Chapter 5. When Everything Truly Began
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They returned to El's room, and the man softly shut the door behind him.
"Stay close to me, boy," his voice low and solemn. He placed the candle back on the table.
"Okay…" El replied briefly, sensing the obvious strain from him.
The man turned the wooden cork of the vial and pulled it open, a faint aroma of something unfamiliar to El escaped into the room.
Pouring a few drops of the unrecognizable fluid into one of his palms, he clenched his hand tightly and swiftly handed the vial and cork to El, who stood beside him.
"Close it tightly, boy!" he instructed, and El quickly complied, handling it with care.
The man brought his hands together, cupping them. Closing his eyes, he brought his palms close to his mouth, creating a small opening between his thumbs.
He began to utter something into his hands. And it remained elusive to El, even though they were in the same, familiar language.
The meaning behind the words inexplicably eluded El's mind, slipping through his ability to comprehend like water slithering through his fingers.
At the same time, a chill raced down El's spine. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose in response, his body reacting to something his mind could not grasp.
El's thoughts drifted to the books he'd once pored over in the village, the tales of witches performing incantations to awaken their spells. He couldn't help but wonder: Was the man invoking a hidden, mysterious force? Was this ritual akin to the enchanted words of those fictional witches?
"Mortis umbrae, guide my hand,
Conceal mine actions, as grains of sand.
In this space, let none perceive,
What I do, let them not believe."
The man chanted the incantation.
Meanwhile, El felt the ambiance and color in the room grow darker. A shade even blacker than the night itself had suddenly descended. His night vision, usually reliable, was diminished to a significant extent.
This was the first time he struggled to see in the dark. He wondered if this was what normal people experienced when they tried to see at night without any light.
"As thou dost speak, so shall it be,
Hidden from sight, eternally free.
By the power of darkness, I beseech thee,
Let my deeds be lost, like whispers at sea."
A gentle wind drifted aimlessly through the room, its origin untraceable—whispering across El's skin with a cold, harrowing touch. It felt otherworldly, a chill not borne of nature but of something far beyond comprehension.
El's breath faltered as he became acutely aware of a presence—a silent observer cloaked in the darkness or perhaps embedded within the shadows themselves. It watched him. He could feel its gaze, unrelenting and suffocating, as though the weight of many eyes focused solely on him.
Yet, inexplicably, El knew it came from a single source—a singular, piercing stare.
A creeping sense of mortality settled deep within him.
The aura carried the unmistakable chill of death. An unfathomable force had come, desirous of his breath, one that embodied the finality of Fate itself.
It reminded him of the fragile line he had teetered on during the drought that ravaged his village. With no water and starvation tightening around his neck, he ended up unconscious, brushing against the veil of the afterlife, yet inexplicably surviving.
That moment had carved itself into his memory, a scar etched not on his flesh, but on his soul.
Now, that same chilling fear coursed through him. Sweat soaked his back, clinging to his skin as he shivered in place.
Suddenly, the man's clasped hands moved, releasing something that drew El's full attention.
From between his fingers, an inky black smoke seeped out, curling upward in sinuous spirals. It rose with deliberate grace, unfurling like a whispered secret and twisting into a form that seemed alive in its movement—ominous and mesmerizing all at once.
At last, the man said, "A blood to thee, O Lord of Darkness and Secrecy. For a veil is all I entreat."
{Veil of Shadows}
After uttering those final words, everything went still.
The inky black smoke in the air formed a straight line that receded back to the man's hand until there was nothing left.
For those normal people who couldn't see in this darkness, there was nothing else to perceive.
However, El, who currently could barely see in the dark, noticed that the shadows in the room seemed to change into something else. They seemed alive and sentient, wiggling unnaturally in their place.
"All done and well executed," the man declared, his tone carrying a theatrical confidence. "It's been ages since I last used it. Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure it would work. But, of course, with me at the helm, success is inevitable."
He flashed El a triumphant smile, his nonchalant demeanor brimming with self-assurance.
El could only stare back, his expression frozen in a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment.
