I grew attached to the old man over the weeks and months.”
Dewey takes a deep breath, unintentionally pausing his speech as I see his throat tremble and his fires dim. I feel the same, only mine’s more of a metaphorical reaction than a physical one.
“I stayed with him as much as I could, getting him to stay with my squad. We went from place to place, saving as many of the newly dead as we could, mostly those without Sigils as few are willing to care for them. I watched him die, again, again, and again, and again before my very eyes, every single one hurting me just as much as my own death. Slowly, he lost his edge as the deaths piled up, thinking slower, coming up with fewer ideas, becoming weaker, using fewer skills, until eventually he barely spoke and could only fight.”
Dewey stares right at Edmund as the fires in his eyes flicker to a dull candlelight within his sockets from the usual youthful flame of most undead.
“Most undead can only die once or twice before our souls fade. Some with stronger souls and wills, a bit more. Only One-Eyed Isaac, the man who split the eclipse, can boast more than fifteen deaths. We all thought that after his sixth death without any negative effects, he was simply immune like Isacc back when the man was not an Angel. How wrong we were… Now, at his fourteenth death, he can’t speak and probably can’t fight anymore either, and we are all afraid to go out again, even though we have to soon. Our break for our accolades and rest has run out. Within the week we have to return to No Man’s Land.”
We both sit quietly for a few minutes as we watch Edmund stare blankly at the two of us, all intelligence, will, and personality he once had gone. Eventually, I break the silence.
“I came here to see him one last time and to get a location of something he left, but it appears the second won’t happen. Thank you for telling me all this, I appreciate it. The old man is truly special, and I don’t believe he deserves to die to demons.”
Dewey nods at my words and agrees with me, the fire in his eyes burning just a tad brighter.
“Aye, Wyatt. Someone such as him doesn’t deserve for his soul to be ended by a demon. It just doesn’t feel right. But what else can we do?”
I look at Edmund, and I think of our spars. The few fights we had were where he tried to teach me combat. He told me I was a natural, but never once did I not get absolutely destroyed. Old he may have been, but slow and feeble? That’s not Edmund. Sharp as a crocodile’s tooth and as swift as a bird, that’s Edmund.
What about one last fight? You think you have that in you Edmund? Probably not… I just want to show you how far I’ve come from that kid in the forest. I may not be that much older, but I’m filled with scars just as you are. I don't think I can beat you. Not the old you at least. But... I hope I can beat this version of you at least. It would be embarrassing if I couldn't right? Ever since I got a Sigil, for the most part, I've been fighting up. To get my ass kicked by a 3rd Sigil? It would normally suck and sting my pride, but if this 3rd Sigil were to do it, I'd have no problem with it.
I stand from the chair and ask Dewey what he thinks of my idea.
“You think I could fight him? One last battle between us two? Have him either kick my ass one last time or put him down by someone who loves him.”
Dewey gets up as well and looks confused for a second before nodding.
“You could try. The absolute last thing to be lost by the Fading are their fighting instincts. Also, despite not looking like it, Edmund is definitely a Fading. Only his powerful will holds his soul together from absolute insanity. But before you do so, Wyatt, at least try to see if he can somehow tell you what you needed. It’s not impossible that Fading can remember their old lives, even if just for a moment with enough of a push.”
I get so caught up in the idea of giving Edmund a good death, that I forget about why everyone else came here. For the location of the key to the Vault. Heeding Dewey’s words, I sit back down even if there is little hope of getting an actual answer from Edmund.
Looking into Edmund’s fading flames, I ask him a question without truly expecting an answer.
“Edmund, it’s me, Wyatt. Where did you put the key to the Vault?”
I hold my breath as I wait for an answer. Edmund’s face turns to look at the stimulus of my voice, but nothing else comes from the fading man. I can only shake my head. Knew it was useless. He’s gone. Never to return.
Pushing the chair under the table a bit too hard and eliciting a crack from it, I stand. But as I turn around to look at Dewey, I hear a quiet voice from behind me, one that I can’t tell the meaning of, but that I can still recognize as Edmund’s.
Spinning around so fast that I almost fall and Ether flowing into my ears for Listen, I get close and ask him again. My heart speeds back up at the potential of hearing him speak, even if it's unlikely.
“Where is the key, Edmund?”
I see that as my tone touches him the fires in his sockets flicker, a bit of life returning to the fading flames of Undeath. He seems to move very slowly, his throat, chest, and mouth moving at such a small pace it’s hard to even recognize as a single word comes to be my response.
