Pristine's Problem | ONC 2024

10 | telling the tale

Alan carefully returned the ametrine portkey to its abode, settling it cautiously to make it look untouched. He couldn't get more thankful as he withdrew the lock from his pocket that was the exact replica of the one he had broken. Hemant had a similar lock coincidentally and had readily given it to his client to aid him from being caught. The memories of the magical servicing agency were vivid and lively, something Alan vowed to never forget.

It had given him new experiences, new lessons and new beginnings, but most importantly, clarity and the right path. He was now fully aware about what was happening in Pandora, which turned out to be a major key in the mystery.

Placing the chest inside the wooden cabinet, Alan revised the details of the information he had gleaned from Hemant. He had to narrate each and everything to Pristine, not because she was smart or anything, but because she would be the only person to trust his words.

As he replayed his conversations with Hemant, he gleefully skipped through the wooden steps of the attic, humming loudly.

This all feels surreal! Finally, I have seen the place I dreamed of visiting!

In spite of the terrifying experience accompanied with a loss of power, Alan was proud of himself for embarking on a solo journey to the magical realm. A sense of maturity had elevated his downcast mood and the information he had convened was going to be the building blocks of finding Andrei's killer.

Excessive pride and rampant delight made him hum louder and skip slower, causing him to become alarmingly noticeable. As he capered through the corridor leading to his room, his humming and breathing ceased after spotting a very familiar figure across the hallway.

Arabella approached the overjoyed Alan with sacks of skepticism hanging through her eyes. She paused midway as she patiently waited for Alan to reach, who had now altered his appearance to a very silent and distraught boy. Cowering his head and slipping his hands into the pocket to protect the vial, Alan attempted to tilt his direction and completely avoid his stern sister. But Arabella was not that soft to let him slide away.

She held out her hand, easily beckoning his brother to cease his walk and surrender to her questions.

Alan gradually relieved his neck from the coil and faced his sister's eyes with pupils of stolidness.

"When did you come back?" Arabella inquired, her voice hinting at concern.

"From where?"

Oh, shit! Did I just voluntarily step inside a quicksand?

"What do you mean from where?" her brow arched as she crossed her arms, "You had gone out after the fight, how am I supposed to know where you went?"

"Ah, yes. I – I went to visit Andrei's grave," a neatly woven sentence with fibers of empathy left his mouth, as Alan narrowed his eyes towards the floor. Though the fibers were organic, it was the cloth that turned out to be defective.

"Oh, okay" Arabella empathized awkwardly. She still couldn't forgive him for what he had done, but standing in his shoes, she realized it was extremely hard for him to analyze his surroundings. As she sought to search for words of solace within the large dictionary in her brain, something felt off.

"Wait, then why are you coming down from the attic?" she directed her suspicion towards her brother, who was now swamped in a pool of anxiety as he tightened the grip over the vial.

"To refer to your books, I have a thesis to submit on Mass Communication and I figured out you had those books," Alan answered with an unwavering tone, hopefully raising his credibility.