The Secrets of Lore Seymour

89. To See the Truth

Warning: Slight gore

Late in the evening, I wake up from a cold draft. Where Lore once slept in my arms is now empty. Suspecting he got up to grab a drink or use the bathroom, I turn to my side to give my arm a rest. That's when I find Lore sitting on the edge of the bed donning a puzzling expression; a distant gaze, eyes deep cerulean as dark as the depths of the ocean.

Offering his hand, he says, "Come with me."

"It's the middle of the night," I argue, rubbing my eyes. "Has something happened?"

I've noticed that he has changed from his sleep pants to a plain dark top and pants. His hair's pulled into a tight ponytail and a pair of black gloves cover his hands. An ebony handle for a dagger rests at his waist, one I've never seen before. For unknown reasons, the attire unsettles me. The air has a chill that wasn't there moments ago. That chill makes my gut lurch, though I'm unclear of what I want to do or should do.

"Are you going somewhere?" I ask, glancing at the window to check if I'm mistaking the time. I haven't; the sun has yet to rise. It's the dead of night.

"We are going somewhere," he answers, grasping my hand. With a single tug, he has me stumbling out of bed. "Wear something you can ruin."

"What?"

"Come to my room when you're ready." He exits without another word. Every step is so eerily quiet that I find myself rushing to dress. Something is amiss; the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he looked at me didn't sit quite right. A heavy sensation settles in my gut, like a boulder has taken to testing the strength of my stomach.

Once dressed, I walk to Lore's room. The door is unlocked. I push it open. Lore stands by the window, closing the curtains to cast the room in darkness. The only light comes from a small candle on the bedside table. Our shadows stretch across the room into the dark corners, becoming one.

"Shut and lock the door," Lore orders. I do so, hesitantly.

"What's going on?" I inquire, gazing at Lore's silhouette that fades into the shadows.

"You said you wished to learn my secrets. I've shared a few with you already." Lore faces me wearing that same distant stare. He has cut a piece of himself off that refuses to reveal what's truly on his mind. "This last secret is one I guarantee you will regret learning. Make the decision now; remain oblivious and live happily here while setting aside everything having to do with the church or learn the truth that will change everything, possibly even us."

"Us?" I echo, approaching him. "Why would this change anything about us? What's happening? You can't expect me to answer when you're being so vague."

"I normally wouldn't be, but it's doubtful Draven can make you forget this truth once I've revealed it," Lore replies. "Draven's trait, you aren't aware of it, correct?"

I nod.

"Draven can change past memories and even leave behind goals for the future. No one will be the wiser."

"How did the church never discover his trait?" I ask, baffled to learn Draven's capable of such things.

"Draven was born in Vexsis. Revealing their trait is only necessary when they cross over to earth, but sometimes a paper goes missing here or there. So long as the church had no excuse to interrogate a noble such as myself, they had no right to, and I managed to keep his trait off the records."

That is a nifty card to have in his back pocket.

"As gifted as Draven is, you are a trained paladin capable of taking down two advanced Warlords on your own. You even broke free of Roemithia's torment. There's a high probability that Draven's trait will not work on you," Lore elaborates. He steps away from the window. The golden light of the candle reflects off the darkness of his eyes. Golden flakes drifting within endless blue. "Once you see this, we may not be able to make you unsee it. Awful memories will be dredged up and even more added, so you have to make a choice."