The Dawn of Darkness || T. Riddle

Chapter 41: An Act of War

And finally, it was just the two of them. The silence of strangers hung between them for a while as they both silently assessed one another. And whilst Cassandra made sure to use this brief moment of awkwardness to fully take in the man before her, he in turn did so without even taking his eyes off his work.

Cassandra waited for a few seconds to see whether he would pay her any attention. But he did not. She wasn't expecting much social skills from a man in his mid to late twenties who had been confined to a forest all his life, but she was slightly disappointed when he didn't so much as cast a glance in her direction. Was this man before her truly who she thought he was? The man she'd been theorising about and searching for for longer than she could remember?

The forest wall loomed around them as they stood. It was both a comfort and a grief. On the one hand, she could seek cover from the vast foliage should she need to. On the other hand, she was questioning why she felt the urge to seek shelter.

She cleared her throat. "My name is Cassandra Vablatsky," she attempted, lacing her voice with a gentle flair to try and match Glenda's dulcet tones. "Your mother said it would be ok if I asked you a few questions."

The man issued nothing but a low mumble in response as the Seer took the time to examine the mixture of white and scarlet divots and swirls that adorned his body in the form of scars; almost like the paint splatters of an abstract artist.

"What's your name?" she attempted. No response. Cassandra felt a fleeting urge to shake him or otherwise curse him to get him talking. She had no time for niceties. And she was beginning to doubt herself, too. Surely this couldn't be the one she'd been searching for. Could it?

She held her tongue and took a deep breath, forcing a gentle, girlish laugh to escape her lips. "You don't speak much, do you?"

The man took in a deep inhalation of air until it filled his lungs; his chest expanding and then collapsing as he loosed the breath. He took one last swing of the axe - swinging it up behind his head and back down upon the log by his feet with such force the Seer had to question whether the ground thundered. Once the wood had been sliced in two with one, precise swing, the man lowered the axe to his side, though was sure to keep a tight grip on it in the presence of the stranger.

With his free arm, he wiped the tendrils of sweat from his brow, the remnants of moisture dappling in his wild black hair. And eventually, he met her gaze.

To the Seer's surprise, the man had eyes that held a strange sort of innocence. They were the hue of the clear nights that would hang over this forest, with flecks of gold that were just about visible in the gleaming sun.

"May I ask why you don't use your magic for that?" the Seer asked,  gesturing her fingers from the axe to the pile of logs.

He waited a few seconds before answering - and his gaze hadn't left hers for a second - as though he wasn't sure of the appropriate moment to break eye contact. When he eventually spoke, his voice was low and soft, laced with a strong, rhythmic accent, though the underlying sternness was unmistakable. "Prefer to use my hands."

The Seer forced another short laugh, but the man's face remained impassive as he stared her down. Cassandra had to take a moment to gauge the height difference between them. He had looked tall when she saw him from the cottage on the other side of the expanse, but standing next to him was something else. Cassandra herself was considered taller than average for a woman by most, but standing next to the man by her side made her feel almost like a child.

"I see," she replied, glancing down towards his hands - one of which was balled into a fist by his side, the other gripping onto the handle of the axe until his knuckles had whitened. "Yet from what I hear you're exceptionally skilled in the art of magic?" she pressed, surveying him from where she stood. "Did your parents teach you?"