The One

Reunion

As if on cue, the door to Feray's room opened right then, and out stepped her and Nasr. Everyone else gasped in surprise, not because he was there, but because of the way his aura felt to them. It did not carry any ill feeling; instead, it was respectfully cold—much like Nasr himself, as he was now.

"Is this real?" Izar asked, quizzical.

"I am no illusionist," Nasr answered. Without wasting a single second, the dark sorcerer handed a small cup of unknown dark liquid to Izar. "Drink this quickly." Then, he shifted his steady gaze to Waylon and Zanna. "You two teleport to Zanna Owen's house and stay there until the night is over."

Behind him, Feray nodded at Waylon, who then grabbed hold of Zanna's hand. Having seen the exchange, Zanna did not object—and they were gone in an instant.

Izar hesitated for a moment but drank the liquid. Then, for the second time in two minutes, his eyes widened in alarm. He looked up in disbelief at Nasr, who only smiled in response.

"What?" Feray asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

"He dissolved the poison and gave me a small portion of his power," Izar explained, placing the cup on the table. "That being said, that 'small portion' is still a lot for me. Say, dark sorcerer, this can't be a part of the remedy? Didn't you yourself invent that poison?"

"It is," Nasr said, "The only remedy. You yourself knew that it could not be cured...and this is the reason. No sorcerer of my rank would give his own power away—much less to a target of his own poison. Do not be overly concerned about it; it is only an augmentation of what you already have, nothing additional. Furthermore...it will be of help to us in approximately...thirty seconds."

"...I have a feeling this house will be deconstructed," Feray noted half-jokingly.

"It's either here or Odessa's animorbis," Izar said with a light smile, "And trust me, you don't want to be there."

"Oh! That reminds me," Feray said with a smirk, "Do you know what I did to you that day when you were out?"

"...what?"

"I touched you."

"Um...what, dearie?"

Nasr chuckled.

"Don't tell me you saw that?" Feray asked, turning to him now.

"I have no interest in intruding into private property, but I cannot say the same of my sister...speaking of whom."

Before Odessa herself appeared, she first sent in indiscriminate beams of white. It was Izar who formed a shield against them. He had regained his ability to use external protective magic not because of what Nasr gave him, but for the same reason he could now speak of Sadie's death without stuttering.

"How did you gain this power?" Odessa strode into the house, squinting at Izar. In her moment of surprise, she seemed to have forgotten the real reason she was here.

To remind her, Nasr spoke up, calmly, from the other side of the living room. "I gave it to him."

The grand sorceress started—yes, she remembered now. She made a move to shoot out another beam, but nothing came out. Nonetheless, Nasr choked and raised a hand to his own throat.

Strings, Feray identified, glancing at Izar to confirm if her guess was right. He responded with a soft sigh.

"Nobody died, so who freed you?" Turning her attention to Nasr now, the grand sorceress remained where she was, yet held him on a choking grip with strings nobody could see.

"If you want him to answer, you've got to let him speak," Feray said while leaning against the wall.

"If he wishes to speak, he can easily break free of my strings," Odessa reasoned.

True, Feray thought, But he won't.

Indeed, Nasr simply allowed himself to be choked, his gaze on Odessa steady even as he readied himself to look death in the eye once again.

"You'll kill him," Izar said simply.

Because of that, she let go.

Nasr gasped for air, then coughed a few times. Beside him, Feray watched intently; Izar kept his eyes on Odessa.

When he stood up straight again, the dark sorcerer spoke. "I freed myself. Do you not remember your own intentions when you first confined me, Odessa?"

"You freed yourself?" Odessa mumbled. "How is that related to you not resisting me?"

Nasr sighed. "Why do you want me to fight you? Would that prove the inexistence of love, or its existence? For what am I fighting if I resist you? Which 'you' do you want to be proven right?"

This time, she fell silent. As much as Odessa wanted to refute him, she knew that she would be the fool if she denied his logic. If Nasr fought her as she threatened the life of his friends, he was fighting for love; if he fought her without one such threat, he would be fighting out of wrath, but that would mean he was a being devoid of love, thus proving the mechanism of her cage faulty.

Which "you" do you want to be proven right?

Her internal conflict was now brought into the spotlight, and she could not avoid it. There were two voices in her head, and one of them was wrong. Recalling the spell that she herself had cast, it was quite clear which voice was in the wrong. In the past, she tried her hardest to prove herself right—to prove both voices right. She believed love existed; yet, after watching Nasr for years, she also believed it did not exist. Now, the cause of it all was standing before her, telling her the answer.

Which "you" do you want to be proven right?

Odessa's magic was not faulty. This was an undeniable fact. Then...

"Perhaps it was not love, but sympathy; and you thought you loved." She gave it another try.

"For Feray? There is nothing to sympathize with," Nasr said. "You and I are more miserable by all means, my sister."

"And him?" Odessa glanced at Izar for only a second.

"He lost his loved ones," Nasr said, "Because of us, keep in mind. But his loved ones loved him too." He began walking toward Odessa, slowly, as if afraid that a fast movement would alert her. "I am looking at you now, but you refuse to recognize me."

"Because of her," Izar corrected quietly, "Not you."

"I am the root cause. I will not deny that."

"I might recognize how I feel about you if you die for real," Odessa said after another moment of silence.

About a dozen small white shards shot out from the wall behind Nasr and pierced into him. The grand sorceress watched as her brother coughed out nearly black blood; she watched as he fell. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him injured, in pain, or in a weakened state, but still, as she left, something seemed different this time.

The difference was, she wasn't watching through her crystal ball, he was looking right at her; and the difference was, she did not recognize the look in his eyes as he watched her leave. It was not anger, nor was it any form of resentment. But if it wasn't any of those things, what could it be?