VAESEN - The Ruins of the World

Chapter 13 - Puppets of Fate

Sighing, Zane let his head sink against the wall and resignedly closed his eyes. Breaths passed in which there was nothing but oppressive silence, permeated by the steady rippling of the water in the canal at his feet. Again and again, his consciousness teetered on the brink of unconsciousness - perhaps he even temporarily succumbed to it. Zane had lost all sense of time. He needed to rest and gather his strength.

But suddenly, a soft but steadily increasing ringing broke through the silence. It was as if a mosquito was hovering around his head and pestering him with its buzzing while he was trying to fall asleep and enjoy the sun on a rock. Then, it brightened in front of his eyelids as the light came closer and darkened as a shadow fell on him.

The rumbling in his chest was quiet as he forced himself to open his eyes a crack. Blurrily, he recognized a figure above him.

Had the hunters already found him?

Had they followed him into the catacombs from somewhere?

Or was it one of the villains from the corridors?

Would he slit his throat in the hope of finding a few coins in his pockets?

Instinctively, the heartbeat in his broad chest quickened, urging him to flee - but as soon as he moved, it wasn't just his body that rebelled. A bony hand reached out towards him with a jerk. It was so skinny that he could feel the bones and joints.

„Don't move, friend," a rough voice reached his ear. „You're in no danger. At least not from me."

The skeletal hand placed itself on his shoulder. Its grip was much stronger than he had expected and, at the same time, gentle, like the touch of a mother or father pulling you into their comforting embrace and promising that everything would be all right.

Zane's muscles tensed for a moment ... but then the strength drained from his limbs, and the urge to flee died like a dying fire. His instinct told him that this figure was telling the truth, and as exhausted as he was, he wanted to trust it.

But his gaze lingered on the silhouette in front of him. Although he could only see outlines, he recognized a twisted stick the stranger was leaning on. Dark rags fell over narrow shoulders, with tiny silver bells dangling from the frayed ends.

„Who are you? How did you... find me?" he asked as the figure slowly sank to the damp ground and placed his walking aid in the mud beside him.

Scrawny fingers gripped his shirt to expose the claw-riddled skin and the growing bruises on his ribs.

„It doesn't matter who I am or how I found you," the stranger replied without lifting his head. He felt over the blotchy skin and brought Zane to the brink of fainting again.

Blinking, the Cait-Sith tried to stay conscious, gasping.

„I know who you are. And I have not forgotten what you have done, white Ghost," the stranger said, withdrawing his hand and focussing his attention on Zane's left leg. „You have caused suffering, but sometimes, a single act does not fully define us. I am here to help you and repay an old debt as it was meant to be. We both walk a path that we cannot leave. And we each have a task to fulfill. There's a reason we're alive, even if we shouldn't be. And your story has only just begun, young Cait-Sith."

Zane frowned. His mind couldn't follow the riddles the stranger spoke in. It was hard enough for him to listen to his words. Cold sweat stood out on his forehead, evidence of his fight against shock and hemorrhaging.

'"Retrouvez-moi dans une autre vie",' the stranger then said slowly. As if he wanted to make sure that Zane understood him. „You know these words, even if the language is foreign. Your brother has always been there, but now his fate is yours. Those words are the key," the voice whispered as Zane's eyes drifted shut.

Yes, Zane knew those words. They were the code to access one of the exclusive black markets underground in the Palais Garnier - the opulent opera house in the heart of Paris—a place he had always hated, just like his brother.

The other-worldlier and shadowy beings traded in slaves and antiques there. Large auctions were held regularly at full and new moon, where the latest goods were sold to the highest bidder at horrendous prices.

Kaye had been to some of these auctions - there was no better place to gather information. His brother had been able to move inconspicuously among the figures there but had returned agitated every time. Kaye hated the market because it attracted the scum, whether filthy rich or pitifully lost.

Maybe that's where he found the dagger?

Had the thief murdered the satyr to pawn it?

„There is still time. The time you need to heal," the voice reached his ear as if through cotton wool, and Zane felt the world slipping away. „I'll take care of your wounds. The moon will be full in two days, and your fate will be decided. And now rest in the knowledge that you are safe."