“Blood.”
I can only raise an eyebrow and get a bit closer. Blood? What does he mean by that? His blood? Undead don’t bleed, though, so it’d have to come from his corpse. Does he mean the vial?! No way… does Alexos have the key? Unwilling to believe my assumption, I ask again hurriedly.
“Is it your blood?”
All Edmund does is repeat himself at first, but his arm rises slowly to touch the blood dripping from my eyes.
“Blood.”
Is that all he can say? Nothing else? I just don’t understand. And I’d rather not know than know it’s the artifact that Alexos stole from Hura’s body. It would make sense though if Edmund himself was the key to the Vault. Should he die, it would disappear forever. Unless an artifact is formed of his blood.
I want to be sure, though. Even though I’d rather not know. I have to be sure. Because if I am, then Alexos is the next stop. And there is only one way to do so. Insight. I will know if I can just understand a tad of his thinking, even if it’s fragmented and broken.
My mind instantly creates a snapshot of that God in the sky of the Underworld, the pain in my eyes spiking, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. And if a God devours the broken-apart souls of the undead here, then I’ll have to find a way to stop that from happening to Edmund. But I have to make sure that madman wasn’t just a fluke and if the key is possessed by Alexos.
But before I use Insight, I ask Dewey about it. I shouldn’t just jump into danger without any preparation or knowledge. See, Johnny? I can learn. It just takes a few more beatings than most. Aniwye proved that with my childhood... Ahem. I shouldn't dwell on that.
“Dewey, what really happens when a soul meets their final death? Where do they go?”
Dewey takes a second to answer and asks me why I’m even asking in the process.
“I’m not sure. I just kinda figured we broke apart and faded away. Why? Are you second-guessing putting Edmund to rest?”
I shake my head and give him a bit of my reasoning.
“No, I’m not second-guessing. I just… I think when you guys reach your final death, you don’t just fade away. I think something or someone eats the remnants of your soul.”
Absolute silence meets my words. Then after a second, I hear a body plop into a chair. I turn and check on Dewey as he holds his head in his hands.
“What’s wrong?”
He trembles a bit before stuttering out an answer.
“All–all–all those Fading must have been telling the truth about Basprit, the All Beginning, the Never Ending, then! I’ve heard several of them talk about how the once God of the Cardinal, Atlantow, was corrupted to go against Her Majesty and now eats the dying. Are the Supremes and Her Majesty keeping that from us?!”
I can only shrug at him. At least I got my answer, though. That was a God. And if only the Fading can see them, then it means Edmund probably can. This will be risky then. Not that danger has ever stopped me before, it just makes me prepare a bit more.
And so, I first get Ether flowing through my body, first Strugglers Defiance for strength then Rapturous for defense in case Ether invades my body.
I take a deep sigh, filling my whole body with a calm before sending Ether into my eyes. As the world of Insight dominated by the chains of reality encompasses my whole vision instead of just the now normal split of imagination and reality, I imagine Edmund and close my eyes, doing all I can to bring his world into mine.
The man whose name I have yet to even learn makes my breath hitch. I knew there was a chance, no, a very high chance, that Edmund was dead or had already lost his mind, but I have been hoping against hope that it was not the case. The man looks at me, and I can see visible sadness even through my current vision made of only chains from Insight.
He looks away, however, and opens the door to the barrack that he’s been leading me to for the past few minutes, revealing the inside to my eyes supplemented by Insight due to their injury. Inside is a large room with tables, chairs, and a bar that has few people inside. But one that I instantly recognize.
Edmund.
Even with this disorienting perspective that I have not yet gotten used to, I can recognize the old man. He is hunched over at a table, unmoving and without any noise. Pale white hair as opposed to his normal gray. I can see the Sigil he has beating almost rhythmically just above his heart at his aorta, only it seems lacking as if the purpose is missing. A kind of meaning is lost. I take slow but soft steps into the room toward him.
The man behind me says something but quickly stops mid-sentence.
“Hey, you don’t have to…”
My heart beats faster and faster, reaching the speed that it did when I faced Iva for that split second in an instant before surpassing it without much effort. I can feel it pumping blood throughout my whole body as if preparing for a fight.
With a shaky hand, I grab the chair beside him and sit down, spinning it so that I can face the unmoving Bloodhound. For a moment I just look at him. His shoulders sag, his back bent, and his body given up. On the back of his neck, I see only two pale white marks. Two deaths… That’s all? Can’t be. I refuse to believe that a man such as him would fade after just two.
