“You mean, harmless in the right hands,” Kire pointed out. She rubbed the palm of her hand. “I’ve wondered that for a while. It makes sense. And yes, it would be very useful in this case. I’ve fought with Ikegai’s dolls and illusions so often I have a sense for them now, so magic like that would leave a strong imprint, especially since I’m already in close contact with you. Make sure it’s a strong memory, enough of me to get a sense of you, too. Let’s leave out going back to Ziad.” She thought about the Gemini wearing her knife. Why? It bothered her, his presence there. Someone this young, carrying out blood magic rituals? Even by Amrian standards, he looked too green to be proficient in the kind of magic Ikegai and his former Gemini teachers had.
“There was one other thing I found useful for tracking them. The gems used in the dolls. I kept the one from the dead Kartaian doll from Ziad. I had a gem from one of his failed dolls back in Amria when I first arrived, and while it didn’t display any magical traces while it had been in my possession, when I got closer to the other doll the two gems called to each other. Though that wouldn’t be too stealthy, given that it goes both ways, and it would be more useful as a way to find other dolls.” Kire sighed.
“Alright. I agree to the use of that Touch. If you’re able to get back your former proficiency and we get Ysaryn to provide us with details, we’ll make arrangements for this plan. Worse comes to worst, I could show them my real face. That should give them a jolt.” She smirked a little at that, then went thoughtful again. “Are you absolutely sure about this? This is very, very dangerous. I’m usually the one rushing into something incredibly stupid. I know I said you’re too stubborn to die so easily, but this is pushing it.”
--
Gavin had a busy day full of the mundane tasks one expected when dealing with a royal wedding. Though, he had never been to a royal wedding, or experienced anything of a nobleman’s life before. He felt worn out, spread thin—more so than usual. The part of him that stayed at the back of his mind, whose voice was drowned out by Ikegai’s imperative, knew the source of this emptiness. That part of him screamed that everything about this was wrong, that what he was doing was wrong, but it was never as strong as Ikegai’s voice, in the guise of Akuma’s soothing tone, that this was his destiny. He didn’t belong to this world. He had a home, a people, and if he wanted to find them, he would do as Ikegai told him to do. And so, he was here, a blood mage’s apprentice. And yet…
He washed his face in the porcelain basin of his quarters, then looked at the gaunt expression in the mirror. Like staring at a stranger’s face. He didn’t understand the emotion people felt at the procession. Why was everyone so joyful, so gods-be-damned happy? Gavin rubbed his face, mussed up the hair that had been slicked back. That was more like him, like he used to be, but even then something felt false about it. Something disturbed him, had been disturbing him, for a few days now, and that voice that stayed locked away had grown a little stronger.
A few days ago, he had been sent to the ruins of Ziad to investigate what had happened to the first Kartaian scouts. After a while of searching, he saw the bodies. Gruesomely executed. This woman, this hunter, was strong. An executioner from another world, Ikegai had told him. This is what awaits you in that world. Misunderstanding. Hatred. Distrust. It was then that he found the hunting knife. When he touched it, he felt—strange. When he had first met Akuma, there was an otherworldliness to her that called to him, and he knew, even as she sank her hooks into his mind, that she wasn’t from this world. So was her master. The caravan to which he had been sold as a young boy had been on the way to Ziad when the attack had happened. His cruel master was killed. So were the others in the caravan. And yet, Akuma and her master spared him, for the same reason he had been drawn to them, himself. Like called to like.
But this knife. Gavin had asked to keep it. Said that he would one day bury it in the hunter’s neck. Akuma let him have it, and she—meaning, Ikegai, too—seemed to like the idea. But every night he would hold the knife, observe the craftsmanship. Etched into the handle was a dragon winding around it. Gavin would trace the snaking body. Though it was a hunting knife, something about its make gave him the impression of something made with care. And something about the faint aura that had stayed behind, the aura of its owner, the hunter—he didn’t know why he was so disturbed by it. He had formed an image of the hunter in his mind from what Ikegai and Akuma had told him. A twisted version of Akuma. And yet…
Gavin dropped the knife, sank onto the floor, cradling his head. He hadn’t had a night of confusion this bad since the beginning of his time with Akuma and Ikegai. His head throbbed. Images of the elves they had captured and mutilated flashed in his mind, and that voice screamed with each face that flashed in his thoughts. He took the knife, aimed the point to his neck, his hands trembling. This wasn’t the first time he had done this, either. But it had been weeks since he had last had the impulse. Why did it come back now?
Calm down, sweet child.
The voice soothed him, made him drop the knife, and he stared at his expression in the mirror again. His eyes stared back, empty.