Chapter Text
The Spire of All Knowledge stood as a promise that its master would return, so the rumors went.
After all, if Shadow Milk really was dead and gone for good, then the tower would have fallen to the ground. Yet it still haunted Beast Yeast with grandiose spires tall enough to pierce the treetops and distort the night sky. Still majestic, even with paint chipping, turrets crumbling, and enough windows shattered that shrill laughter could echo through the gnarled trees that surrounded it. The stories varied, depending on who a person asked. Some insisted that Shadow Milk never left and was merely lying in wait, biding his time. Others said he was merely haunting the place, incorporeal and powerless so long as a respectful distance was kept. Warnings were passed from mother to child and from local to adventurer to steer clear of the wretched place, and those who didn’t listen never returned. No matter how the tales were spun, one thread was always in the center: evil lurked within its cracked walls, patiently waiting for its turn to strike.
And yet, patience meant stagnancy and now Shadow Milk had to make do without having All Knowledge at his fingertips. Not even Most Knowledge. Time had been a cruel mistress, leaving him behind and playing catch-up with whatever scraps made their way into his libraries, which was really making it difficult to enjoy his newfound freedom.
What could he really expect? There hadn’t been a Fount here to pour knowledge into the countless tomes housed here in ages; just his two underlings, whichever servants he saw fit to create, and himself in all of his “corrupted” glory. None of them had been invested in having anything factual or recent since he first started to grow weary of pouring out endless knowledge to ungrateful gnats. So of course it didn't house all knowledge anymore. Not even most knowledge.
Still, no one could’ve kept a half-decent record about something like, just as an example here, what had happened to his Soul Jam? The conduit of all his power, hand crafted just for him, something he’d rather like to have back sooner rather than later so he could burn this sorry continent to the ground?
Shadow Milk had checked through piles of dusty scrolls and flipped through whatever books had the least yellowed pages. He’d play proper catch-up later, once he tracked down anything about Pure Vanilla. That damned Pure Vanilla. His teeth ground together as his grip threatened to shred the pages from just thinking about the one who was chosen to replace him. Everything from history books to gossip said that he was probably dead and gone. He’d made himself a martyr to seal away Dark Enchantress and that was that. But Dark Enchantress was alive enough to build an army, with him at the front lines. All the other Ancients had crawled out of the woodwork at some point or another. Even White Lily, who by all intent and purpose shouldn’t exist, had found a way to crawl her way back onto Earthbread from the witch’s cauldron she should be boiling in.
Ergo, Pure Vanilla had to be alive somewhere, with his Soul Jam. And Shadow Milk was going to find him, and would make an example of him for the Witches for daring to think he could be replaced so easily. No matter how long it took.
“Master Shadow Milk! Master Shadow Milk!” Candy Apple’s shrill cry cut through the still air. He flicked his gaze up from the history book he had been poring over. This had better be good—he was just about to read about the Vanillian citizens scurrying like rats to escape the hell Dark Enchantress rained upon the stupid kingdom. “Master Shadow Milk, I found him! And he’s been right under our noses this whole time!”
“Oh?” He tossed the book aside, a grin stretching across his face. His schadenfreude could wait. “Well? Where’d you find him?”
“He’s right here! That oaf has just been staying nearby at an inn! Even though he’s a thief, it looks like he wasn’t able to steal your disguise abilities, Master. All he thought to do was wear a hood and use a pseudonym!"
“There’s something wrong with him, Candy Apple.” Black Sapphire made a much more composed entrance, pulling his cloak off his shoulders and shaking his hair free from its sprayed style. Flakes of grey hairspray fell to the floor. “No one knows who he is or where he came from, least of all him. The name he goes by isn’t a pseudonym; he honestly believes he’s Fortune Teller. Word on the street is that he lost his memory somehow; all he knows now is reading tarot and healing magic.”
“Well, while you were busy with rumors, I got my fortune read by him! And actually saw him!” Candy Apple put her hands on her hips. The years and his absence did nothing to lessen their rivalry.
“And you’re certain it was him?” Black Sapphire raised an eyebrow.
“Who else has blue and yellow eyes and a weird mark on their forehead?”
Shadow Milk did once, but that was besides the point. Which begged the question: did the other Ancients resemble the Beasts they replaced so closely, or was this a cosmic joke just for him? Or maybe the joke was on Pure Vanilla—that after seemingly losing his memory, out of anywhere in the world he could’ve landed, he wound up so far from home and friends who cared. Conveniently, right in Shadow Milk’s clutches.
“And what about the Soul Jam? Did he happen to have that?”