I call out to the man, some part of me still holding onto the hope that he is fine. That he isn’t like that madman in the ally, lost of purpose and fragmented of mind.
“Edmund? Old man?”
My voice hangs in the air for a moment as the whole room goes silent and the other people in the room look over at me. I ignore and look at Edmund as the old man moves slowly and turns to face me. His movements are dull, unnatural, and completely unlike the sharp man I knew.
Unwilling to merely see him through Insight, I bring my fingers up to my eyes and pull at my eyelids, forcing them open. It hurts. It hurts really, really bad. Like splitting open already closed wounds with your nails. The pain of seeing that God comes a second, a third, and a fourth time before I can open both of my eyes, revealing the old man to my sight.
As I do so, I hear gasps and whispers along the fringes of the room as the undead here realize that I am alive and utterly unlike them. I ignore them as blood streams from my eyes and down my face. I can see, even if blurry. My goal is right in front of me. Even if… even if he is a shell.
Edmund’s eyes which were once bright orbs of defiance and perseverance are now dull balls of fire devoid of feeling. His hands are shaky and his neck creaks as he simply turns to face the stimulus. It seems he barely even knows his name. No words or sign of recognition even comes from his face.
But I do notice one final thing about him. One that I hate to see but that still makes me proud. Proud to be his last student.
Along the front of his neck are not two marks that denote the number of deaths. There are twelve on the front alone. Fourteen total pale marks that each speak of untold suffering and pain this old man went through. Fourteen times where he without a doubt saved a life as he did to me.
Fourteen deaths and the old man holds. Maybe not strong. But he holds. Silas was worried about a third. A grim smile of both sadness and pride sparks at the thought. This is my old man. Not Killian. Not Aniwye.
The voice from behind me from the man who brought me here only further cements my feelings.
“You must have come very far to see this man… Every single person in this room has been saved by him. As well as hundreds of Unsigiled. We stay with him despite how close he is to losing it for our thanks. I don’t know what you are to him, boy, but if you came this far, he must mean a lot to you.”
I see every person in this room whose numbers are in the twenties nod as the man speaks. All I can do is the same, quietly nod as I look back at my old man who just stares dumbly at me. My voice cracks as I speak up myself.
“~Can he speak?”
A “No.” reaches my ears, making my shoulders slump like Edmund’s. Even if I can’t get the answer of where the vault is, Edmund, I’m happy to see you again. I lean in and hug the old man, once again thanking him for everything with a whisper in his ear. It turns out I was more right than I ever thought when I asked him to adopt me.
“You’re the only one that ever cared. Truly cared. Even if it was for a short time, I’m happy I met you, old man. And… I’m sorry.”
Relief hits me the second I finish speaking. My heart begins to settle as I realize that was all I really needed to do. Say sorry. Coming here for the key was just a reason. Not the goal. I can feel my heart slow to a more stable pace with Edmund just blankly staring at me. As I pull back, I hear an incomprehensible whisper come from his voice, one that I can’t quite understand due to its volume, or lack thereof.
“What did you say?”
He doesn’t make any more noise after I ask him, so I just spend a few minutes in silence. I watch him silently as thoughts burn through my mind. The only thing that really comes back is how? How did he reach this state? I know that deaths damage the soul, but it’s so hard to imagine his old self in his current state.
While I ponder this, the voice from before reemerges. It’s a bit shy, almost as if the man doesn’t want to hurt my feelings at this moment.
“Hey, I don’t know how you know him, whether you're a son, grandson, or whatever, I won’t assume, but just know that he made a difference down here. Almost everyone at the edge of Heights owes the old man. Few, even those who would get onto the Heights Of Hope, are willing to defend the souls who are given the Gift without a Sigil. But Edmund? He didn’t care. He’d give his life gladly regardless of who you were.”
I turn and look at him. My vision is still a bit blurry and highly sensitive to light, but I can manage. The undead in front of me looks young, not teens, but in his early twenties at most similar to Vernon or Blake.
A question comes from me, cracked and raw, but the man doesn’t seem to judge at all.
“How did he save you?”
My question makes me immediately think of all the times Edmund saved me. From when I first met him in that forest when he saved me from Ratbeaks to when he saved me in the fight against those beasts. When he carried my unconscious body to the bedroom when I first touched that edge of Ether. A kind guiding hand.
