"A… deal?"
A strained voice asked instead of the Shepherd, who was yet to call back its thorny vines.
The empty gaze of the Shepherd and the similarly blank look of the researchers were all trained at Altair.
Under the unsettling stares and the vines grasping his body, Altair should have crumbled under the air of terror that the Shepherd could manifest… but he didn't.
More accurately, he couldn't.
He couldn't allow fear to seep into his expression.
Instead, his lips slowly crept into a small grin which grew wider and wider as the thorns raked across his skin.
"One that you can't afford to miss out on."
The vines stood still, as if it were the shepherd's way of telling him to proceed.
But Altair didn't even look in the direction of the Shepherd… no, his gaze wandered directly at the three behind him, right at the beating heart that pumped less blood by the minute — the true body of the Dangerous entity standing in front of him.
One that could decimate an entire city block of the flying cities… a being that he only survived a simple brush with by blind luck.
He was openly antagonizing such a being.
"Of course, you can stop this charade and shrivel away—" Suddenly, the vines closed in around his neck, raking heavily into his skin, drawing heavy amounts of blood.
"Oh, did you think it wasn't clear from the get-go? Or did I hit a nerve?" Altair still had that faint smile playing on his lips that filled the crippled Shepherd's mind with bone-chilling hatred.
But its vines have yet to deliver the finishing blow.
The silence was deafening, with even the researchers afraid to squeal in their pain — terrified of the possibility of something even worse.
Instead of letting the subject go, Altair pointed at one of the researchers.
"They are long dead, aren't they?" Without even waiting for an answer, he scoffed. "You keep them alive to make them suffer for what they did to you, I get that, I really do."
He was no longer smiling.
"Do you really want to die with the people that made you this way?"
Altair didn't let go even as the thorns penetrated deeper into his skin; he wasn't going to stop now, so he mercilessly pressed on.
"Die as their failure? A crippled Shepherd that won't even reach the second tier, much less any hope of becoming something more." He raised the droplet of Deon in front of him without calling on its power. "You are going to rot away in the same room you were made."
"Not born, made. Like a tool, and you are a tool that has long lost its purpose. Your Core, I can see the cracks spreading; your true body is already giving out."
"Stop… talking… just… stop… talking… !" The voice of the researchers rose again, screaming in a mix of anger and helplessness. Even Altair was unsure if it was from the shepherd or the terrified researchers.
"So why maintain them? Why drag yourself down together with them?! I get spite, but where did this idiotic notion come from?
The Shepherd's chest heaved. The vines trembled, faltering as if his will couldn't match his rage.
"You can kill me here," Altair went on with a lower voice. "But what then? Kneel down and wait until your heart gives out? Do you really lack that much drive?"
The boy flinched, and for the first time, the vines around Altair slackened. The thorns pricking his skin withdrew, just slightly.
Altair's tone shifted. Before, it was filled with aggression; now, his words felt warm. "It doesn't have to be this way, you don't have to go down with those that took everything from you."
It slowly became clear to Altair from the original notes left behind by the researchers, the subject in question, who became the Fallen Leaves, was a child. The shepherd didn't choose this particular vessel for itself, it was his original one, encased in wood… with its heart separated from its body.
It's just… cruel.
In Altair's eyes, what was in front of him wasn't a deadly entity capable of killing him in a heartbeat.
But a tortured child.
His expression softened even further, faint glimmers of essence flaring up on his fingertips as a piece of paper appeared in his hands out of nowhere.
"I say it again, make a deal with me."
The vines long retreated as the vessel of the Shepherd took a step forward, his puppets talking simultaneously.
"What's. The. Deal?"
It was a cacophony of voices, but Altair heard it clearly; it was exactly what he had waited to hear.
He felt for the suffering of the child, but considering everything, what he needed was an ace up his sleeve.
Words appeared one by one on the paper — the conditions and restrictions of the contract.
"This contract is a way for you to start anew, not as this broken thing. All I ask in return is your loyalty."
The floor was stained by the bloody footsteps of the Shepherd, who stepped closer and closer to Altair. At this point, none of the researchers even dared to speak.
Looking closer at the terms and conditions of the contract, the Shepherd just stood there silently for minutes, but Altair hadn't said a word as he waited for the Shepherd to choose.
But as the heart behind him weakened, it was clear that his time was running out.
"I… Accept."
The voice of the researchers answered in unison. Meanwhile, the essence of the Shepherd ignited in a vibrant yellow hue, the same color as Deon's, with both of them sharing the same essence type.
With that very same droplet in hand, Altair stepped forward and infused his own essence into the contract — completely white in color. The young boy had no name when his signature appeared on the contract — Fallen Leaves, not even a name, but a title.
The other signature was from Altair, but that wasn't the name that appeared.
Caelen Hall.
A name he still clung to but no longer had.