Seven walked to the two women waiting for his trial to end, his thoughts still lingering on what he experienced. The air held an electric buzz, as if whatever force had been summoned for the trial was still strongly present.
"So what did you face? A jilted lover? A soldier you bested in your toughest battle? Or maybe a spirit?" Elvidia immediately launched her questions.
"Myself as the cosmos intended me to be." Seven answered calmly with a hint of detachment.
"Wha- what does that mean?" Elvidia seemed to slightly pale at the casual mention of the cosmos.
"The 'Perfect' me. More elven, no flaws, extraordinary magical prowess, but no ingenuity. He could throw spells like it was effortless, a breath if you will. But it did help me discover my own capabilities." Seven briefly explained with a yawn midway through.
"This is grave news, Seven. You went in and faced not a trial, but a challenge. A challenge from the very cosmos that gave you your gifts. Yet, I don't think I have a right to say it gave them to you anymore. If you came out as you are, then you proved that you earned them by your own right, and that the cosmos merely presented the opportunity." Elvidia began to think upon the information, her posture was less authoritative, lowered slightly. The situation was well beyond her beliefs, yet she remained composed.
"I think Seven needs to rest, Lady Elvidia." Siren stepped forward, catching Seven as he swayed on his feet. The exhaustion, mental fatigue, and weariness catching him all at once. He was out of his realm, trying so hard to adapt to the new one, pretending to be used to it. His logic was stretched thin, everything he'd been bottling up now weighed him down.
"Why does this feel so much more complicated compared to stealing from Astro-Tech?" Seven huffed with resignation. The thought of more trials like what he just faced, brought with it the fear of more unknown information that would further disrupt his known knowledge.
**************************
Melrod sat in a corner of the dusty, damp catacomb central plaza, the headquarters of the Thieves Guild. The hum of the old electrical system dully droned among the chatter of members. On a wall, surrounded by lit candles within the skulls embedded, was a photo of Seven. A memorial service was being held, and all were grieving the loss of a treasured family member.
"Fools. He's alive, yet you'll believe the words of that liar over mine? All because I can't prove that I overheard the conversation? All because I can't bring evidence of Seven breathing to you? Damn all of you, you think I didn't grieve his loss when he didn't return?" Melrod muttered to himself woefully, his angered words lost to the ambient noise.
The air thickened, the moist air and candle smoke clung to his skin, as if the dormant souls within the catacombs silently agreed with him. Somewhere a bulb buzzed slightly louder before going out with a silent sigh of finality. The leader of the Thieves Guild stepped up in front of the memorial, her face haggard, worn. Long nights of drinking hung around her, a haze of the soured sweet smell of wine and ale.
"My dear members, today we mourn the loss of family. To me, he was a son, one that can't be replaced. To some of you he might have been a nephew or brother. He prioritized the mission as he always does, but this time- this time he- he didn't come home." Tears streamed down her face, her voice broke at the end. Her emotions were thick, even through the drunken eulogy.
Melrod's eyes flashed with a sad rage. He abruptly stood up from his seat and began walking into one of the many catacomb tunnels leading out. He stopped only to look at Seven's face, the candle flames flickered with an unfelt breeze, as if proving Seven still breathed.
Melrod looked upon his mother next, her broken figure sobbing uncontrollably, shaking with every unsteady breath. The visible consequence of Dante's lies. His lies created the scene unfolding before Melrod. His rage grew, the candles flickered out, the electric buzz turned to a drone. He turned and walked away from the memorial, entering the dark tunnel, faintly illuminated by the dimly lit plaza behind him.
The further he walked, the darker it became. The darker it became, the stronger the scent of stagnant soil was. The decay in the catacombs was normal, but it seemed amplified in his rage. He was alone, away from anything living. He swung his arm back and sent it into the skull stacked wall. The skulls seemed to grin wickedly at him, taunting his suffering.
"STOP SMILING!" Melrod roared as he continued punching the wall, his hits getting heavier with each pass. His voice echoed warped on the catacomb curve, his voice, but now like laughter with the wrong timing. His blood soaked into the dust below, painted the skulls with splatter, and hollowed his heart. The shadows seemed to embrace him as he slowed his fist and inevitably sank to his knees.
The sounds around him stopped long before he realized they had. The dust settled and the blood pooled patiently, as if it had done so before. The dark wasn't comforting him– it was claiming him. It knew the shape of him, filling the space he left behind.
"Why? Where? Seven… please come home, I can't do this without you." Melrod sobbed, tears streaming down his face.
"He abandoned you. He doesn't even think of you." The voice came from his shadow, speaking softly as if it were a fact long overdue. By the second sentence, the voice sounded closer, familiar– like it was his own
"Shut up! Seven didn't abandon me! He's just… busy finding his purpose." Melrod replied with anger and doubt. The words didn't sound like his own, but rather a mantra rehearsed in a mirror endlessly.
"Do you think you were designed by accident, Melrod? Some designs are made to rise, others to hold down. I told you your baseless love for him would eventually lead him away. He will never return to you– the same."
"You're wrong! He will come back!" Melrod yelled into the thickening darkness that was slowly encroaching upon him. The words fell heavily, absorbed into the shadows as if the only weight it held was self-pity.
Melrod looked up into the empty sockets of a skull, it gazed back without interest. It had seen men break before, and knew he would too. It reveled only in the inevitability of it, Melrod meant nothing, he was simply a cog in a story already written.
The shadow coiled around him, clinging to him like a new layer of skin. His eyes flickered with a smoky black, a dying ember orange glow dimly lit within.
"I'll bring him back myself. Whatever it takes." Melrod's voice sounded distant, like a whisper in a long dark hallway. The distant lights vanished, bulbs popped in the distance, the shadows shifted with anticipation, and the smell of decaying compost filled the air with its sickeningly sweet smell.