The man answers as he waves at the other people in the room to leave, and I appreciate the gesture as I’d rather not have an audience. The other undead silently nod before funneling out of the room into the other parts of the building. Some even just walk out into the streets of Heights. It's a bit odd to see, but I figure this man here is their leader or something.
“Sorry for not introducing myself, it was interesting to say the least bumping into you, but I’m Dewey. Some call me Salamander, but that doesn’t matter. I… Edmund saved me during a fight with a horde of Ah-Clitz, small demons that manipulate light and darkness together. Edmund, newly undead at the time and not yet proven, saved my whole squad. I’m a Brave, so I have to take care of around a hundred or so Sigiled with me as the strongest in my group.”
Dewey takes a short break to sit in a chair nearby once everyone has left. The chair creaks against the stone floor of the building and grates on the ears.
“I’m expected to take care of them all. Keep ‘em safe and shit, but that cannot always be the case. We were surrounded and without any backup, as most groups are in No Man’s Land. Slowly our group was being whittled down by the Ah-Clitz, and I was heavily injured. When we got down to only ten of us left and I was at the door of my first death, Edmund arrived like a bloody storm. He tore through dozens of Ah-Clitz in a moment. The old man was far stronger than I despite my higher Sigil. The fact embarrassed me at first, but I grew attached to the old man over the weeks and months.”
Dewey takes a deep breath, unintentionally pausing his speech as I see his throat tremble and his fires dim. I feel the same, only mine’s more of a metaphorical reaction than a physical one.
“I stayed with him as much as I could, getting him to stay with my squad. We went from place to place, saving as many of the newly dead as we could, mostly those without Sigils as few are willing to care for them. I watched him die, again, again, and again, and again before my very eyes, every single one hurting me just as much as my own death. Slowly, he lost his edge as the deaths piled up, thinking slower, coming up with fewer ideas, becoming weaker, using fewer skills, until eventually he barely spoke and could only fight.”
Dewey stares right at Edmund as the fires in his eyes flicker to a dull candlelight within his sockets from the usual youthful flame of most undead.
“Most undead can only die once or twice before our souls fade. Some with stronger souls and wills, a bit more. Only One-Eyed Isaac, the man who split the eclipse, can boast more than fifteen deaths. We all thought that after his sixth death without any negative effects, he was simply immune like Isacc back when the man was not an Angel. How wrong we were… Now, at his fourteenth death, he can’t speak and probably can’t fight anymore either, and we are all afraid to go out again, even though we have to soon. Our break for our accolades and rest has run out. Within the week we have to return to No Man’s Land.”
We both sit quietly for a few minutes as we watch Edmund stare blankly at the two of us, all intelligence, will, and personality he once had gone. Eventually, I break the silence.
“I came here to see him one last time and to get a location of something he left, but it appears the second won’t happen. Thank you for telling me all this, I appreciate it. The old man is truly special, and I don’t believe he deserves to die to demons.”
Dewey nods at my words and agrees with me, the fire in his eyes burning just a tad brighter.
“Aye, Wyatt. Someone such as him doesn’t deserve for his soul to be ended by a demon. It just doesn’t feel right. But what else can we do?”
I look at Edmund, and I think of our spars. The few fights we had were where he tried to teach me combat. He told me I was a natural, but never once did I not get absolutely destroyed. Old he may have been, but slow and feeble? That’s not Edmund. Sharp as a crocodile’s tooth and as swift as a bird, that’s Edmund.
What about one last fight? You think you have that in you Edmund? Probably not… I just want to show you how far I’ve come from that kid in the forest. I may not be that much older, but I’m filled with scars just as you are. I don't think I can beat you. Not the old you at least. But... I hope I can beat this version of you at least. It would be embarrassing if I couldn't right? Ever since I got a Sigil, for the most part, I've been fighting up. To get my ass kicked by a 3rd Sigil? It would normally suck and sting my pride, but if this 3rd Sigil were to do it, I'd have no problem with it.
I stand from the chair and ask Dewey what he thinks of my idea.
“You think I could fight him? One last battle between us two? Have him either kick my ass one last time or put him down by someone who loves him.”
Dewey gets up as well and looks confused for a second before nodding.
“You could try. The absolute last thing to be lost by the Fading are their fighting instincts. Also, despite not looking like it, Edmund is definitely a Fading. Only his powerful will holds his soul together from absolute insanity. But before you do so, Wyatt, at least try to see if he can somehow tell you what you needed. It’s not impossible that Fading can remember their old lives, even if just for a moment with enough of a push.”
