Ch 29: He is not human

Catherene didn't answer immediately. Her gaze drifted to the stained glass windows, their vibrant colors casting patterns on the marble floor. The name Fenrir tugged at the edges of her memory, an unsettling familiarity she couldn't place.

Finally, she nodded. "I will see him. Perhaps this incident warrants closer attention after all."

As she moved toward the infirmary, her steps graceful but deliberate, the thought lingered in her mind: Fenrir… why does that name feel like a shadow from my past?

The guard who brought the news of Fenrir's arrival stood rigid, awaiting further instructions. Lord Joseph, still unsettled by the chaos of the recent elections and now this unforeseen incident, gestured toward the guard.

"See to it that Fenrir is tended to," he commanded. "Ensure the medics do everything they can."

The guard bowed quickly and left, but before Joseph could exhale in relief, Catherene spoke, her voice calm but firm. "No. I will take care of him myself."

Joseph turned to her, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "You? Saintess, why would you involve yourself in this? Fenrir is no ordinary citizen—he's a politician, a manipulator at best. Why not let the medics handle him?"

Catherene's serene expression didn't falter. "Because this is not a matter of politics, Joseph. It is divine will."

Joseph stiffened, startled by her certainty. "Divine will? You've just told me you do not meddle in mortal affairs. How does this man, of all people, warrant divine intervention?"

She didn't answer immediately, her gaze steady but distant, as though seeing something beyond the walls of the temple. "Fenrir's presence here is not an accident," she said finally. "There is something greater at work, something I must see for myself. Trust that I am following the path laid before me."

Joseph hesitated, torn between protest and reverence. The Saintess's word carried immeasurable weight, and though he disliked her sudden change in position, he could not openly oppose her. "Very well," he muttered, stepping aside. "But I will be watching closely, Catherene. Don't forget who we're dealing with."

She inclined her head gracefully and departed, her robes whispering against the marble floors as she made her way to the infirmary.

The room was a flurry of chaos when Catherene arrived. Medics scrambled around Fenrir's prone form, their voices sharp with urgency. Blood pooled beneath the table he lay on, a deep crimson staining the pristine white linens.

"He's losing too much blood!" one medic cried, frantically pressing bandages against Fenrir's side.

"It's not stopping!" another shouted, her hands slick with blood as she tried to suture the wound.

Catherene stepped into the room, her presence immediately silencing the cacophony. The medics turned to her, their panic replaced by reverence and hope.

"Saintess," one of them said, his voice trembling. "We've tried everything, but he's slipping away. We can't—"

"Enough," Catherene said gently, raising a hand to stop him. Her gaze drifted to Fenrir, who lay unnervingly still, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

As she approached, her sharp eyes noted something peculiar. Despite the sheer amount of blood he had lost, Fenrir's complexion was oddly unblemished. His skin hadn't turned pale, nor did it bear the clammy sheen of someone on the brink of death. Instead, he appeared eerily calm, as though the injury was of no real consequence.

Her suspicions stirred, Catherene studied him closely. The medics were right: the wound was severe, gaping and impossible to ignore. Yet Fenrir's face betrayed none of the weakness such a condition should cause.

"Leave us," she said suddenly, her tone brooking no argument.

______

The medics exchanged uncertain glances. "Saintess," one of them began, "we can't simply—"

"I said, leave," Catherene repeated, her voice firmer but still calm. "Your efforts are futile, and his condition is not what it seems. Trust me to handle this."

They hesitated, their reluctance palpable. But they had no reason to doubt the Saintess's judgment. One by one, they filed out of the room, their eyes filled with both curiosity and concern.

When the last of them had gone, Catherene closed the door and turned to Fenrir. For a long moment, she simply stood there, her hands folded before her and her piercing blue eyes locked onto his.

"You can stop pretending now," she said softly. "The act is unnecessary."

Fenrir's golden eyes opened slowly, his lips curving into a faint, sardonic smile. "You caught on quickly, Saintess. I'm impressed."

Catherene moved closer, her steps measured and deliberate. "You're not human," she said, her voice steady. "Your body defies natural law. Tell me, Fenrir, what are you?"

He chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with weariness. "Do you really want the answer to that question? Or do you already know?"

