Seer?
My eyes dart up, locking onto the Inquisitor. I anticipate him to meet my gaze with a teasing smirk, but instead, he simply cuts off a small piece of beef and chews silently.
After that first bite, he looks toward me with a puzzled expression. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Sear?"
I open my mouth to reply, but the Inquisitor speaks before I can, chuckling slightly.
"Oh, I see. I apologize, Mr. Sear. I mispronounced your name, how rude of me."
My expression doesn't change, full of worry. Does he know what I am? Does he know what a Seer is? Is he messing with me, or was it a genuine mistake? I shake my head.
"It's alright, sir."
The Inquisitor waves his hands. "It shouldn't have happened. Although your name is eerily similar to Seer, I'll chalk that up to a coincidence."
I take a few bites of the beef but don't eat anything else, just a few nibbles of the bread and some water.
"Other than the similar pronunciation, is there any other reason you called me Seer?"
The Inquisitor stabs the steak, cutting a larger-than-average piece, and holds his knife there. He begins to ponder my question.
"No, I don't believe so," he replies. "Although if you had the surname, 'Seer', it would be problematic."
"How so?"
"Well, those who are called Seers are commonly referred to as rebels or criminals. According to the Inquisition, they're deemed to be apprehended on-site."
On sight? What? Ikaris never mentioned that being a Seer is a crime?
"Are Seers dangerous, sir?" I ask.
"Don't worry, my boy, Seers aren't a problem these days."
"How come?" I question further.
"There hasn't been a Seer in 150 years."
150 years? How long have Seers been around? How come Mother never mentioned anything about our origin?
"Although," the Inquisitor continues. "Seers as a whole is a widely regarded topic. I've met a few scholarly men who believe Seers don't exist despite the Inquisition's stance, a few rather suggest they're allegorical."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that a few scholars believe Seers is referring to a different group of people."
"And what do you believe, Inquisitor?"
The Inquisitor lifts his gaze from his plate and locks eyes with mine. He sets his utensils down and wipes his hands on a linen napkin.
"Well, of course, I disagree. In the grand scheme of things, the Inquisition is quite young. At least if you know the history of the Seven Duchies. But I digress. How is the beef? You've barely eaten. Have I said something to disturb you? I have a habit of speaking for far too long. Please, tell me if I need to hold myself back some."
"No, no, Sir. You're not disturbing me," I say as I eat more of the beef. As I consume more of my meal, I notice the Inquisitor not eating his meal anymore, despite having more than half left.
He grabs his books and continues to read. "What are you reading?" I ask.
The Inquisitor looks from his book and toward me. "Nothing much. Just a few notes I wrote about information from a logbook. Some of its contents are a bit puzzling."
"How so?"
"For starters, Mr. Seer–oh! I did it again. Apologies. Anyway, it's about the ship, the Albatross, and her captain, Morgan Black."
He did it again. He said my name wrong. And what's he saying about Morgan?
"It's that this log says the Albatross entered port earlier today to rest and resupply, describing the ship as a merchant vessel. Although on board the Albatross, I found no cargo or any documents that support what this log says."
His gaze turns harsh, slightly. He closes the book, keeping it held in his hand.
"You found aboard the ship, along with its captain, Morgan Black. Do you have any information on this? Any explanation?"
I swallow the piece of beef on my fork. "I doubt I can, sir. I've only met the captain earlier today. He hired me to take him around the area to brothels, bars, and other establishments like that. I'm familiar with the area because I grew up in a brothel."
It's quiet for a moment, and we both continue eating our meals. I look towards the window on the far wall of the room, seeing the lack of sunlight outside. There's moonlight striking the window.
Is it night already? My body freezes, and I can feel the beating of my heart grow harsh. I don't know how long I was staring at the window.
"Is there something interesting outside?" The Inquisitor asks, looking towards the window. "What's wrong, Seer?"
"It's nothing, sir. I'm just uncomfortable in the dark."
"It's that right?"
"Yes, sir."
The Inquisitor seems to think internally. He gets up from his seat and goes towards one of his bookshelves, picking out a book. It's somewhat large, taking two hands to hold. He walks back to the dinner table. He pushes the unfinished plate off the table, crashing it on the floor, before setting the book down.
I look toward the fallen food and wonder why he could've wasted it like that? I've never known anyone who wastes an expensive meal like that.
"You shouldn't mind the dark, my boy. I have another question, somewhat personal, if you don't mind. I want to know who your mother was."
My mother…? Why is he asking about my mother? He was just questioning my involvement with Mogan, and now he's suddenly changing the topic.
Before I could respond, a sudden tap hit the window.
Then another.
I turn my head, and hear it, the crescendoing tapping against the window—rain.
Thin sheets of water crawl down the glass, distorting the moonlight into thin silver lines that slowly disappear. The storm rolls over, hollering thunder, as the moon's light fades to nothing.
Yet hidden within the tapping rain, I hear a knock. Only one. It's tiny and short; its sound is separate from the rain's taps.
The crawling water begins to move irregularly. The water starts to veer around something, crafting a shape on the windowpane. The figure becomes more apparent, and the window suddenly shakes.
After a few seconds, the shaking stops as thunder roars through the city, light shooting through the window.
That figure against the window is a hand. A dreadful sensation echoes from my mind. It's an echo of familiarity, something I've seen before, yet I have no idea how to explain.
I turn back to the Inquisitor, whose attention is locked on the window. Instead of dread, he's holding a wide grin. A small acknowledging scoff escapes the Inquisitor. "Of course," he whispers.
A golden-white radiance blossoms around him, rising gently like a mist, dispersing after leaving a finger's length away from the Inquisitor's body. He doesn't seem to be surprised at the hand figure lying against the window.
His gaze leaves the window, turning toward me. "Despite the sudden interruption of the inclement weather, answer my question: where is your mother?"
"Why do you ask?"
The Inquisitor sighs as if my question wasn't obvious.
"My boy, it's apparent to both of us that your identity is known. It seems my playtime is over. Answer me, Seer, why isn't your mother with you?"
The Inquisitor steps toward me, his boots heavy against the wooden floor, standing tall before me, his grin disappearing before me.
"A mother is meant to guide a young Seer through their journeys, to teach them what it means to be a Seer before one comes of age."
Thunder strikes again. The window shakes harshly than before. Something knocks against it, knocking repeatedly, without any care for whether the knocks break the window or not. Then fog begins to cover the glass as more knocks arrive.
Dread fills me as I continue to gaze toward the window, but it moves once the Inquisitor gently places a hand on my shoulder.
"Tell me, child, why isn't your mother nowhere to be found?" The Inquisitor asks.
Before I can respond, the window and its whole frame shatter completely and violently, as fog rushes, invading along darkness, snuffing out the fire and all light.
And beings of darkness enter the room.