'You mean to tell me you did all of that—whatever that was—, without knowing if it would even work?!'
The thought raced through his mind, leaving him unsettled. He wasn't sure how to feel about the man's actions.
Whether to label it as cool and fascinating? Or downright eerie and outright dangerous? Unable to untangle his emotions, he decided silence was his best course of action, lest the man might attempt something even more hazardous.
Wordlessly, El handed the sealed vial back to the man, who inspected it briefly before giving it a casual shake. The vial rattled faintly in his hand.
"Good," the man said at last, thrusting the vial back into El's hands with the same carefree attitude. "I'll teach you how to use it when I return. Until then, be careful with it…"
"Alright," El replied, his voice subdued.
'You're the one who isn't careful with it…' El thought, biting back his retort
"So, let's go with the secret code this time. You need to ask first when someone knocks on the front door, or maybe they've already arrived," the man instructed.
"Okay. What do I ask?" El replied.
"You ask, 'Chicken???'"
"Chicken? Why chicken??"
"No reason. Just feel like it."
"… Okay then. I ask, 'Chicken???'"
"Yes. Then I'll answer, 'It wasn't your time to crow yet, mister,'" the man said, a smirk formed under the candle lamp.
"… Okay. So that's the answer then," El flatly replied.
"... You are no fun at all, kid," the man reacted, clearly dissatisfied as he expected El to laugh at the joke.
"Is that supposed to be funny?" El asked, genuinely curious.
"No, scratch that. Okay, back to the secret code. You ask again at the door, 'Is there any sauce for the chicken, sir?' and my answer will be, 'It's velouté sauce, sir. Made of butter, flour, and chicken stock. It'll be even better if you add a splash of dry white wine. The consistency needs to be just right, and don't forget the black pepper,'" the man stated with such passion that El couldn't hold back a question rising in his throat.
"So, what's this all about with chicken and the sauce?"
"Ah, I've just been craving it for some time now. I didn't order it at the restaurant before because I already had it last week. Anyway, when I'm back, we're going there again, alright? I'll show you and explain everything about the restaurant itself. There's a reason why it's the most famous place here, yet only the locals know about it. It's an epic tale, kid, I tell you…"
He said, a smile lingering on his lips.
"Okay then. I'll wait for you here."
"Do you remember the last code, though? If it's different, don't open the door. We need to stick to the intricacies and finesse, kid. Should I write it down?"
"No, I remember it. Don't worry."
"Ah, you're right? You are smart after all…"
He said, as if he were certain of what he was saying, making El curious about the memories he had lost.
"Sir, I want to ask: how long do you think I've lost my memories? We had calendars in the village, but they were way outdated. I don't know my birthday either, so how old do you think I am?" El asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. There was a hint of well-hidden pain behind his question.
He didn't even know his name, his date of birth, or whether he had any family at all. He didn't know if his parents had abandoned him by choice or if they had been lost to the cruel hands of Fate before leaving him behind.
Or perhaps, more optimistically, they were still searching for him, desperately hoping to reunite with the child they lost.
But he would never know and would remain oblivious to it all.
The ache of not knowing was a heavy burden he carried to this day.
Yet deep down, he hoped his parents cared about him and still did. For some reason, he had been left in that barren land, where death was a shadow that clung closely to anyone living there. He imagined them scouring the desolate terrain, never giving up on finding the child they lost.
But he knew part of the truth. The last children, other than him, who had died at the end of it, had parents who were killed in the attack by the invaders.
Everyone in that village had a history. Records could be traced in a dusty library, where birth certificates were hidden in a concealed compartment.
But not him.
No record whatsoever. He was an enigma, a ghost without a past. It was as if he had materialized from thin air, a baby left on the doorstep of a weary and starved couple he called uncle and aunt, growing up under their care, only for them to die trying to keep him alive, until he was taken by the two elders, known throughout the village as people who fancied human meat.
He had overheard others speaking in hushed tones about the old couple when he was nearby, perhaps out of pity for him.
So now he had come to this point. At the very least, he wished to know through the man how old he was at that moment.
'That is not much of a wish, is it?'
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