Just A Nightmare

A hand carefully resting on his shoulder was the first thing he felt as he awoke. He... she. It was all so very unclear. Any ability to think or assess was stolen from her. Only memories of who they were lingered. It was neither one nor the other. This vision was both of theirs.

They saw an unfamiliar place filled with grand, unforgiving light that bore down on its inhabitants. It was both familiar yet undoubtedly different to anywhere they had been before. The foreign feeling of their long, strong limbs dawned on her first. An aching etched inside her head came next, as slowly understanding of what, who and how unravelled. Once again, Asteria was no longer herself. 

That distant thought was quickly swallowed yet remained comfortably nestled in the back of her mind. Truthfully, the process had never been this disorienting, which is why she immediately recognized that something had been done to her mind. 

"Forgive me for this Perses. I usually have that ability reserved merely for beasts, perhaps ones you are familiar with? But you see... for people as strong as beasts. It can't really be helped."

Strangely, as those words entered her mind, a sense of vague familiarity followed. Respect came first. They felt compelled by the strong, calm tone to smile. Yet there was no smiling. 

After that came fondness. The voice evoked a tender warmth inside them. It felt both deeply personal and drastically distant. Here in this nightmare, she was no longer welcome to even her own feelings as that fleeting fondness slowly diminished, replaced with only respect and uncertainty.

Though she could hear and recognize that familiar voice, her neck was firmly held in place by the body she inhabited. She was forced to stare aimlessly at the figures arranged in front by the boy who possessed control. Above them all, a shrewd purple-robed man sat comfortably from atop his throne. A detached, deprecating grin accompanied the small man. 

"How ironic. So, it seems the brother is just as troublesome as the sister. Or perhaps this is his blessed nature?"

Accompanying the withered creepy man stood a dark, stout knight. Shrouded behind her dark onyx armour, she exuded a guilty yet forthright aura as she looked down upon them. Unlike the stout knight, the cloaked figures huddled stiffly around the agitated, robed man. It was as if they were frozen, and the slightest of movements could implicate them. 

Boldly facing the crowd with a relaxed smile, the dark-haired youth shared a glance with the lowest member of the crowd. He was an incredibly withered man, gaunt and uninspired. His frail body portrayed his insufficiencies for all to witness. If he had a redeeming trait at all, it would have to be his overwhelming height that stretched almost inhumanely. But no matter how tall he was, he couldn't attain the same height as those arranged on the stage.

All they needed was a glance at the docile man before a dreadful memory resurfaced. It wasn't hers, no, it was him, this boy. Yet that difference was no longer clear.

"Ha. I suppose I wouldn't know, your Majesty. Perhaps it is both."

Not even a glimpse of deceit could be discerned from the dark-haired youth's jest. Even the wretched-robed man spared a parting smile at his remark before he turned his gaze back to them. Slowly, all eyes rested on them. Despite the immense strength that flooded their arms and legs, they were young, inexperienced, but, most of all, frightened. 

She knew almost no one. Yet, at the same time, she recognized most of the figures.

"So this blessed boy will assist us with slaying this entity you speak so highly of."

Machia nodded his head in affirmation. Not before his eyes eerily darted to his left, noticing someone out of the corner of his eye. 

"I confirmed myself the boy has the strength akin to a Blessed. However, there is one last precaution worth undertaking."

Before even the King, the knights, the robed men, nor anyone else present noticed. They saw where it was Machia's gaze was pointed. The aching of their head had all but dissipated by now. Finally, free of Machia's mysterious mental binds, they were met with an awful, bitter reminder. Any lasting hope diminished inside them as suddenly they came to a dreadful conclusion.

'Is that.'

A black book appeared first from the dark entrance to the throne room. Thick dark leather made up the blank cover, and a very real, very visible darkness shrouded the enigmatic pages. Delicately withholding that book was a familiar, short old man. Unlike the demanding authority of the Emperor's purple robes, he was dressed only in pure white. The thick contrast of white and black filled in all the blanks they needed. 

"Machia. What are you going to do to me? How could you?"

