Pair Of Stars

I squint, staring right at Remington, the hand of a long-dead Prime facing me without eyes, meeting my gaze without even a head or eye sockets to do so. I don't even ask the question that I want to, as I already know the answer deep down. A part of me shivers alongside the knowledge.

He can manipulate time, slowing it down or speeding it up. Whether he can move backward is unknown, and I'd have to guess he can't. So, instead of questioning him further on this subject, I swapped the tone.

"Why can't I see my father? Am I really that weak?"

The fingers of the hand twist and curl, reminding me of some kind of thinking spider. Putting aside my discomfort for now, I listen to the hand. Only a few seconds pass before the movements stop, and with the pause, words come from the air, constructed of moving Ether in the air.

"You are... inadequate for such a locale. You will see when you get there. His Excellency has created... a Sirza where the rules of reality are shifted. Beyond that, there is not much point in elaborating."

I bite my lip, annoyed by all the non-answers. Still, I continue my probing. There are endless questions in my mind, and this man, this... Memento isn't showing any sign of frustration at answering them. He reminds me of Earl with his cadence and manner of speaking; he is academic and knowledgeable. Though... an aspect of my soul warns me of something deeper. What is it? What is bugging me? Agh... I'll keep that hidden for now.

"Very well. What about my allies? Will they not be able to join me?"

The hand shuffles abruptly, facing me with some kind of alarm. However, that shock rapidly dies down to a steady grip with reassurance.

"Others came with you besides that demon? Ah, yes. They should be fine. As long as you grow, of course. Speaking of... can you go and retrieve what that demon has of mine? It should be constructed of many triangles, each triangle built from a different type of steel. It shall help you."

I nod, vaguely remembering the cube that Aniwye took from the Shaw Estate a while ago. Right. That is his. I should get that before asking anything else. Don't want to piss off the time-manipulating hand. I turn, facing the edge of this bubble, but I don't step through it immediately.

"Can I just leave?"

Remington nods with his index finger, pointing outside the golden barrier formed by the Devil.

"Yes. This is specifically for me to hide from prying eyes. Few Gods are... overjoyed by my return, and I would rather not waste what little is left to hide myself. Once you leave, Gods will be able to sense you again. It shouldn't be much of an issue, though. You're just a Virtue. I doubt they are paying much attention to you."

I purse my lips, not knowing how to respond to him. I think some Gods are somewhat invested in me at this point. The Mother Below, at the very least, seems to abhor me and my ability to affect her Lighthouses. Her children did admit to not being able to see me, so this bubble probably does nothing for me.

Seeing no issue in leaving, I step past the sphere, a rush of sensations entering my mind as I do so. Immediately, I feel the subtle current of air in the Underworld, something I didn't realize I had lost. What I also feel is Aniwye's panicked voice entering my mind.

"Are you alright? I lost sense of your mind!?"

I nod to the air, knowing it's pointless as she can't see me but doing it nonetheless through muscle memory. As I reassure her I'm fine, I pivot slightly, finding nothing at all behind me.

"Yeah. I'm okay. I spoke with the Devil and someone else in a kind of sphere. Are you alright?"

My eyes scan the surroundings even further only to discover not a lick as Aniwye replies to me. Odd. Very odd. That must be the obfuscation effect working. I'll just have to remember where to walk. Hmm... that rock. I'll use that one as a landmark.

"Yes, I'm doing good. Your father was here... a few months ago. Before that... I can sense his mind had been gone a long while. But we're close! So close!"

I grind my teeth as I walk back to the shack she is still inside, not knowing how to tell her what has happened without just going for it. So, I do, knowing she prefers honesty even if it is brutal.

"We'll have to wait a little longer. The Devil said I'm not strong enough. He wants me to train with... with another man. I can bring you to meet him, but he wants the cube made of triangles."

The information regarding Re—fuck!

I skirt the edges around the man absolutely loathed by time, intricately feeling the pain of knowing and attempting to reproduce his name. Aniwye, however, as clever as she is, latches onto the truth beneath the surface.

"You have met him, little one? Him? No. It must only be a clone or a shadow. He cannot be alive. I am... impressed by the Devil, brought to my knees in fear of him, but that is just because he is a God. And some... kind of ingrained fear. I will get over it. That man, though... The world often wonders what would have happened had he lived. Few know he ever existed, however."