I get so caught up in the idea of giving Edmund a good death, that I forget about why everyone else came here. For the location of the key to the Vault. Heeding Dewey’s words, I sit back down even if there is little hope of getting an actual answer from Edmund.
Looking into Edmund’s fading flames, I ask him a question without truly expecting an answer.
“Edmund, it’s me, Wyatt. Where did you put the key to the Vault?”
I hold my breath as I wait for an answer. Edmund’s face turns to look at the stimulus of my voice, but nothing else comes from the fading man. I can only shake my head. Knew it was useless. He’s gone. Never to return.
Pushing the chair under the table a bit too hard and eliciting a crack from it, I stand. But as I turn around to look at Dewey, I hear a quiet voice from behind me, one that I can’t tell the meaning of, but that I can still recognize as Edmund’s.
Spinning around so fast that I almost fall and Ether flowing into my ears for Listen, I get close and ask him again. My heart speeds back up at the potential of hearing him speak, even if it's unlikely.
“Where is the key, Edmund?”
I see that as my tone touches him the fires in his sockets flicker, a bit of life returning to the fading flames of Undeath. He seems to move very slowly, his throat, chest, and mouth moving at such a small pace it’s hard to even recognize as a single word comes to be my response.
“Blood.”
I can only raise an eyebrow and get a bit closer. Blood? What does he mean by that? His blood? Undead don’t bleed, though, so it’d have to come from his corpse. Does he mean the vial?! No way… does Alexos have the key? Unwilling to believe my assumption, I ask again hurriedly.
“Is it your blood?”
All Edmund does is repeat himself at first, but his arm rises slowly to touch the blood dripping from my eyes.
“Blood.”
Is that all he can say? Nothing else? I just don’t understand. And I’d rather not know than know it’s the artifact that Alexos stole from Hura’s body. It would make sense though if Edmund himself was the key to the Vault. Should he die, it would disappear forever. Unless an artifact is formed of his blood.
I want to be sure, though. Even though I’d rather not know. I have to be sure. Because if I am, then Alexos is the next stop. And there is only one way to do so. Insight. I will know if I can just understand a tad of his thinking, even if it’s fragmented and broken.
My mind instantly creates a snapshot of that God in the sky of the Underworld, the pain in my eyes spiking, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. And if a God devours the broken-apart souls of the undead here, then I’ll have to find a way to stop that from happening to Edmund. But I have to make sure that madman wasn’t just a fluke and if the key is possessed by Alexos.
But before I use Insight, I ask Dewey about it. I shouldn’t just jump into danger without any preparation or knowledge. See, Johnny? I can learn. It just takes a few more beatings than most. Aniwye proved that with my childhood... Ahem. I shouldn't dwell on that.
“Dewey, what really happens when a soul meets their final death? Where do they go?”
Dewey takes a second to answer and asks me why I’m even asking in the process.
“I’m not sure. I just kinda figured we broke apart and faded away. Why? Are you second-guessing putting Edmund to rest?”
I shake my head and give him a bit of my reasoning.
“No, I’m not second-guessing. I just… I think when you guys reach your final death, you don’t just fade away. I think something or someone eats the remnants of your soul.”
Absolute silence meets my words. Then after a second, I hear a body plop into a chair. I turn and check on Dewey as he holds his head in his hands.
“What’s wrong?”
He trembles a bit before stuttering out an answer.
“All–all–all those Fading must have been telling the truth about Basprit, the All Beginning, the Never Ending, then! I’ve heard several of them talk about how the once God of the Cardinal, Atlantow, was corrupted to go against Her Majesty and now eats the dying. Are the Supremes and Her Majesty keeping that from us?!”
I can only shrug at him. At least I got my answer, though. That was a God. And if only the Fading can see them, then it means Edmund probably can. This will be risky then. Not that danger has ever stopped me before, it just makes me prepare a bit more.
And so, I first get Ether flowing through my body, first Strugglers Defiance for strength then Rapturous for defense in case Ether invades my body.
I take a deep sigh, filling my whole body with a calm before sending Ether into my eyes. As the world of Insight dominated by the chains of reality encompasses my whole vision instead of just the now normal split of imagination and reality, I imagine Edmund and close my eyes, doing all I can to bring his world into mine.