Candy Apple deflated, her grin twisting into a pout. “No, he didn’t. But it was him! I swear it was him!”
“So, Pure Vanilla doesn’t have it either? Well, that makes things just a little more complicated.” Of course his Soul Jam and its bearer wouldn’t just be handed to him on a silver platter, as nice of a thought as that was.
Oh well. He could work with this. Apparently the talk of the Faerie Kingdom was how the Light of Freedom whispered to its new owner to rekindle their connection. Of course, his Soul Jam should start calling to its rightful owner now that he was freed, but just in case, he should keep tabs on Pure Vanilla. Maybe more than just tabs.
Spying on clueless little souls was child’s play for Shadow Milk. And now that he knew where to focus his magic, he could keep background surveillance on Pure Vanilla running twenty four hours a day. By the time their destined meeting happened Shadow Milk would know everything about him.
He’d have the sprawls of history books dealt with later. Now it was time to brush up on his spellwork. Good thing his new body could handle the magical demands placed on it, as his escape from that damnable tree proved.
“Act two is about to begin!” He grinned.
It was about time he properly introduced himself.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
His dreams are always kinder to him than reality. Such is the nature of dreams, of course, but they’d been much more alluring lately, painting pictures of companionship and crystal clear skies. A wonderful comfort that would bleed into his mornings and made waking up easier.
Tonight was no different. The scenery he was treated to had a storybook tranquility that melted away any lingering worries he carried from the waking world. The air smelled of sweetgrass and sunbaked earth. The dirt was soft under his bare feet, free of any rocks or sticks. His back was warmed through his threadbare robes and cooled by a gentle breeze. Exactly what he’d fantasize about to lull him to sleep on particularly dark nights: him, this field, a river, and a herd of cream sheep.
He’d never shepherded before—at least, not that he could recall. Recollection was an untrustworthy companion, meandering only around a year into the past before fading into cloudy wisps of smoke. But the sheep flocked to him easily, waddling over on little legs and bleating for him to scratch behind their ears. Far more detailed than he ever could regard them while awake, with bright eyes and distinct whorls in their woolen coats. They sat at his feet with the sort of trust born from a lifetime of companionship. Such trust warmed his heart, and he couldn’t help but indulge their want for friendship, digging his fingers into soft wool and feeling a lamb tilt its head towards him in contentment. Shepherding would be a nice way of life. He was grateful that he could use his abilities to warn travelers of the dangers of Beast Yeast, of course, but adventurers didn’t place the same faith in him as the sheep did. Not to mention the sheep stayed by his side, offering companionship even when the braver adventurers returned home, leaving him alone again.
His reverie was broken when the sky lit up with a streak of brilliant cerulean blue. A shooting star, perhaps? In the middle of the day? His eyes tracked it as it glinted over the trees, mesmerized by its hue and shine. A blue so vibrant that it made even the finest jewelry of the Faerie Kingdom seem dull. Even as he had to shield his eyes with his hand, he was transfixed, following its path all the way into the nearby river and only blinking when it landed with a burst of droplets.
He stood to investigate. The lamb that was once settled eagerly at his side sprang up and darted to see the disturbance and another ram nudged at him and bleated with undue urgency.
“You’re curious too?” he chuckled, “Then why don’t we check it out together?”
It was a short walk to the riverbank. The lamb darted around his feet, weaving around him with each step and nudging him to walk faster. Its enthusiasm was quite charming.
“What could this be?” he murmured, placing a hand on his lamb and kneeling down at the riverbank. The feeling of wet clay seeping through his robes was only slightly dulled by the dreamscape. The water answered with shapeless babbles, its surface impossibly bright. The swiftly flowing water dazzled him, forcing him to squint even further. Was this where the fallen star landed? It had to be. Why else would his cream sheep settle next to him again, boxing him in with their stocky frames?
“You’re here,” The river whispered in his own voice, albeit higher and sweeter than he could ever recall sounding. He should have been more startled, but something felt oddly familiar about this presence. “I’ve been trying so hard to reach you, old friend.”
He shuffled forward, peering into the river. His reflection took shape, blinking up at him with startling clarity. Was that what he looked like?
No, it wasn’t him. His reflection was better dressed, for one, donned in elegant white robes decorated with beige and gold. It radiated happiness effortlessly, the gentle smile on its lips welcoming him as he leaned in closer. His reflection carried itself differently, too, standing with regal confidence that didn’t undercut its approachable demeanor. Dream logic was flexible enough to allow such a thing after all.
“What are you?” He whispered in awe, not daring to touch the water’s surface.
