Waking up to a blinding green blaze was about as pleasant as bleaching his eyes. Bright spots had imprinted themselves on the back of his eyelids long after the flash had subsided, and his head burned from the inside as if someone held a torch to his brain. While painfully blind, he outstretched his arms, looking for an anchor to lean against and wait it out, but his fingertips slid down a smooth surface, making him tip off balance.
And then it ended so abruptly, he wondered if he had imagined the agony. His vision returned, though everything was still blurry, and his head was blissfully quiet and calm.
For some reason, he was surrounded by glass, a dome only large enough to fit him standing up, and there was no exit out of it. That was curious. He mumbled to himself, "What did you get yourself into..."
He searched his mind for a name to address himself by, but none came. No, he had to have a name. Everyone did. Or did they? He couldn't remember the names of anyone, not family, friends, pets, or famous persons. He couldn't remember faces or places or any event prior to the green light as if he was born within it. Absurd. It was likely temporary. Hopefully so was his vision problem.
"Excuse me, is anyone there?" he yelled out, struggling to see out of his glass prison.
No answer came but something banged against the glass behind him. He turned to the sound and froze, seeing a hairless red tail flick side to side behind him—his tail. He had a demon tail.
"I'm a cambion," he said to himself and paused to let the thought seep in. He was a cambion, half-human and half-demon. It felt true, like common knowledge and no big deal. He shelved that revelation for later and focused on the challenge at hand. There was no lever or a handle to pull to open the endless wall, and he worried that he'd run out of oxygen soon.
He banged on the glass with sweaty fists. "Hello! Anyone there? Can you please get me out of here?" His scream was too loud in his prison, discouraging him from trying again. He waited and listened, but no one came to his rescue. The cramped space was closing in on him and another shallow inhale of the sticky air brought no relief.
He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself and resumed inspection of the sphere. The glass was smooth and warm to the touch and there was something etched into it from the outside—symbols, not words, a set of elaborate circles within circles, miniature runes his defective eyes couldn't decipher.
For lack of other ideas, he lay on the rounded floor and aimed a good kick at the glass. It didn't budge. He kicked again and again, fueled by sheer desperation and anger at whoever was responsible for trapping him here. The crack of glass was the most beautiful music to his ears, and it gave him a spike of adrenaline to keep going. It took many more kicks before he expanded the hole enough to climb out. Shards of glass fell out with him as he crawled out, and he hissed at the pain in his hand. He pulled a glass chunk out of his fleshy palm and closed his fist to stop the bleeding. The pain was worth the freedom though.
He gathered himself to a standing position, swatting glass shards off, and caught sight of his tail again. It moved independently as if it had a mind of its own but obeyed him as well. Did any other surprises await him? He took stock of himself: two hands, two feet, and clothes that hung loosely on him though he wasn't skinny. His head was full of soft unkempt curls and had no injury that would explain his amnesia. Overall, he felt quite well. He didn't know what he looked like but judging from the fuzz on his chin and above his lip, he was a teenager. The verdict was in: he was a teenage cambion with a tail. It was comforting to know something about himself, but it wasn't a name. It was like naming a cat Cat.
Hoping that seeing his face would jog his memory, he searched for anything reflective, but his poor vision did not help. The further the objects were, the more their colors blended in with each other, forming a reality soup. Where was he anyway? The spacious room was bathed in yellow-tinged lighting and housed several steel tables cluttered with colorful trinkets and scattered papers. Yellow glow caught his eye. It came from a glass orb only big enough to fit in his palm. He brought it close to his eyes to examine and immediately became transfixed by the twinkling light swirling inside.
"Ah, my empty head doesn't render me clueless."
He understood that he was looking at raw magic and that it remained harmless and aimless until directed by a runecaster, but how was it harnessed within the glass and what could it do? He couldn't remember. This room had to be a magical laboratory. He looked back at the glass contraption he broke out of. It definitely looked like someone's invention, but why was he inside it? Was he an invention? Absurd.
He wished he could see what other surprises hid in the clutter, but everything further than his shoulder was blurry. Did he have glasses? He needed glasses badly. He searched his pockets but found only a stick—an ice cream stick. Now he craved ice cream. Vanilla. Hmmm...
A high-pitched squeak made him spin around, and his tail knocked an empty glass orb off the table. He cringed at the crash and called out, "Hello?"