Horrified, those were the first words they uttered. Despite not understanding the context, yet knowing all too well, they spoke in desperation. Bitter betrayal coursed through the very core of their being as they turned to yell at the dark-haired youth. But all that came out was a painful, distorted murmur. 

Looking down at his feet with something akin to confusion, the youth's features quickly flickered as a smile shortly resurfaced. Then, he ignored their words entirely. 

"I have been unable to discern the boy's abilities. As you noticed, his compliance is also doubtful. The solution..."

Leaving his words open-ended, the priest that strutted into view bowed towards the purple-robed man. 

"Hoh. The apprentice's apprentice is it. That book he holds is truly wicked. What can it do?"

Without a moment to spare, the shrewd white-robed man paused and then smiled courtly. 

"The book, one at a time, may take hold of one's mind in its entirety. Alternatively, it can widen its authority, albeit with a weaker potency. It is quite a valuable tool for... productivity. In the church, even the establishment of the kingdom, we made great use out of that latter ability."

The Emperor raised a suspicious brow as he contemplated the priest's concise words. Accusatory glances were blatantly directed at the withered old man they recognized as the King. But the frail, tall man paid those eyes no mind, content to revel silently behind his feeble, wrinkled veil. 

"So what. You intend to take the boy's mind with this book?"

Machia cut in with a sharp nod and a smile that perfectly suited his amicable tone, responding to the Emperor with attentive eyes. 

"Correct your Majesty. Whilst we still have the time to prepare we must discern his true abilities so that we may prepare succiently."

The Emperor's suspicious, impatient frown relaxed as he moved his arm lazily, signalling in affirmation. But before his will could be acted upon, a voice arose, disrupting the civil atmosphere of the room.

"No"

Machia glanced at the boy, amused by his bold words. Rather than scold or interrupt Perses, he curiously observed his kneeling figure from above. 

They had not moved nor interrupted the proceedings this entire time. Under the eyes of Machia, they had remained meek and obedient, uttering only a murmur. Yet even his impressive hold over the boy had his limits. 

"I wanted to forgive you."

Machia's face didn't even twitch. It didn't resemble anything emotional nor human. Just blank observation. It was as if Perse's words and their situation were irrelevant, separate from any of his own feelings. 

"But what's there left to forgive. You, you've been misleading me from the very beginning. Who knows what else you did, what about Circe? I bet... I bet you even knew a a a about."

Perse's sombre expression became paralyzed. His pupils dilated as his breathing hitched. Everything about him was consumed with panic as his words forced him to realize. Hysteric, he continued to rise too from his knees into a stand as his eyes drifted towards the culprit. 

Catching his gaze, the lanky, withered man appeared shocked. His frail facade betrayed him as the corner of his lips rose, turning into a wretched smile he could no longer hide. 

That awful sinister grin, it spurred him. 

He turned and ran. He had intended to fight. To the very end, resist whatever twisted intentions the member of halls had planned for him. And for a moment, it looked like he'd make it. Unhindered, he raced towards the entrance desperately. 

But then he tripped.

Dragging him towards the ground was a familiar force he had experienced in the past. He resisted and struggled. At his full capacity, this level of force was not nearly enough to ground him. But his senses suddenly spiked as a cold numbness spread throughout his entire body. 

Like a dog, the back of his neck was grabbed and hoisted by an arm of insurmountable strength. 

"Perses, please understand already. You're not going anywhere."

Machia had traversed the distance between them without making even a sound, restraining the hindered boy. The feelings inside him. No, them, violently lashed out at the hand that constrained them. Eventually, he managed to grab that limb. Clamping down with just his hands on that wrist, he kicked his legs desperately. 

Then, they were dropped. Startled, Perses quickly scampered to his feet. With their hands raised defensively, he felt the force subduing him begin to wain. Machia stood calmly, a complicated expression played on his face, his back hiding it from the daunting audience behind.

"Why. Are you resisting?"

A tone of genuine uncertainty escaped Machia's mouth as his troubled eyes scanned Perse's figure. Unable to process a response, a harrowing resentment resonated within both of them. So bitter and thick that words failed to even come to mind. 

Showing no concern at being blatantly ignored, Machia glanced at his surroundings quizzically. Then, with a placid indifference, Machia unfolded his arms. 

And he approached.