The One

The Fortue Cruor

"Then, if I bring someone here, they can come in too?" Feray asked.

"Supposedly so."

Feray fell silent, deep in thought. The spell Odessa had cast on Nasr was strangely specific and uncharacteristic of her—at least, as she was now.

"...what happened?" she couldn't help but wonder out loud.

"When she first sealed me," Nasr explained, "It was her full intention to have me understand, after thousands of years, the importance of what I had surrendered: family and love. The bonds among human beings, witch or otherwise. She wholly expected that even if one such person came to me, they would not sacrifice a loved one for a complete stranger—the first dark sorcerer too, no less."

"Was it a gamble? What if you do get freed?"

"No, she was fully aware of what her seal implied. The only way for you to willingly free me is if you develop a bond with me as well—and whomever you choose to bring to the needle. By then, even if I am set free, I will have learned my lesson and become safe to be free...or I could merely remain sealed. Either way, her action exterminated all remaining possibilities of my being a threat."

"What happened to her?" she asked.

Although she did not specify, Nasr smiled, reminiscent. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. She's not that...righteous anymore, if that's even the right word to use here. So far, she's been trying her hardest to tear my brother and I apart."

"She is a conflicted woman," Nasr said. For someone in confinement, he appeared much more composed than the one who held him prisoner. "After all these years and all that she has witnessed, her faith in humanity has declined. Her supreme position now estranges her, as though she cannot be wrong...thence to prove that she is right, she must stop you. Concurrently, she wants to believe. If you remain true to each other after all that she puts you through, it may convince her once again that some families can be relied on."

Feray shifted in her seat as Nasr remained still. "Don't you think you're a little too cool about your situation?"

"Do I?" His smile only grew, as though he were amused at the fact that she had asked.

"...No, I suppose not. Then, what does all this have to do with the poison?"

It was then that Nasr's smile subsided. "Your brother would have been, I suspect, perfectly fine, however long that poison remained in his system. Izar Quartermaine, however, may perish from it."

"What is it?"

"A fruit of my studies. The leaf itself does not inflict injury or pain, but partially connects physical senses to emotional ones. It is particularly receptive to negative emotions and not so much positive ones. That is to say, when one is undergoing emotional pain, that pain will manifest itself in a physical form as well, its intensity increasing in proportion to the emotional pain. Natheless...nevertheless, the physical experience is not merely feeling; the injury is real. If it feels as though one is bleeding, that is only because one really has been wounded."

"To have your own emotions cause yourself injury...that does sound like the kind of poison a dark sorcerer would make." Feray was only mumbling to herself, even though her faraway gaze never left Nasr.

"If, for instance, you are to betray Waylon sometime in the future, he would—as supposed by my sister—inflict wounds upon himself and perhaps die that way. It is only that she does not know he is much stronger than that."

"No one else can cure that?" she asked, just to be certain.

"That is correct."

At this point, Feray stood and began pacing about in the room. Nasr did not move from his spot. "How could I..."

"Before that," Nasr interjected calmly, "Whether or not you set me free from these chains, you will find yourself facing Odessa's trials. How do you plan to confront them?"

"Her...right. I'll just have to keep learning, I guess..."

"Learn what, exactly?"

Wait. He can't mean... Feray stopped pacing about to glance at him. Nasr rose too, now, standing tall and dignified, making the shackles look like accessories rather than what they truly were.

"You don't intend to subdue her with her own magic, do you?" he asked—except it was no question. Nasr was pointing out that she could not possibly do so.

"Then?" she asked. He must have something in mind.

"Continue studying what the academy teaches you. Alongside that, come here as often as you can, and I will acquaint you with my own magic."

"Is that possible? To learn both?" She couldn't deny that she was intrigued. After all, it was curiosity that made her follow the dark sorcerer to these dungeons in the first place.

"I know both," he answered. "Though the fact remains that I cannot demonstrate as long as I am confined. You will have to listen very carefully when I instruct you. Now, Feray Inglebird...are you interested?"

Saying thus, Nasr reached out as if preparing for a handshake, even though his hand could not reach the bars of the cage. Feray shifted her gaze to the hand for a moment, then to the pair of mystical amethyst eyes. She walked towards him and, after a moment of hesitation, reached into the cage. Her hand passed through, and the two shook hands.

"Thousands of years ago, I had many followers; but you are my first official apprentice. I hope you will not disappoint."

"Then I assure you I won't," she promised with a grin. "But I thought you'd be more concerned about your own freedom. What if I don't want to sacrifice anyone important?"

"That is the easiest problem to solve, Feray," Nasr replied, as naturally as if it were something he had known for a long, long time. "Simply seduce someone such that they love you—the spell does not require that love to be reciprocated. As I know, you are acquainted with a boy somewhere far away who has no desire in life...him in exchange for Izar Quartermaine, is it not a lucrative arrangement?"

So that's how it is... Feray's jaw nearly dropped in shock, although she knew that she should not have found it surprising. Throughout their conversation, she had wondered if the Nasr standing before her now was any different from the tales everyone told about him, if his past self had been different from what was recorded—and if so, how that came to be. She admired his rationality, and wondered if, under that smile, Nasr was as cruel a soul as Odessa.

No, he was not. He was not cruel, merely exceedingly rational. Sure, maybe the years had calmed the mad scientist in him and allowed him space to look into the human heart; yet, at his core, he was Nasr Palmentere—and he lacked those sentiments that he observed in almost everybody else.