No mental or verbal reply meets her as I instead open the door to the shack, finding Aniwye sitting at the table. She jumps lightly in surprise at my sudden intrusion, and my eyes lock onto the object in her hands without a moment's notice.

It's a photograph—one of those expensive black-and-white images.

I step closer as Aniwye freezes as if caught doing something wrong. I twist my head as the image on the sheet of paper unwinds within my mind.

It is a simple image, possessing only four figures, but the four shake me to my core.

There is my father, his skin oddly shaded and textured, his eyes sparkling with different shades, and his arms ending in nonnative hands. Yet, he is smiling, with two figures before him. There I am, young, so very young that I don't remember this even without Ma's meddling, and beside me is a smiling little girl, half my already diminutive height. Her teeth are demonstrated with a smile, sharp and lethal, while her eyes gleam dangerously.

Lily. She had a physical form for this photograph, likely with my father's help. And beside the three of us, there is a woman, hands folded with an effervescent smile, as if this is all she ever wanted, just a few feet away.

I reach for the photograph, and Aniwye doesn't stop me from taking it, allowing it to slip out of her hands. She explains herself hastily while I simply stare at the four of us, not comprehending it all. We were all together like this? A real family?

Why couldn't it have just stayed that way?

"There were some things I never blocked or manipulated in your mind. Children often forget events, even important ones. Still... I—your Ma, wanted a photo to remember Killian's final visit. It was only an afternoon, too, so... I... He... We had what fun we could before he had to leave as a family, one with a new member. But... Killian took the photo that came from it with him. He left it here, placed on that desk."

My eyes flicker to the desk she mentions; it is positively scribbled with infinitesimally small inscriptions, shoved together for some purpose. Dust has gathered over the wood, except for where the photo once was. Killian took care of it. One of the few things I've ever been told by my father flashes through my mind like some kind of excuse.

We were simply born with heavier shoulders.

And those shoulders in question sag as I finally realize the brutal truth. I had a family once upon a time and never even knew it. I had happiness and the possibility of a beautiful life away from violence and bloodshed. There is a chance that I never even had to earn a Sigil—that I never had to lose anyone.

Dozens of faces beat through my mind, from Edmund to Marshall, before landing on Kate. I could have had that family instead of this. They aren't perfect, but in this image... we were so happy. I can see it. For a single day, even my cold-blooded father let himself feel joy.

One is a demon, one is a living weapon, and the final is an undying man determined to save the world in his own way.

It's bizarre, possibly insane, and most definitely abnormal, but some part of me wouldn't have it any other way. I love Lily, a quiet but murderous little sister. I love Aniwye, even if it took us a long time to develop that relationship. Even my father... he's cold, impossibly distant, and such an unrepentant asshole, but I can't say I don't care for him.

He gave me what I needed to succeed. I never needed him there, even if I may have wanted him. Aniwye and Lily were enough. And maybe... just maybe... in the future, we can have another day like the one in the photo. A day without worry or death, without the omnipresent Gods above dictating our lives.

I breathe in, filling my lungs with what feels like endless amounts of air. Aniwye merely peers at me as I enjoy the sensation of life, of energy. Then, I hand the photo back to her.

"Thank you. I would never have known we were ever genuinely happy without this. It gives me another thing to fight for."

Aniwye's eye crinkles, but she doesn't take back the photo.

"What do you mean?"

I laugh as she doesn't pick up on what I mean. For someone so inhumanely intelligent, she knows nothing about genuine emotions and feelings.

"I'll fight for us—as a family. You, Lily, Killian, and me. Maybe one day we'll have another photo like that."

Aniwye's eye shifts to the image, taking in the splendor of our long-gone joy. I witness her lips wrinkle into a grin as she refuses the image, instead handing me a cube made of tiny metallic triangles.

"I would like that. Another day like that one... It sounds so wonderful. We'll have to take more than one photo, though. That way, we'll each have our own."

I nod, taking the cube gingerly into my hands, already covering them with my coat so I don't directly touch it. Aniwye's warning might have been a while ago, but I don't forget her cautions easily. After I do so, I fold the weathered image and place it within Lily's holster, the safest location on my self.

"Of course."

****************

Aniwye follows me back to where I met Remington, and we pass through the bubble together. The movement between the barrier and the outside world leaves us both stumbling haphazardly. Still, we regain our composures quickly.

