Unrepentant

Selen took a cautious peek at Silas, who had just returned with Nyx perched on his shoulder. The moment they entered the room, Silas began pulling out an impressive array of glassware, tubing, and herbs from his satchel. Neither he nor Nyx spared a glance at the comatose Zinnia, who lay peacefully on the bed.

Nyx fluttered over to Selen's desk and landed with a soft thud. The crow twisted its head, observing her from different angles, causing her mild discomfort. She shifted uneasily under his gaze but couldn't tear her eyes away from what Silas was doing.

Silas rolled up his sleeves, revealing the softly glowing Sage Grooves carved into his forearms. The intricate patterns appeared to be alive, pulsing gently with an inner light. He took a steadying breath and began setting up a strange interconnected glassware station.

Selen's curiosity piqued as she watched him work. The glass tubes and flasks connected in a complex network, each piece fitting perfectly into place as if they were part of an elaborate puzzle.

Nyx continued to watch Selen intently, his beady eyes following her. She tried to ignore him, focusing instead on Silas's meticulous preparations. The room filled with the faint floral scent of herbs as he crushed leaves and measured powders with exacting care.

Silas's movements were nearly hypnotic, each action fluid and purposeful. He poured liquids from one flask to another, the contents changing color as they mixed. Steam rose from a heated beaker, curling lazily in the air before dissipating.

Selen leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view of the process. She had never seen anything quite like it before. The makeshift Alchemy station appeared to pulse with Energy, the liquids inside glowing faintly as they flowed through the tubes.

Silas glanced up briefly, meeting Selen's eyes for a moment before returning to his work. There was an intensity in his gaze that made her shiver. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of potion he was brewing and what its purpose might be.

Nyx finally looked away from Selen and turned his attention to Silas's setup. The crow tilted its head, watching as Silas added another ingredient to the mixture. A faint hiss filled the room as the liquid reacted, bubbling up before settling back down.

Silas adjusted the flame beneath one of the beakers, his focus unwavering. The glow from his Sage Grooves seemed to intensify as he worked, casting a gentle light over the glassware. Selen found herself drawn to the patterns on his arms, mesmerized by their intricate beauty.

The potion began to take shape before her eyes, its color shifting from deep blue to vibrant green. Silas carefully monitored each reaction, making minute adjustments as needed. His expertise was evident in every movement, each step executed with flawless precision.

As she watched, Selen noticed the scent in the room shifting. What had started as a light floral aroma grew heavier, richer, the air thick with the mingling fragrances of crushed herbs and simmering liquids. The mixture emitted a warm, nearly comforting glow, reflecting off the glass containers, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The rhythmic bubbling of the concoction, combined with the steady glow of Silas's grooves, gave the scene a surreal, almost otherworldly ambiance.

Selen leaned in closer, intrigued by the changing hues within the beakers. The liquid swirled with shades of emerald and sapphire, merging together in a dance of colors that felt alive. She could practically hear a faint hum, a soft, pulsating rhythm that matched the gentle throb of Silas's grooves.

Silas moved with practiced ease, his fingers deftly maneuvering between the vials and containers. His precision was mechanical, yet there was an undeniable artistry to his actions, as if the brewing process was as much about intuition as it was about skill. The room was alive with the soft clinks of glass, the hiss of steam, and the subtle crackle of Energy coursing through the apparatus.

Selen’s eyes were fixed on the delicate movements of Silas’s hands as he carefully added a few drops of a viscous liquid to the mix. The potion responded immediately, a deep, resonant hum vibrating through the glassware. The colors intensified, swirling faster as if the liquid itself was coming to life. Silas leaned in, his gaze narrowing as he observed the reaction with a critical eye.

Nyx, still perched on the desk, ruffled his feathers and gave a soft caw, drawing Selen’s attention momentarily. She glanced at the crow, who appeared almost too interested in the brewing process, his beady eyes gleaming with what she could only describe as admiration.

As the mixture settled, the once vibrant colors faded into a muted, but steady, glow. Silas carefully turned down the flame and began cooling the mixture, his hands steady as he transferred the contents into a small, ornate vial. The entire process had been so meticulous, so controlled, yet the result looked ordinary—a small vial filled with a gently glowing liquid, the final product of what had felt like an elaborate ritual.

Selen watched as Silas sealed the vial and set it aside. Her gaze lingered on the intricate patterns of his Sage Grooves, their light slowly dimming as the potion was completed. A sudden thought crossed her mind—"What a talented servant… servant?" The word echoed in her thoughts, out of place and puzzling.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the word that had sprung to mind. Why had she thought of that term? Silas was no servant, at least not in any sense that she understood. The idea seemed absurd, yet it had surfaced so naturally, as if it had been planted there.

Selen’s hand instinctively moved to the back of her head, rubbing at a dull ache that had begun to form. The confusion lingered, a nagging thought at the edge of her consciousness. She glanced back at Silas, who was now tidying up his workspace with the same calm precision he had displayed throughout the brewing process. The word continued to haunt her thoughts, even as she tried to push it aside.

Silas placed the vial of [Headstart] in front of Selen, his expression unreadable as Nyx leaped off the desk and hopped onto his shoulder. The crow busied himself with straightening Silas’s sleeves, but Silas paid no attention, his focus entirely on writing a message in Korr'av-el on a piece of parchment: "T⑁iƨ will ⑁ɘlq γou lɘɒɿn ʇɒƨɟɘɿ. Iɟ nɘɘbƨ ɟo dɘ inᒑɘɔɟɘb inɟo γouɿ ɒɿm. ᑫɒinlɘƨƨ."