Her expression didn't change, but the flicker of recognition in her eyes was unmistakable. "You should be dead from blood loss," she said, ignoring his deflection. "But you're not. Which means this wound is nothing more than a facade. So I'll ask again: what are you?"

Fenrir sighed, propping himself up slightly despite the injury. "Let's just say I've lived a very… unconventional life," he said cryptically. "One that's left me with a few tricks up my sleeve."

Catherene didn't react to his evasiveness, though her gaze grew sharper. "Unconventional enough to deceive death itself?"

He smirked, tilting his head. "Something like that."

For a long moment, silence hung between them. Then, Catherene spoke, her tone soft but resolute. "Whatever you are, Fenrir, your presence here is not by chance. There is something greater at work, and I intend to uncover what it is."

Fenrir's smirk faltered slightly, his expression growing more serious. "Careful, Saintess. Curiosity can be dangerous."

"Danger does not deter me," she replied simply. "The divine wills what it wills, and I am its servant."

Fenrir studied her for a moment, his golden eyes unreadable. Finally, he leaned back against the table, his smirk returning. "Well, then. By all means, Saintess, let's see where this path takes us."

Catherene turned and opened the door, calling for the medics to return. As they rushed in to resume their futile efforts, she left the room, her mind churning with questions and possibilities.

Whatever Fenrir was, he wasn't just a pawn in mortal games. He was a piece of something much larger—something that could either tip the balance of power or shatter it entirely. And Catherene intended to find out which.

The light of the setting sun filtered through the high arched windows of the temple's sanctum as Catherene stood in quiet contemplation. Fenrir's presence nagged at her thoughts like a persistent shadow. His wound, his unnatural vitality, and his cryptic demeanor—they all pointed to something beyond mortal understanding.

The Saintess, renowned for her divine connection, also bore a secret within her—a connection to darker powers that even she struggled to reconcile. This duality granted her abilities unlike any other, including the ability to mask her dark magic within the guise of divine blessings. Tonight, she decided to use that art to uncover Fenrir's true nature.

Catherene entered the chamber where Fenrir rested, his recovery swift and unnaturally efficient. He reclined on a divan with a faint smirk, his golden eyes gleaming as though he already knew what was coming.

"Saintess," Fenrir greeted, his tone low and velvety. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Catherene smiled faintly, her serene facade hiding her intentions. "I've come to administer a blessing for your swift recovery. It is my duty to ensure all within the temple are granted divine care."

Fenrir arched an eyebrow, but he said nothing, gesturing lazily for her to proceed.

Raising her hands, Catherene began to chant softly, weaving her divine magic into the air. But beneath the golden threads of light, an imperceptible darkness writhed, hidden from view. Her true intent was to pierce through the veil of Fenrir's being, to uncover what lay beneath his mask of humanity.

As the spell took hold, Fenrir closed his eyes, his smirk widening into something sharper, more knowing.

When the spell touched Fenrir's essence, Catherene felt an overwhelming presence—a force ancient and immeasurably vast. Her breath hitched as a vision flared to life before her eyes:

A throne of blackened stone, surrounded by seas of shadow. Upon it sat a figure cloaked in power, a crown of crimson light atop his head. He looked down on the world as though it were his to command, his laughter shaking the very fabric of existence.

The vision dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving Catherene reeling. Her heart raced as she met Fenrir's gaze once more. His golden eyes were open now, and they held a glint of something dangerous, something mocking.

"You've seen something, haven't you?" Fenrir said, his voice smooth as silk. "Tell me, Saintess, did you like what you saw?"

Catherene took a step back, her composure cracking ever so slightly. "You… You are not human."

"Perceptive," he murmured, sitting up. "But then, you're no stranger to duality yourself, are you? Fifth Dark Lord."

Hearing this made Catherene's heart skip a beat. No one was supposed to know her secret, and she had a sword to guard it with her life. But now that someone knew, it made her wonder what she should do.

The only option that she could think about was to silence this man and for the world ti never hear her truth from his lips. And yet, her instincts told her that it was a futile attempt. 

Her body shook when she thought about clashing with this man, and with a tight frown on her face, Catherene decided to settle down.