No one answered. He held his breath and his tail before it caused more destruction and listened for the source of the sound. That hazy white blob could be someone hunched over a desk, but why hadn't they responded when he called for help before? Was this some kind of a sick experiment? Or worse—a prank. Let's lock this guy in our glass sphere, sit back and enjoy the comedy as he makes a fool of himself.
"Ha-ha. The joke's over. Can I have my glasses back now?"
The silence was only interrupted by soft scratching like someone was writing vigorous notes with observations about his behavior. This was unfair. He didn't agree to be their test subject. At least, he didn't think he would have. Would he?
He stumbled through the room with his hands outstretched, hoping to get some answers from this person, but when he was close enough to see, he found a white coat thrown over a tall chair. He swallowed a prick of shame over the mistake, but on the other hand, he was relieved that he wasn't someone's punchline.
The source of the noises was on the table under a small hand-written sign "ARTHUR'S CASTLE."
"Hi there, little guy. Are you Arthur?" he greeted a white rat that sat in an open cage, shredding a piece of cardboard into long strips. Its home was closer to being a funhouse than a cage. The multi-floor "castle" had an obstacle course, a hammock, sturdy toys to play with, soft ones to chew, and the food dish held a pink cookie in the shape of a heart.
"Your owner is a big softie, huh? At least you're loved."
Bending down to admire the rat's home, he spotted a small mirror and squinted at it, trying to see himself. His facial features were blurry, but his vivid ruby-red hair stood out even to his piss-poor eyes.
He glanced over his shoulder at his red tail.
"You match my hair," he said.
The naughty appendage wagged behind him, pushing his trousers down. He tightened his belt and noticed a clasp above his tail. Though loose, these clothes were clearly tailored for a cambion like him. He found comfort in that like it was an assurance that he wasn't just born in that sphere. He was someone real and someone out there knew his name. Perhaps they were still in this house.
After numerous encounters with wicked furniture that added to the growing collection of bruises on his thighs, he found a door that opened into a long and dark, lavender-scented hallway. As soon as he stepped in, a thin strip of light illuminated his path, running between mahogany wall panels and in all the corners. He brought his useless eyes close enough to recognize the stream of liquid magic flowing through a thin glass tube.
"Remarkable," he mused, wondering where it was coming from and where it ended its journey. He was loving this place more and more.
The cushioned rug quieted his footsteps as he carried on, eager to learn where he was. He heard a door closing and rushed forward, calling out, "Is someone here?" Yes, this was exactly what he needed. Someone with answers.
"Hey! How did you get in here?" The voice belonged to a young woman.
He heaved a sigh of relief. "Hi. I was hoping you could help me. Do you know who I am?"
Her tone changed from accusatory to a pleasant surprise as she came closer. "I'm sorry. I didn't know... He never has any guests. And no, we haven't met yet."
The hazy blob turned into a tall woman dressed in a white business suit that complemented her tan skin and raven-black hair. She was human as far as he could tell but didn't seem to mind that he was not.
"I'm Tristine, Merlin's personal assistant. And you are?" She tilted her head as she looked at him, her smile growing, but then she gasped, "Sweet angels, your hand. Are you okay?"
He'd long forgotten about his red-stained fist, but now that he looked at it, it throbbed to the beat of his heart. At least it had stopped bleeding by now. "It's just a glass cut."
"Come, there's a first aid kit over here stocked with a Golden Drop."
He followed the staccato of her heels through the tiled floor which muted when they stepped back onto the hallway carpet. They passed by a glass case full of awards and a dust-free bookshelf that was just for show. When she opened a narrow door, the lights turned on their own, illuminating a small bathroom furnished in mahogany and tiled in marble, but he wasn't interested in the decadent decor. Instead, he squinted at the glowing strips that lined every corner. These things were everywhere around this house.
"How does it light on its own?" he asked.
"Ah. The light strips get activated by the threshold runes when you pass by them. It's an old invention."
"So every home has these?"
"Not yet. Consumers complain that our maintenance plan is too pricey for something that's only a convenience."
"It's a brilliant convenience."
"I think so too. One day we'll figure out how to lower the costs."
He rinsed his bloody hand under the faucet while she rummaged in a drawer for what he assumed was gauze.
