Book of the Seven Celestials: The Third Prophecy

Chapter 4. Nothing Is Truly Free

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"El, are you there?"

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Hey, are you there?"

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Hello… are you there?"

*Knock, knock, knock*

The knock and the call periodically resonated. El stayed in his spot, keeping his mouth shut while slowing down his breath. It was a hushed conundrum that left after.

That was, until…

*Knock, knock, knock*

"You there, aren't you?"

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Why don't you call me back?"

This time, there was a hint of impatient behind the tone. The knocks―the calls slowly went faster. And even faster.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Why???"

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Why, why, why, why, why, why?

*Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock*

"ACCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!" The man's hurried voice changed into that of a shriek. A shrill sound penetrated the door, filling the room with ear-splitting noise. So loud that El's eardrum rang and his head spun, compelling him to tightly cover his ears.

A moment later, stillness ensued. Quiet and tense, that seemed to swallow the air itself, made it heavy and hard to breathe. El's heart raced in his chest.

Then, out of nowhere, that same voice from outside the door was heard right next to El's ear, as if someone were sitting beside him on the bed, whispering directly into his face, glaring at him from behind. He could even feel a bizarre cold mixed with hot air blowing against his ear, accompanied by the stench of a rotting corpse.

"Why?" This time, the malice and hatred behind the words were clear, threatening to strike him at any moment. His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.

"Arrrgghhhhh…" El screamed, his eyes wide open as he jolted awake from the nightmare. Instinctively, he forced himself to sit, even though his sense of reality was still hazy.

Gasping for air, El examined himself, still shuddering in horror from the experience. 'Was it… a dream?'

He put his palms over his forehead and one of his eyes. He sighed, feeling stressed. But not for long. Eventually, he realized something unknown beneath him poked his butt. He quickly jumped off the bed, landing hard on the floor, and turned to look at the spot where he had just been resting.

At first, he saw nothing—until a silhouette against the dim light took shape, resembling a head gradually emerging from his soft, springy bed as if it were a puddle in a deep swamp. It started from the top of a pale, wet, bald head marked with stitches, shifting the bedding and blanket with an unknown force, until finally, the red eyes appeared, glaring at El with all the animosity they contained.

Once again, El jolted awake from his sleep.

He opened his eyes wide, adeptly sitting up before springing away from the bed in a panic. Nervously, he turned his gaze to the spot where that head had emerged, but this time he found… nothing.

Holding his breath, perspiration ran down his forehead as he locked his eyes on the spot, heightening all his senses to perceive any surprise that might catch him off guard. He braced himself for another creepy, uncanny occurrence that could startle him.

Seconds turned into a minute, then two, and three. Just as El was about to exhale a relieved sigh, three knocks on the door made him jump.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Bloody hell…" El clutched his chest, cursing inwardly.

"Boy, are you there? What's happened??"

"Ah…"

Recognizing the voice, El noted that the feeling it gave off this time was plain. He decided to stand up and slowly approached the door. Gripping the handle, he gathered enough courage to ask the other side, "Is that you, sir?"

"Yes, what's happened? I heard noises coming from your room."

*Cklek*

El opened the door and found himself face to face with the man.

"What's happened, boy? You look like someone who's seen a ghost for the first time," the man said, scanning the inside of the room while remaining oddly outside.

"Nothing, sir. Just… A… Two bad dreams, I guess…" El replied, his face pale and still out of breath, sweat soaking his shirt.

"I see. Let me in, then. There's something I wanted to tell you…"

"Alright." El stepped aside to let the man enter. As he walked into the room, the man briefly scrutinized the messy bed. Then, for no apparent reason, he looked upward and remained that way for a couple of minutes.

"What's wrong, sir?" El asked, following the man's gaze.

His eyes widened in shock as El discovered a massive claw mark on the ceiling. It hadn't been there when he first awoke in this room. He had no idea what kind of animal or beast could have made such a mark, but one thing was certain: whatever had left that trace meant he was pretty damn lucky to be alive.

Another thought crossed El's mind: if he were a normal human, he shouldn't have been able to see that. Other than a single candle dimly illuminating part of the room, there was no other source of light. Observing the man, it seemed he could also see that mark.

Though El's guard was still raised high after being so close to the man, he found himself slowly beginning to trust him after spending the day together. However, despite this growing trust, his rational mind remained alert.

