I open my eyes.
Or rather…
something in me opens.
Not my eyelids. Not my thoughts.
Something else.
A dull beat. An invisible threshold.
There is no setting.
Only a mist.
Gray. Thick.
Almost liquid.
No ground. No sky.
I don't feel my feet.
I don't know if I'm floating or walking.
There is no sound.
No echo.
No wind.
Nothing.
Only this void.
Heavy. Silent.
A void that doesn't leave me, even when I move.
Am I dead?
I don't know.
Everything is blurred.
Not only around me.
Inside me, too.
As if my memory had dissolved into the fog.
I feel like I'm… waiting.
An in-between.
A purgatory.
Neither life.
Nor death.
It is neither cold nor hot.
I don't sweat.
I don't shiver.
I only half-exist.
I feel neither fear nor peace.
Only a calm too smooth.
A silence that scratches.
I am lost.
And yet, I move.
I don't know why.
Not out of will.
Not out of hope.
But because I must.
As if my legs were answering an ancient order.
Something inscribed.
Deeper than the Word.
Older than me.
So I go on.
One step. Then another.
And then…
I see him.
First, two horns.
Twisted.
Majestic.
Unsettling.
A black too deep to be matte.
A black that absorbs the mist, as if even here it refused to be touched.
Then a silhouette.
It cuts slowly out of the gray.
Nothing precedes it. No sound.
Only its presence.
His skin is white.
Not the white of a body.
The white of an erasure.
Porcelain white. Frozen. Perfect.
Too smooth. Too pure. Too dead.
It isn't living skin.
It's a fixed surface, as if light itself no longer dared to touch it.
It reflects nothing.
It distorts everything.
And his eyes…
God, his eyes.
Two lakes frozen under ice.
No reflection.
No glimmer.
Nothing.
Only an abyss.
A gaze that looks back.
Not a human gaze.
Not a hostile gaze.
A gaze empty of intention.
Which is worse.
He smiles.
Slowly.
A rictus that doesn't try to be kind.
Just… natural. Too natural.
His lips part.
Fangs appear.
Not menacing.
Simply there. Inevitable.
Gray braids spill over his shoulders.
Long. Thick.
Like ashes.
But in this murky light…
they look like chains.
No gesture.
No word.
He stares at me.
For a long time.
And in the silence that surrounds us, I realize:
He was the one waiting.
Not me.
His voice tears the silence.
— Enchanted, my Contraire… or perhaps I am yours. It doesn't matter.
One of us will end up disappearing.
I don't step back.
But my breath stumbles.
He speaks as if he knew me.
As if he had been there, inside me, forever.
He goes on.
— Our Words are opposed. Bound. Attracted and repelled. Yours calls me… or rejects me. I don't know yet. But this link does not tolerate two existences.
I frown. Not from fear.
From irritation.
— A Demon lecturing me about mystical bonds and crossed destinies? Don't you have anything more original? I expected better. Express yourself better, if it's not too much to ask.
He inclines his head a fraction.
Amused.
Not mocking. Just… above it all.
— You feel nothing? Even now? Your Word rumbles under your skin. It stirs. It demands.
And you… you keep talking like a lost kid in a world that wasn't written for him.
I let a second pass.
Then answer, flat:
— You want to kill me, is that it? Classic. Sorry to disappoint: I'm already dead.
He smiles.
Wider.
More animal.
His fangs show without effort.
A predator's mouth.
— Fortunately for me, you are not dead.
Because if you were… I wouldn't be here either.
He takes a step.
— You see, in this world, when a human is chosen and receives a Word…
a Demon, somewhere, receives the opposite.
And that Demon is me.
— I am bound to you.
If you die, I die.
My Word disappears.
So does my existence.
He stops. His gaze pins me.
— And yet, look at me: I am still alive. Which means you are, too.
— And the only way to be free… is to kill you myself.
— Only then can I exist without you. Without your miserable existence grafted onto mine.
I lift an eyebrow.
— So I'm alive… and I still have my Word. And if our existences are linked, then if you die… what happens?
He chuckles.
Low. Dark.
Almost… compassionate.
— For you? Nothing. The gods have bound us. And cursed us. All because of you. Because of your Words, your whims, your failures. And I pay the price.
I stand there.
Disoriented.
— So… you live in some Demon city, or whatever. You got your Word because I got mine. And now, if you want to live free, you've only got one plan: kill me.
His eyes gleam. Cold. Cutting.
— Exactly. I would be free.
I scratch my head.
Tired. Sincere.
— I'll admit your situation isn't ideal. But I'm not planning to die. And I'm even less inclined to let you kill me.
— So live your life, brother. I promise you my death isn't on the schedule today.
He stares.
Annoyed.
— A second ago, you thought you were dead. I felt a shiver through this place. Your life was on the edge.
— You are weak. Fragile. And I have to prepare everything… to kill you before you die of yourself.
I stay put.
A little empty.
A little jaded.
— Seriously… I get your mess. But "kill, kill, kill" isn't a solution.
Look at us. This place. This silence. It's not just a weird dream. It's… an answer.
I don't know what I'm saying.
But I've got nothing to lose.
So I talk.
He, on the other hand, starts to lose patience.
— You irritate me. You talk like a child without memory. You live without consequences. Without gravity. You are nothing but a coward.
— You could have been something. Someone. But you are only disappointment.
— I've had enough. Get out.
I roll my eyes.
And then, a chain bursts forth.
Strikes.
Coils.
Around my throat.
My chest.
My arms.
A cocoon of living metal.
Cold. Silent. Unstoppable.
I don't have time to scream.
But I still smile.
— You're making a lot of effort… for an insignificant mortal like me.
The void draws near.
It swallows me.
I jolt.
My eyes fly open.
My heart hammers.
I'm sweating.
A dream… or maybe not.
I don't have time to think about it.
I'm still alive.