“An old friend. One that has been trying to reach you for a very long time,” it replied, relief washing over its expression. “But we don’t have time to reminisce. You need to wake up.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“War is coming. The Beasts are freed. Time is a luxury we can no longer afford, regrettably.” Its previously serene expression turned serious.
“Freed?” His mouth went dry. The Beasts had been imprisoned in the Silver Tree for millennia. Trapped and utterly powerless, nearly reduced to the monsters under the bed that scared children into behaving. Don’t wander off into the woods, lest Shadow Milk catch you and turn you into a prop in his next puppet show.
It was impossible. It should've been impossible at least, yet he could easily believe it. He’d felt the way the atmosphere shifted one day, the air heavier with a sickly-sweet element to the breeze. He’d heard the rumors in the inn he frequented turn much more sinister, learned to fix his gaze straight ahead to ensure he didn’t make eye contact with the monsters that lined formerly empty paths.
“You need to wake up. This war cannot be won without your help,” his reflection pleaded.
“How can I help fight a war?” Panic bubbled up in his chest and spilled into his words. “The best I’ve been able to do is read tarot cards and try to heal anyone who gets injured in these lands. How can I stop a Beast?
“You are capable of stopping great evils, my friend. You’ve done it before. I have faith you can remember how if you look within yourself.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He averted his eyes from the radiant version of himself in shame. “I can scarcely stop travelers from walking to their demise, much less a war. I think you are searching for someone else."
His reflection’s face twisted with worry. It reached out, fingertips grazing the river without breaking through the faint ripples. “You… have you truly lost yourself? Have you forgotten your truth so completely?”
Those words stung. “If you can tell me how to find my way back, I’ll do it!” Desperately, he reached back to the hand in the water. The river water was icy under his fingertips, causing ripples to spread like storm clouds and distort his reflection. “Please! What am I missing?”
“You’re—” His reflection's words were swallowed by a crack of thunder, loud enough to reverberate through his entire being. The once clear skies split as icy rain pelted down, warping and shattering his reflection until it was entirely lost to ripples. His robes were soaked through in an instant. He stood up, stumbling over slick mud, hair plastered to his face. Everything turned blurry through sheets of frigid rain, drowning out any echoing words and chilling him to the core. Frantically, he looked around.
His sheep were gone.
A wolf howled, high and long. His sheep! He had to get to his sheep!
“Wait!” The voice of his reflection returned, muffled and burbling. It was drowning under the sudden deluge. “Come back!”
“I’m sorry, my friend!” He pulled his hood over his head to try and protect himself from the storm. He had to deal with the wolf. He had to try and save his flock. He was supposed to protect the helpless, use the power he had been gifted for the good of everyone who walked Earthbread. “I’ll return!”
“No, wait! This is—”
He was sprinting before he could hear the tail end of the sentence, abandoning the fields for the gaping maw of the forest. Rocks and sticks cut at his feet as low branches clawed at his face. His robes were caked with dirt and heavy with rainwater. He couldn’t let any of that slow him down, though. He grit his teeth through the stinging of trees and freezing deluge.
The howling kept getting louder, distorting into cackles that made his skin erupt into goosebumps. Could he make it in time to save his flock? He skidded to a halt in the middle of an aspen grove, labored breaths misting in the frigid air. His sheep were fine, bleating contentedly and munching on the grass, unbothered by their waterlogged wool coats. Or by the wolf that sat patiently in the center of the clearing. It had no interest in the sheep, instead fixing its uncanny gaze purely on him. Cyan and cerulean bore through his soul through long, pale blue fur.
His flock looked at him with the same gaze. The aspens, too, stared with the eyes carved into their bark. The wolf’s maw opened. But instead of a snarl, a new voice echoed around the clearing, nasally and mocking.
“I found you!”
The wolf bared its teeth in a mockery of a grin, lazily picking itself up from the ground and lunging for his sheep. He darted to protect them, ready to throw his body in front of them as a shield, only for the wolf to snap at him, fangs bared and claws aimed right for his heart—
Fortune Teller woke with a start, clutching for something on his chest and feeling nothing but his racing heartbeat.
Of course there was nothing. No bite marks, no grievous injuries, no… There was nothing. There never was anything there to begin with. The lingering feeling of something being ripped away was just the disorientation of a nightmare.
He took in a slow breath. Cold sweat made his nightclothes cling uncomfortably to his back. His dreams had been more vivid as of late, yes, but this was the first that had ended so abruptly. Not to mention violently.