"Do you live here?" he asked.
"No, though sometimes it feels like it," she chuckled. "I was on my way home already, but then I saw that flash of light and worried that something went wrong with that new invention Merlin was working on. He's a bold experimenter."
Perhaps something did go wrong, he thought, watching the water turn from red to clear again. The memory of the blinding green light stood out vividly in his mind. It would take severe trauma to cause his amnesia, and since he had no visible injuries, something peculiar had to have been involved, maybe magical even. As much as magic excited him, he couldn't imagine that he would willfully agree to an experiment that could cause brain damage. But what if this experiment wasn't over and the worst was still to come?
Tristine retrieved a small vial and emptied a few yellow drops on a cloth which she dabbed on his wound. It stung at first, but then the skin glued itself in front of his eyes and relief washed over him like a tingling wave. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation and waited for the healing to reach his mind, but it remained as blank as her suit. Even magic couldn't repair his damaged brain.
"What's your name?" she asked.
He remembered the rat he'd met, and shame rippled through him as he became jealous of a rat because at least Arthur had a name. He tested his healed hand by opening and closing his fist and tried to keep his voice casually curious. "So that's Merlin's lab over there?"
"Yes. That's his private workshop. It's his house after all."
"Of course, and what kind of experiments does he conduct?"
She paused before answering as if his question took her by surprise. "New rune combinations for new magitech designs. Innovation is down the road we haven't paved yet, as he says. I'm sorry, I still don't know your name."
"Arthur," he said to shut her up but immediately regretted the comparison.
A bright smile grew on her face. "It's nice to officially meet you."
He wondered if Arthur was aware that he was a lab rat or if he was distracted enough by the toys in his play castle that he deluded himself into thinking that he had free will. What was this house if not a giant cage with toys for curious minds like his own? He feared that if he didn't leave while he had a chance, then he wasn't any wiser than a common lab rat.
He tried to keep his voice steady while backing up into the hallway. "So where is Merlin now?"
"My guess is that he's in his workshop."
"He's not in there. I already checked."
"Then he must be upstairs."
"Could you check for me? I don't want to intrude in his private quarters."
She patted his shoulder. "Of course. You can wait in the kitchen if you'd like." She pointed to an open doorway to the side. "I'll be right back."
As she climbed the stairs, he didn't step into the kitchen but quietly dashed forward, looking for the door she had come through. For all he knew, his home could be not far from here. He could ask the neighbors if they knew who he was or to direct him to the authorities. Yes, the police could help him. Though he had no proof, he was sure that Merlin was responsible for what happened to him.
"Merlin?" Tristine's voice carried from upstairs with her steps. "Arthur is downstairs for you."
His stomach twisted and his lungs burned as if he was back in that sphere again, suffocating. He had to save what was left of him while there was anything left at all.
He found a heavy double door with thin stained-glass panels on the sides and didn't even look back as he wrenched it open. He rushed out of Merlin's house onto a moonlit lawn, disappearing into the night like an escaped lab rat.
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Tristine combed all the rooms for Merlin, but he was nowhere to be found, and by the time she returned to his young guest, he was gone too.
"Merlin?" she called out. "Arthur?"
After a full sweep of both floors, it was quite clear that they had left together without telling her. "Men!" she scoffed.
She would have been cross with Merlin for keeping the boy's visit a secret, but maybe it was supposed to be a surprise. And what an exciting surprise it was! She had many questions for her boss, but they'd have to wait until Monday. Besides, she had been off the clock for hours so why was she still here?
She left him a note in the kitchen with a reminder about the meeting on Monday, then she locked the door and got into her hoverpod but hesitated before taking off. Could she have been wrong about the boy? He was acting rather dodgy and never confirmed what he was doing there. On second thought, no, there was no other explanation. No way could the boy look so much like Merlin and not be his son, besides, Merlin had earlier mentioned that he was looking forward to spending his weekend with Arthur. She had to give it to him. He knew how to keep a secret. This news took completely took her by surprise.
Merlin was not a family man. As far as she knew—and she studied his life at the university as well as on her own time—he'd never even been in a long-term relationship. He married his work and was a faithful husband, and somehow he had managed to keep the boy's existence secret from the world, but this was very good news. He sure could use the company.
"Have fun bonding, boys," she said into the night and drove off.
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