I half expect Remington to complain about us taking too long or that I brought my mother, but he doesn't mention it in the slightest. The hand simply flexes its index finger before calling me to it. Is he that kind? That patient? No comment at all? Am I just nitpicking? What is going on here? Hmm... Nothing felt this way the first time I saw him.

"Good. We shall begin. That cube is something I made shortly before my death. I had planned to use it to train little Lazarus, but I died before I could give it to him. It's for Ether, starting from simply sensing it all the way to Soulful Ether."

Walking to Remington, I notice that Aniwye is simply watching us, not moving. Her eye is fixated on the Memento without an inch of movement. Shrugging, I present the cube to Remington.

"I have never named it. Never got the chance, despite how much I love to label. How does Codex sound? I quite like that one."

Again, I shrug, not able to offer much in terms of advice.

"I don't really know what it does, so I can't help you here."

The hand twists in a motion that I can't decipher. I can only figure it is some sort of replacement for human movement. Still, Remington is focused on me, not anything else.

"That is fine. You will learn. Cut your finger and dribble the blood onto the first triangle. It is the one that is slightly extruding from the edge. Then, begin the priming stage since Ether enters the first triangle. Moving the Ether within the triangle is the first stage that will proceed you onto the second. After that, enter the three surrounding triangles to move Ether. You must continue onward and so forth until you cannot anymore."

I listen to his words, carefully doing as he says before sensing the Ether within the protruding triangle. The moment I do, my mind is practically washed away, focused utterly and wholly within the cube.

*********************************

Aniwye 'Demon Of Hearts' Mhwee

"Perfect. It is working as intended. Countless inscriptions for mental acceleration, focus, and the ability to create illusion realms to help train Ether. It might be my finest creation if you weren't looking right at it, demon."

The original Prime of humanity has a quote that few remember. Only the demons alive back then or close to those who shared the phrase remember it. It is one that is remembered as hubris and deceit to throw all off humanity's trail, but as I look at this... thing... I cannot argue with what the First said.

"Me? Oh, I'm not all that gifted, at least compared to the average Sigiled. It was more of a right place, right timing thing with a suitable person who wielded enough power ahead of time. My student? He makes me look like a toddler with Ether."

I only ever heard it once in passing from Leviathan, the Lord speaking to Behemoth, reminiscing about the past. Still, even if my mind were not so honed, I would be unable to forget it.

"Where do your gifts end, human?"

Nevertheless, I treat this human with the same respect as he does to me. He laughs, the hand he remains as shuffling marginally in the air. As we converse, Wyatt's eyes are glazed over, his attention utterly within that cube. It is... beyond extraordinary.

That little thing had to take as much effort as Demonsbane to make. Even I can procure that from its construction. For a while, I wondered what it did. It wasn't a weapon, being neither Colt nor Claymore, and it didn't seem to hold any other purpose. Yet now, it makes complete sense.

"They begin and end at Ether. Even when I had a body, I was feeble. I could hardly run a mile. My lungs were short, my legs pale, and my skull shrunken. Still, I thrived in that old world. It was simpler. Sigils were things only kings, champions, and the greatest of soldiers possessed. For an Alchemist such as I, things were... nice. No matter how much you envy my skills, know they do not come without cost. Nothing does. Things have changed quite a bit since then, though. I am not who I once was."

The man's words sink deeply into my mind as I can only wholeheartedly agree. I've heard many legends about the millennia of the past—how it was rare even for us demons to possess more than two Sigils. This was a time when Behemoth and Levithan were nothing but village-level threats—a time when there was even a third 'Lord' alongside them.

"I have heard much of that history. Tell me, I've always wondered, who was the third demon? The one they won't talk about?"

The hand twists to face me just as an old man reappears from nothingness. It is as if he has made a rule with reality, letting his steps break the other rules. The cost of doing so is beyond me. It is so over my head that my soul and mind shiver at his arrival.

I don't think Wyatt holds any fear toward this God, even if he can sense his soul. That is how I raised him. Still... it floors me. The vastness... the time... this is a being just as old as the Leviathan, if not a little older. I don't know how that adds up, but it must.

"Oh, you mean Mammon? Yes. There used to be a trio of mighty demons. It was I who killed him and erased him from history. Of course, it wasn't flawless and left behind clues, but it was enough to hide Her influence for a little while longer. With Mammon gone, Levi and Beh could act more themselves. Whoo—that battle was something else, I tell—"

"Remington."

Remington. That's his name! He shifts to face the Devil the moment he speaks, the damned hand bowing toward the figure.