Pushing his tangled comforter to the side, Fortune Teller reached for the deck of tarot cards on his nightstand and shuffled them with trembling hands. There had to be some sort of explanation the cards could offer for what that dream could possibly mean. What his reflection was so desperate for him to remember, and more pressingly, what—or maybe even who—was so wickedly gleeful to find him. He grabbed for his staff, angling it to face the cards he drew, and closed his eyes with an unsteady exhale before drawing his first card.
The Moon slipped from his fingers the moment he drew it, fluttering gracelessly down to his lap. Completely unhelpful. Instinct and subconscious were the foundations of dreams, he needed more than just that. He needed explanations. Answers.
Another draw. The High Priestess was polite enough to linger in his grasp for long enough for him to determine she was upright, before joining The Moon in being dropped. Another waste. Listening to his subconscious was only going to do so much for him when he didn’t understand what it was saying.
He’d consult the cards later when he managed to clear his head. With a low sigh, he slid the two cards back into his deck before getting up. A drink of water should help. And then some time spent gardening, letting the fresh air and familiar scents of the forest bring him back to reality. Hopefully that would steady his hands and calm his racing heart before he read the fortunes of whatever travelers sought his advice tonight.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The inn was far more often crowded than not, and tonight was no different. It was a cozy place, he had to admit, decorated with dark wood and warm lanterns and boasting decent fare and comfortable lodgings. The air was alive with chatter from tourists eagerly working out plans and swapping tales of adventures. He wove through them without a word, sparing a faint smile to the innkeeper as he made his way to his usual table in the back corner. It was shielded from the rest of the activity off the inn by a short wall, which may have dissuaded the average patron from taking a seat, but it suited Fortune Teller’s business perfectly. The distance kept things a little quieter. It was easier than shouting himself hoarse on rowdy nights.
The wooden chair creaked a familiar welcome as he sat down. He pulled his cards from his sleeve with little flourish, shuffling them aimlessly and preparing for someone to ask for their fortune read. He tried to focus on the familiar feel of cardstock between his fingers rather than the memories of his dream that refused to fade. He wanted to go home. He wanted to lock his door and pull the curtains shut. But strict routine, or perhaps obligation, brought him here to wait for an adventurer to approach and have their future read. Why they bothered coming to this land in the first place, Fortune Teller didn’t entirely know. The only things that waited for them here were the monster-infested woods and the tall, looming shadow of the Spire of All Knowledge. He would do everything he could to help, of course, but nothing was worth the risk of venturing into a Beast's domain. Even a Beast that was sealed away.
Not that he didn’t understand the temptation. A Spire of All Knowledge might’ve had some sort of clue about where he came from, after all. Something familiar enough to jog his memory. (On days he felt particularly optimistic, he let himself wonder if he could be the adventurer to find what the Fount of Knowledge left behind, if only to grasp a single thing about his missing memories. He only entertained those thoughts briefly, though. He knew what lay at the end of the path of delusion.)
Still, other than the Spire, which wasn’t worth the bloodshed of trying to approach, there was nothing worthwhile here. Yet visitors had been coming with concerning determination as of late. Travelers who scoffed and glowered at his warnings, writing them off as nothing but superstition and foolishness. Those same travelers pleaded for his healing abilities when, or if, they made it out of the forest. He’d help, of course, he could never leave someone to die. But it was tiring, sometimes, to repeat the same cycle.
“Mind if I sit with you?” A woman’s voice cut through his thoughts. Fortune Teller paused in his shuffling for a moment to regard her, his thoughts disrupted by a new customer. She didn’t look like an adventurer, donned in a blue and black dress rather than traveler’s gear, white hair cascading freely down her back rather than secured in a ponytail or a braid. He really hoped she wasn’t an adventurer, at least. Trouble would be at her heels within minutes with how unprepared she appeared.
Or maybe not. Unassuming as the lady in azure looked, she felt far from harmless. Her expression and the way she carried herself belied that she was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Someone who could easily manage on her own. At the thought, phantom fangs dug into his chest. He barely repressed a shudder. Maybe he shouldn’t think about wolves today.
He softened his expression and calmed his shuffling to appear more inviting, gesturing to one of the empty seats near him. Her shoes thumped softly against scuffed hardwood floors as she slid, skirt swishing, into the seat across from him. “Why, thank you kindly! And they say chivalry is dead,” she grinned, a sharp smile filling her regal face.
Fortune Teller couldn’t help but let out an amused exhale, mouth twitching up in a smile as he resumed his handling of the cards. His attention flicked between gilded backs and his visitor, trying to get a read on her. She drummed manicured nails on stained wood, watching him shuffle through black and white lashes. Something inscrutable glittered in her mismatched blue gaze as it flickered up to him, penetrating through the shadows cast by his hood. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He really should have stayed home.
