The Caladrius

Abaddon Rex looked at the vehicle until it disappeared around the corner. He felt regret at not being able to send off Aisling back himself when he remembered the silly expression that she had made after that question.

Unfortunately, he had other matters to handle.

The most critical thing was the condition of his wing. While he had dismissed Ammon's concerns, he had suffered significant damage.

He needed to have the wings checked out by Samiel, or he would not feel reassured about his condition, even if they recovered naturally. He had not sustained such damage since he had fought in that ancient war.

It was troubling to think that a single lightning strike could injure him.

The obvious conclusion was that there was something unusual about that lightning. After all, it was not the first time that he had faced this type of attack.

He needed to find out the reason he had been injured before it happened again.

Without his wings, he could not fly to Phoenix, but he was also unwilling to make his journey in a train or a car.

Though he had lived through all the stages of civilisation and had embraced technology, he still could not get used to being closed up in a moving metal box. Moreover, it would take too long.

He stepped back into the Obsidian Tower and took the elevator to the rooftop. He stood at the top of the building as he always did before making a low whistling sound.

Several moments later, a large pure white bird descended on the black tower and stopped before Rex. It lowered its large head to him like an aggrieved little puppy.

Abaddon could guess that it had felt a little lonely because he had not called on it for a while. He lifted a hand and petted the soft feathers on the head.

The Caladrius had been with him for countless centuries, but it had been his brother who had found him. At the time, the bird had been captured by a human king who hoped to use the bird to fight off a deadly disease that had plagued him.

The legends had told that the Caladrius could take in illnesses unto itself and fly away into the sun, dispersing it.

When the human king had only deteriorated from the sickness, the Caladrius had been tortured endlessly. It was then that his brother had heard the cries of the bird and descended on that kingdom to rescue it.

Abaddon felt a slight heaviness in his heart as he thought of his brother. This emotional weight came with the realisation that he had not had that human feeling of loss for a while.

He frowned at the thought before leaping on the bird's back.

"Take me to Phoenix, Cal."

The Caladrius cooed in response before rising into the air.

Aisling felt a little lonely when she returned to her new dwelling. She sighed softly at the furnished house which felt quiet and spiritless after an exciting evening. She could not believe all that had taken place within the span of a few hours.

Unfortunately, the roller-coaster of emotions now left her feeling cold and empty.

And strange loneliness seemed to gnaw at her soul.

She knew it was probably the effect of being in a new place where she did not know anyone or anything. Even the magic in the air of Panthalassa was different. It was heavier and deeper, making it feel a little cloying to someone who was used to the wisps of energy in the secular world.

It was the difference between soft static in the air and real electricity, coursing through the body.

For a moment, she wondered if she should call her parents.

But she dismissed the idea before it matured. She had not talked to them for a while. It would seem odd to reach out without cause, considering the state of their relationship.

However, she could not settle down her mind enough to sleep in the new house.

After a few moments, she went to the bedroom and took out the second bag which she had not unpacked. The large suitcase contained all her quintessential art supplies.

She dragged the luggage out of her chosen bedroom and moved it to one of the spare bedrooms

In about a quarter an hour, she set up a painting station with practised ease, turning the second bedroom into an art studio. Once she was satisfied, she stood before the modular easel with a brush in hand and got ready to paint.

In truth, she was not an artist.

She had never thought about the technicalities of painting or even tried to learn about the craft deeply.

For her, it was an outlet of mental energy.

When she had first become a banshee, she had no control over her elevated mental energy and sensitivity. She would be constantly plagued by the feeling of death around her. When each person died, it felt like their souls were at her side, crying to her.

She had been so helpless.

Moreover, in the moment of death, the veil separating the world from the afterworld would become thinner, and she would hear the whispers from the other side. They would all overlap into a cacophony that could drive anyone mad.

Her only outlet then had been screaming like, well, a banshee.

The experience was unpleasant for both her and her family. When the opportunity to leave Ireland had come in the form of her teacher, she had not hesitated because her screaming had all but torn the family apart.

In the Carpathian Mountains, her teacher had told her about creating spiritual artefacts to reduce the pressure of her elevated mental energy.

She had found out that she had some affinity with painting.

In the past, she had not thought about making money from her art because she made a relatively good living consulting with various organisations and individuals who needed her unique skills.

However, she had decided to paint for money after feeling Abaddon's call. She liked the security of having more money when going to an unknown land.

Aisling smiled as she thought about the upcoming auction for her paintings.

She was going to become a rich woman.

The thought motivated her a little as she paced in front of the blank canvas. She wanted to paint something that would be significant to Panthalassa.

Just because she had to solve a serial murder case did not mean that she could not amass a few fans and make some money on the side.

She closed her eyes and allowed her mental energy to rise and fill her consciousness. She felt the restriction of the seal on her forehead as soon as her mental energy peaked to her normal capacity.

Perhaps, she should have been satisfied with that. However, she was not.

She had tasted the ambrosia of higher mental energy, and she desired it again. The restriction had made her realise that she could do so much more if only she could harness the powerful magic of Panthalassa.

At that moment, a reckless idea came to her.

She did not know the specific seal that Abaddon had used to limit the flow of magic into her, but she had an understanding of the basic principles of seals.

She placed down the paintbrush and formed a small wind needle with her right hand. She pricked her left index finger, and a little blood flowed out.

She chanted softly before smearing the blood on her forehead, right on top of the clover seal.

Of course, she was not foolish enough to break the life-saving seal. She wanted to weaken it just a little bit to increase the flow of magic.

Almost immediately, she felt the energy in her mind increase. If she had been before a mirror, she would have noticed the four-leaf clover glowing eerily. The only drawback was that the whispers outside were also a little louder.

Fortunately, after the cleansing ritual, there were no spirits inside the house, so she was not distracted.

She picked her brush and faced the canvas. Once again she closed her eyes and focused on the core energy of Panthalassa. She felt the flow of magic, the intricacies of its nature and the texture of the fabric of its destiny.

And then, she thought of the King.

Her brush touched the canvas.