"Your Majesty! I am sorry. You know how I get lost in the past."

The Devil nods shortly, his aged eyes remaining on the hand before rotating back to me.

"How many times must I tell you? I hate those kingly titles. They are of a bygone era. It makes you seem lesser than me. You are not."

I watch the pair quickly devolve into a short squabble, the two likely knowing each other for longer than any singular reign has ever lasted of any kingdom or country. Their argument tosses so much information my way just in the wayside that I eat it all up, not missing a beat.

"But I am, Sir. You are Louis Fern! King of all under the skies! The first man to slay a demon with his bare hands! The first king to rally all of the fractured peoples under one banner! The first mortal to ever become more than that! How am I not any lesser than you!"

The Devil points a wizened finger at the hand as if signing an absolute decree with his tone. He holds no room for negotiation with each word. This must be some kind of nostalgia for the two of them, and I'm merely stuck in-between.

"And you, Remington? Alchemist by eleven years old. Court Alchemist by fourteen. A Sigil bearer by sixteen. The second youngest in my kingdom was twenty-five. I was thirty before I got my first Lawman. It is your lack of confidence that has held you back, my friend. If you ever managed to get a handle on it, that bitch would be more than sealed in time. But alas... that was all a long time ago. I am glad to see you are alive, even if... it is not how we wished."

The argument rapidly dies down as Remington doesn't have a reply to the Devil's words. Instead, they both turn to face Wyatt. The Devil addresses me as I reel in shock, their words being more than just memorized. To process just the bit they said would take many minutes.

"What is he to you, demon?"

I answer the God honestly, knowing he would sense any deceit.

"My son, though not of blood. I see him as my child, and he sees me as his mother."

Both the figures laugh, the oldest thing I've ever met chuckling heartily, the wrinkles bobbing up and down in the motion while the golden hand of sand flays out its fingers.

"How interesting! Graves sure are their own, huh? I wish I met more than one in my time on the surface, though Harent was quite the lad. I wonder what happened to him."

The Devil answers Remington's question, the result morbid and not any different than most Graves' endings.

"He died protecting his daughter, Heather Graves, whom little Lazarus fell in love with."

Remington falls quiet as I watch the two observe Wyatt. The kid seems to be making some progress with the object as lights emerge here or there. Several minutes pass before the Devil claps his hands, vanishing with another set of commands.

"Very well. He will do nicely. Give him some time, Remington. I'll be back tomorrow. His father doesn't have too long. As Undying as a man he might be, no one is truly immortal. Eldest is wearing him down with his lieutenants, and I can no longer take his place."

My eyes sink, and my heart rate accelerates within my chest as gold sands wash over my little one. Part of the anxiety is for Killian, but another part, a section that is rapidly growing, is fondness and pride situated toward Wyatt.

When he finishes working with that thing, he'll be far more potent with Ether. I don't know how much Remington will affect time, but I can't let my own son outdo me. How else will I teach him more Ether as I have on the way here?

That cannot do. It is my favorite thing to do as of late.

So, I sit and cross my legs as I hone in Adjust further, tightening my form to a more comfortable figure that fits with the size of my Personas. It's always felt more natural to be a stature that fits within a house than my cumbersome one. There are more reasons, but they can be shelved for now as I focus on my own Ether.

Aurora isn't enough. Neither is Wood. I need to learn Soulful Strand if I am to be useful in the coming days. I may only be an 8th Sigil, but I've lived a long life. I've learned many things, traveled to countless places, and met endless minds.

My experiences give me power as opposed to the typical long-lived creature. Most look down on humans, preferring to spend many days and even years idle. I was like that once upon a time until a particular man freed me from my binds. As I fall into my profound intensity of Ether, I hear a not-so-distant voice relaying sound in the air. It comes from Remington with the tone of a prayer but the purpose of a mantra.

"Fear not any size of man, any manner of monster, or any depth of demon that walks beneath the skies.

Though big he may be or small you be, I shall equalize."

The words sink into my mind, falling deeper and deeper as I realize what this mantra is. In the old days, beyond even the time of the Lords, Sigileds were thought to be used with rituals, with long-proverbial prayers or incantations. Remington is from such a time when things were still common. I don't hold it against him in any way, though. It is a way of focusing effort, even if telling and long-winded to a foe.

Still, he is not wrong. Ether equalizes all. If it didn't, his kind would be long, long gone from this world.