IN THE LIGHT of the night, the pond was a shallow basin of liquid jade, its surface choked with the broad and waxy leaves of lilies. Without ripples to disturb the stilled water, Maze was the one creating such an effect, hurling stones into the depth, as if he possessed a wish that the pool might grant him. Only that it could not, nor could it assume the burden of a mind buried in slipping thoughts.
Why did the Eidolon of the Swamp not react when I held a ring and steered a boat across the swamp? It had seemed to awaken only when he stood upon the central land. If there was some kind of activation, then perhaps there was no way for him to evade its notice.
For him, the Directors were masters of plot and malice, architects who would do whatever it took to bar his entry from the Door. This indifference was higher than he could imagine; an Orphan with no value was worth only death to those who wished him ill.
Maze sighed exasperatedly.
If it were not mandatory to comply and be sent to the Camp, he would not waste a dime of time, preferring to train with the help of his fellow Orphans. While it might be assumed he had not yet experienced the discrimination of the Heirs, that would surely change once he encountered more than a scattered few. He had already met two: one was a maniac, and the other was full of himself. The woman in grey had shown no such indifference, but she had led him toward certain deaths just so he could reap a reward, like the key he now possessed. The other, a boy in red, was simply . . . seeking glory.
Had that Child of Sufferance known the Eidolon sought to suck the life out of him, Maze would have been used as a sacrificial lamb — a lure so the Heir could exterminate the beast.
Maze felt a brief relief, yet he knew that Heir might have already realized the truth. Worse, they would mock him for his disability. Not that the disability was real, nor that he wished to feign it, but this mark was not supposed to be a topic for discussion. Even his Siblings could not bring it to the table without a sense of dread. It was said to be a blessing, a gift from his master, but . . .
Can I return to herding? He wished this toward the pond as he picked another pebble and hurled it into the pond.
There was a rustle from behind.
"Would you waste your time like this?" asked the voice of a woman he knew well.
Maze remained mum.
"I have been searching for you for a long while now."
As the moon sneaked between the branches, glinting upon the petals, leaves fell silently onto the bountiful earth of flowers and moss. There was no brush of wind, nor whispers from nature itself. Such quiet could only suffice for the voice of one, perhaps given also to the other.
The woman walked nearer, but Maze continued his unbothered hurling of stones.
"I know a way to defeat it."
Maze became stiff for a moment before regaining his composure. "Why should I trust you?"
"At least hear me out."
"Least I could do."
Athelstan scoffed. "There is a sword in the Sixth Land which is guarded by another Father Darkness. It is said to be the wife of the guardian in the swamp."
"Pray tell, this sword could defeat the Eidolon?"
"You could think of it that way."
"Then why do you not want to get it yourself?"
"Look," she crossed her arms, "you might not survive without the sword. I have no need to get it for I am not the one who needs it."
"Then why do you not enter the Door?"
"For —"
"You are a crude and twisted human, do you not think so?" Maze turned around, his brow creased in a hard line. "I am no pawn and this is no such game. You cannot prowl upon me, placing me wherever and whenever to your liking."
"My strategy might be crude and twisted, but it can be trusted even when danger loiters about." The woman tilted her head. "I do not do sweet talk, nor do I have to appear soft. Even I am not a puppet." She paused, facing the man directly. "Whether you treat yourself as a pawn, I do not care. Am I earning your trust? Not exactly."
"Then why are you doing this in the first place?"
"I simply know." The woman leaned closer, her breath a cold whisper in his ear. "Your mark . . . do you not wish to uncover it?"
The rhetoric sent a chill through his body.
How was she wary of the things he had never uttered nor uncovered himself?
"I may not know your name," she stepped backward, "but I know your mark," she continued as she drifted further away, "and your," she grinned hideously, "master." Alas, she mumbled the last word quietly.
Something crept inside his chest. How could she know what he did not? Why did it appear there was so much more to this woman — from being a lone Heir to being nearly all-knowing of Maze?
"Do you still not wish to fight such a Father Darkness?"
Maze clasped the pebble in his hand so tightly it nearly shattered. The woman came here to play, even if she refused to accept it. She was a cunning fox, a vicious one, skilled at the art of the act.
Even if Maze were trapped, how could he reject it?
But then, why would he truly want to accept?
What could possibly change?
'Never trust anyone from Yonder.' Vaelstrom was right, even regarding the cleansed awakened who had become a lone Heir. Though she was supposed to be a Sibling, a fellow Orphan, she was just the same as every other Heir. The very truth would never change.
A star of her own.
Waiting to burn.