Selen’s eyes scanned the message, her brow knitting with concern. The thought of injecting herself with the potion made her uneasy, but so far, she had placed her trust in Silas. Despite her growing apprehension, she decided to take the gamble once more. With a hesitant nod, she signaled her agreement.

Silas acknowledged her nod with a reassuring smile before turning to Nyx. “They are much more pleasant when they cooperate, are they not?” he remarked casually, though the words carried an underlying edge.

Nyx squawked in response, nodding as he grabbed the vial of [Headstart] and flew up to perch on the wall above Selen. Silas pulled out a small device, inserting it into the cork of the vial and attaching a thin, flexible tube to it. He then gently lifted Selen’s hand, drawing a silver needle from his sleeve. Selen flinched slightly as the needle glinted in the light.

"A fear of needles? Quaint," Silas mused silently as he pinched one end of the needle, revealing its hollow center. With practiced ease, he connected the thin tube to the needle and inserted it into Selen’s vein. Nyx used his wing to tap the small device on the vial’s cork, initiating a slow drip down the tube.

As the liquid began to flow into her bloodstream, the first rays of morning light filtered into the room.

Selen felt an immediate surge of energy ripple through her, her thoughts accelerating uncontrollably even as her limbs grew heavy. The headache that had been a dull throb intensified, sending sharp pulses through her skull.

Silas, observing her reaction, quickly penned another message: "You will dɘ ʇinɘ, ɟ⑁ɘ qoɟion will dɿinϱ γou ɟo ɟ⑁ɘ ɘbϱɘ oʇ ƨlɘɘq dɘʇoɿɘ iɟ'ƨ ʇull ɘʇʇɘɔɟƨ mɒniʇɘƨɟ. I will dɘ dɒɔʞ ƨoon, ɟ⑁ɘ ɔɿow will wɒɟɔ⑁ ovɘɿ γou."

Selen’s head bobbed slightly as she nodded at Silas, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The room, once filled with the scent of crushed herbs and the sound of bubbling potions, now felt like a distant, fading memory as her senses dulled.

Silas turned to Nyx, his voice steady as he said, “I’m going to visit our Inquisitor friend. Once the drip is done, wake Zinnia and begin investigating the strangeness in Sichal.”

Nyx flapped his wing in acknowledgment, his eyes fixed on the drip, ensuring it flowed smoothly into Selen’s arm. The rhythmic dripping was the only sound in the room.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Silas straightened and prepared to leave. The room was now bathed in the warm embrace of the morning light, a great contrast to the night’s earlier tension. As he stepped out, leaving Nyx to oversee Selen’s treatment, the door closed softly behind him, leaving the room in tranquil silence.

Selen’s mind drifted to the edge of consciousness, the effects of the potion taking hold. Her thoughts became disjointed, flickering between the here and now. She tried to focus on the sensation of the liquid coursing through her veins, but it was like trying to grasp water with her hands—impossible and fleeting.

The warmth of the sunlight mingled with the coolness of the potion, creating a confusing, surreal experience for Selen. Her senses were overwhelmed, each one battling for dominance. The scent of herbs still lingered in the air, mixed with the faint smell of the potion, sharp and metallic.

The room around her faded into a blur, the last thing she saw clearly was the faint outline of Nyx perched above her.

Umbres lay motionless on the cold, unforgiving floor of his cell, his body rendered useless by the paralytic that Silas had given him.

His eyes, crusted over from hours of immobility, struggled to see, and he found no comfort in the dull, gray surroundings of the prison. Speech and movement were impossible, leaving only his thoughts to keep him company.

Desperation gnawed at his mind as his thoughts spiraled into fervent prayers to Rovinius, the Divine he had devoted his life to. He pleaded for forgiveness—for himself, for the people of the world—his mind racing with questions he could not answer.

Why had the Divine allowed such a monstrous being to exist? How could a beast like that walk among them, unchallenged by the heavens? The jumble of "Why's" and "How's" consumed him, his faith shaken to its core.

In his mind’s eye, he caught fleeting glimpses of that horrid face beneath Silas's human exterior, twisted and transformed into something hideous.

Umbres shuddered inwardly, the paralytic preventing any outward sign of his distress. He knew that Silas was not done with him yet.

The thought chilled him to his soul, bringing him to a grim conclusion: perhaps the Divines had never truly forgiven the Great Betrayal. Perhaps Silas was a sign of that displeasure, a herald of a new era of suffering brought about from the Archbishops fears.

Then, a more horrifying thought began to take shape in his mind, clawing its way to the forefront of his consciousness: "Is it... another… or?"

The possibility hung over him like a dark cloud, and he was powerless to dismiss it.

What if Silas was-

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the heavy, solid door of his cell creaking open. The noise was followed by the echoing footsteps of someone approaching, each step resonating in the small, confined space. Umbres’s heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm that seemed to scream for escape, even as his body remained frozen.

The door closed behind the visitor with a final, echoing thud. Umbres felt himself being rolled onto his back by the lazy push of a foot. As he came to rest, his eyes, blurry and pained, managed to focus on the figure standing above him. The worst of his fears was realized as he recognized the very source of his torment.

In that moment of terror, something within Umbres gave way. The paralytic might have rendered him immobile, but it had not reached every part of him.

His bladder, beyond his control, gave out, releasing a warm stream that soaked through his clothing and pooled beneath him. The humiliation only deepened his despair, but he could do nothing but stare up at the beast.

Silas, however pulled out a small tin box and ate one of the pills inside. His features slowly began to shift.