Gracia slept beneath a quilt of faded wool, her breath soft against the hush of the dark, with only the dim light of a lantern glowing next to her. White hair spilled over the pillow like spun frost, catching the dim light of the lantern. The air hummed faintly around her, charged with something unseen, a fragile shimmer that makes the wooden floorboards groan as though aware of her presence.
She looked healthy, and stunning. It was as if she could wake up at any moment, yet somehow she did not.
Right next to her, Epsilon sat silently, the firelight tracing faint gold across the edge of his worn cloak. He watched her with the stillness of someone who had waited too long, his eyes softened by a quiet reverence.
"Everything's only been going wrong ever since you fell asleep... Anvil left, and now Sylas keeps accusing Cassius of trying to kill us.. nothing is making any sense!"
If he thought something was up, then there most definitely was. His intuition was never wrong, but was that still the case?
'Heck, he doesn't even have a motive? Why would Sylas..'
And then a strange thought occurred to him. This entire time they were thinking working under the assumption that Cassius was the only one in the underground city, but what if that wasn't the case?
'If there's another with a malicious objective, then they wouldn't have a reason to reveal themselves to us.'
And in conjunction, that also meant that they could only act while they were absent. Epsilons eyes widened at that realization.
'So if they can't do anything to us right now, they'll have to expose themselves eventually.'
And when that time came, what would they do then? Who even was targeting them like this?
'They would have to be a sleeper, most likely from our generation.. and one with a grudge at that. So someone from the academy?'
He could only think of one person who fit the bill.
'Bors. Or maybe that's just me, the others could have enemies too.'
He wouldn't be surprised if it was one of Sylas's, especially with the way he spoke to others before. Sighing, Epsilon could doo nothing but gaze at Gracia hopelessly. He asked,
"When will you wake up?"
Abruptly, another familiar voice echoed out. It was one that he hadn't heard in a long while.
"She's still asleep? How vexing."
It was the nebulous spirit, Bob.
"Where the hell have you been all this time?"
"I was watching that Anvil fellow. Seeing him made me feel faintly nostalgic, although I'm not quite sure why... anyhow! It's time for you to fulfil your contract!"
As per usual, he spoke in a narcissistic tone that Epsilon found annoying. He even missed this feeling a little. So as revenge, he decided to tease him just a bit.
Turning his head away from him, he said sounding disappointed,
"You have some nerve showing up out of nowhere. Well I was planning on going tomorrow but.. I guess I'd rather just keel over and die instead if you're gonna treat me like a taxi driver!"
Almost immediately, the spirits attitude took a 180,
"Wa-! Wait! If I help you wake her up right now, you'll listen to me more, right?"
Epsilon flinched. His head turned back towards him with stiff, mechanical precision, each movement clicking into place like the rotation of metal joints. When his gaze turned back on Bob, the latter could only feel an unspoken frustration emanating from him.
"Did I hear that right?"
Laughing nervously, Bob asked,
"Which part?"
Epsilons hands quickly snatched the spirit out of the air.
"So you could help wake her up the entire time... but you didn't say or do a single thing..."
Choking, the spirit gasped,
"That's because it's dangerous! If you die before you fulfil the contract, then what the hell was I supposed to do?!"
His grip suddenly tightened, causing the spirit to choke briefly. It squeezed out,
"If you want to die so bad, then I'm happy to help!"
The ethereal body of Bob quickly shrank and dissipated as it flowed into Epsilons own. A strange coolness welled within him, along with the faint feeling of something being filled.
'Alright, what do I do?'
"First take her hand, then I'll handle the rest."
The moment he did, he could feel his own soul essence rushing down from the centre of his chest, flowing down his right arm before exiting, and pouring into Gracias own. The moment that happened, he began to feel groggy and dizzy, with the world spinning around him.
"You'll be on your own from here on."
His eyelids grew heavy, as staying awake quickly became tiresome.
**
Once Epsilon opened his eyes gain, he was immediately blinded by a flood of white light.
"Where..?"
Beneath him, a sea glowed with white fire, stretching endlessly beneath a pale sky while a radiant sun burned incandescently above.
The flames moved like water, slow, graceful, alive. Heat shimmered around them, gentle as breath, carrying the scent of something clean and bright. When Epsilon stepped forwards, the fire parted, curling around his legs like a warm mist.
"Is this place Gracia's soul sea?"
Kneeling beneath that sun, with her back turned to Epsilon, was Smile Of Heaven herself. Epsilon called out her name, but there was no reaction from her at all. Instead, the flames seemed to respond to him instead.
They flickered, then with a sudden breath of heat, they surged upward, twisting into shape. What had been a few restless embers quickly became a towering pyre, bright and alive, feeding on Epsilon himself.
Inside, there were only screams.
Under the ghostly white flames, his skin paled into an otherworldly white before singeing black, spreading all over his body before cracking into lace like patterns that revealed a pinkish underlayer. His skin peeled back like brittle parchment, curling and disintegrating to reveal his flesh underneath, but even that was burned in the white flames too.
He screamed and shouted, the pain unbearable, never ceasing.
The unprotected flesh sizzled with a wet, popping sound. Muscle contracting and bubbling from red to greyish-brown, fat melting and hissing in the pale fire with a sharp, metallic stench, while fibres shred and char, revealing scorched tendons and bone. The cold-hot flames causing spasms as they consume every layer into a crumbling, blackened husk.
But even in all that, he did not die right away. His misery was unbearable, suffocating.
Shrieking, his voice high and desperate, trembling with the shock of the dual agony searing through his nerves. Each cry jagged, breaking mid-sentence as his breath hitched from the smoke and heat invading his lungs, turning pleas into ragged sobs.
But no matter how much he begged or cried, the flames didn't stop. Until they reduced every fragment of his being into ash.
**
In the real world, Epsilon was suddenly sent flying back into a wall, before his back struck it with a crack that shuddered through the room. Falling to the ground, the thud made him regain his sense of self as he desperately clutched onto his face.
It felt smooth and normal.
His skin was normal as well.
He wasn't burning, he was alive.
That realization, was quickly followed along by shallow and uneven breathing, each one a struggle against the air.
Bobs voice resounded in his mind,
"This is why I didn't want to do that. Now look at you, you experienced something that I was trying to avoid, didn't you?"