He didn't know who the man was, where he came from, or why he was willing to take care of an unknown boy like him. He also wondered how the man knew about his memory loss, which only a few villagers from his previous home were supposed to be aware of. Therefore, he had to keep caution at the forefront of his priorities to avoid ending up dead without putting up a fight.

Living in the village, all the caring adults had taught the children from an early age that no gifts came without a price. They had no choice but to live their lives this way, as it was an ill fate that had brought them into the world during those troubled times. At least that advice about 'nothing is truly free' had given him and another boy a few more chances to survive longer than they should have amidst starvation and conflict.

For all these reasons, El ultimately decided to pretend he didn't know what the man had seen at that moment.

* * *

Feigning concern, El inquired, "What is the matter, sir? Is something wrong in there?"

"...Nothing," the man replied, his expression barely visible under the dim light of the candle. This was usually the case—if El had been a normal kid. But he wasn't. He could clearly see the man's grim eyes.

"I'm here to tell you something, kid. I'm leaving…"

"What? Leaving? Where?" El asked, feeling flustered. He never realized how much the man's presence could affect him in just a single day.

"I have some trouble at my job. I'll be leaving first thing in the morning."

El couldn't discern any other emotion from his tone, and the feeling he gave didn't make much sense to him. It was as if the man was in a hurry about something. 'Hurry for what exactly?' he didn't know.

"I see. Alright. Is it far?" El asked, concerned that the man had changed his mind after noticing the claw mark on the ceiling. It was a huge mark with three distinct lines, scratching the surface of the wood. El wondered if it had something to do with the man's sudden departure.

"Not really. I'll be away for maybe a day or two. The longest will be three days." As he spoke, the man reached into his pants pocket, which had a noticeable bulge. "Here is some money for you. It'll be enough for three days, even if you choose to splurge."

The man handed El a small pouch filled with silver coins―the basic monetary unit used throughout the Eschaton Empire. The coins, known as 'Riel,' were named after a plant called rye, also referred to as black wheat. El recognized the name from a few books he had read back in the village.

"Remember this carefully, boy! Do not ever open the door, no matter who you hear from, except if it is from me. Hold on a second; we might need a code or password that only we know. Follow me!" Taking the burning candle from a small white ceramic plate on the table, the man walked outside, with El staying close behind him, perhaps a bit too close, as the man raised an eyebrow in confusion at El's proximity.

'I'm not scared. Just… a bit wary if something weird happens again,' El reasoned to himself.

They arrived in a small, dusty kitchen that seemed to have never been used for years. Drawing closer to one of the kitchen tables, the man approached a peculiar drawer. Its handle, oddly reminiscent of a bag lock, was oval-shaped, akin to an egg. He twisted the handle nine times, the mechanism clicking softly with each rotation. With a deft motion, he pushed left twice and right four times until a satisfying click signaled that the handle had disengaged from the drawer's surface.

The man opened it by grasping the dent on top of the drawer. Leaning in, the candle flickered in the dim light, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

The man rummaged through the drawer, his fingers brushing past various objects until his hand finally stilled.

He withdrew a peculiar glass vial, its triangular shape catching the candlelight in sharp, angular reflections. A small black wooden cork sealed its mouth. Within it, a viscous liquid swirled—a shade so dark it teetered between black and the deepest crimson. El squinted, unsure if it was the light playing tricks on his eyes or if the substance itself defied easy description.

The man held the vial up close, his gaze narrowing as he studied it with an intensity that bordered on pensive and dreary.

Then, with a sudden, almost careless motion, he gave the vial a few brisk shakes that were anything but gentle. As the liquid sloshed against the glass, El's heart jumped into his throat, unease settling in as he sensed the danger of what the man had done.

A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of the man's lips. "Ah, this will do nicely," he murmured, his tone laced with quiet triumph and melancholy. Moreover, his manner of speaking was distinct from how he had talked before.

"What is it, sir?" El asked, curiosity piqued despite his apprehension.

"This is something that witches created to expel 'Creatures of the Darkness.' How is it? Are you curious?" the man playfully said, causing El's interest to grow beyond his comfort zone. The man's tone reverted to how he used to speak.

"Witches? So, they are real… I thought they were just fairytales passed around to scare children," El replied, feeling a mix of surrealism and mystification. He recalled hearing about witches from the man who had kidnapped him, as well as from various books he had read. He had always thought the term 'witch' was just a metaphor used to describe someone behind their back.

"Oh, it's surprising for you to think like that. Anyway, let's get back to your bedroom!"

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