But as much as he loathed to admit it, for as much as he felt compelled to turn his back and leave, he felt an equal tug to stay. There was a resonance with this woman that he couldn’t describe.
“So, what brings you to this inn? Traveling from afar?” she asked, resting her head on her chin. He shook his head. “Oh, a local! How wonderful! I’m also from around here, you know! I’ve been away for quite a while, though. So much has changed, and yet so much has stayed the same.”
He shrugged in vague agreement. She was the chatty type, it seemed. At least her voice wasn’t unpleasant to listen to: melodic, friendly, and lilting.
“Not much of a talker, are you? Long day?” She clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Poor thing, you look so tired!”
She wasn’t wrong in that assessment. Yet he tried not to show it, sitting up a little straighter as the lady resumed her mostly one-sided talking, this time about how wonderful the weather had been lately. Fortune Teller was equally comfortable with holding his silence as she was in filling it. How long had it been since he had this sort of company? Someone to just sit with him and chat, content to share the space with him before requesting their fortune?
It was nice. Even if the weight of her presence left his shoulders ever so slightly tenser than a normal visitor would leave him, he liked listening to her voice. She had the cadence of a storyteller, or perhaps even an actress.
“I must say, I’m so glad to be home,” she sighed. “I never really thought I’d be the type to get homesick, but I suppose it’s easy to take what you have for granted. You only realize how important it is once it’s gone. I know I’m far from the first to have that realization, but I didn’t think I’d actually experience it firsthand.” Her expression darkened for a moment, her gaze flicking just a little lower than his face. Then the darkness was gone, replaced with that sharp smile once more. “Ah, well! I’m back now!”
He responded with a quiet hum of agreement. The void his memories had left behind nagged at him constantly. The silence that followed stretched on for slightly too long to be considered comfortable, the weight of her words still lingering.
“Those cards of yours look quite nice. Tarot?” The lady gestured to his deck, gentle wonder underlying her words as she steered the conversation away from her heavier thoughts. Fortune Teller nodded. “Ooh, I’m a bit of a reader myself! Just a hobbyist, though, nothing special.” She leaned in a little closer, her hair brushing against the scratched wood of the table. “Could I bother you to read my fortune? You could ask the cards what to expect now that I'm back! It’s been such a long time since I’ve been here, after all. I think a fortune would help guide my path.”
One last bridge shuffle, and Fortune Teller fanned the cards out on the table with a sweep of his hand, the gilded embroidery on his sleeves catching the light. The lady’s smile widened by a fraction. It didn’t get any warmer, though.
Three cards should be plenty. It was just a matter of picking the ones that felt best to answer her question, which was proving to be a challenge with how her piercing gaze disrupted his focus. Still, he pulled three cards close to him and swept the rest into a neat pile once more before he flipped the first one.
The Devil greeted him with glinting horns and a fanged smile. Fortune Teller bit back a grimace as he set the card down, sliding it in her direction. His nightmare clung to him and ruined his mood enough already, and now he was dealing with a doomed woman. Hopefully he could change her mind about her return to Beast Yeast and make something good come of today.
“Not quite the promising start I’d hoped for,” she sighed. “Perhaps the other two cards have better news?”
The Eight of Cups was a slight improvement. The following card, the Tower, was quick to snuff out any budding optimism he might’ve had. Gilded details shone dully against the dull blue backgrounds of his cards, staring uncaringly up at the lady across from him.
“I’m afraid there’s no good news about your return,” Fortune Teller said. Blunt honesty was his best strategy to convey the bleak truth the cards had foretold. He hoped his words and expression conveyed how concerned he was about her fate. Experience taught him that softening his premonition would lead to recklessness and trying too hard to embellish it would get him written off as a hack.
“So you say!” It seemed like the Fortune Teller had another stubborn customer, struggling to accept the gravity of her future. The only thing her mien conveyed was amusement and curiosity. “Are we sure that my fortune is that terrible?”
“You came here as an escape.” He tapped The Devil. “Perhaps too eagerly. Recklessly.”
“Is that so?” She merely glanced at it, her focus entirely on him. He faltered under the weight of her gaze as it shifted from curious to cold and biting. He moved his hand to the second card and tried to ignore the way his palm started to sweat.
“You’re not just coming back here, you’ve abandoned where you once were in hopes that whatever you might find here will be better. But it will only lead to ruin.”
“Well, that’s certainly not good,” she sighed, gaze falling.
“You should leave.” The glare he got for his comment held enough ire to nearly burn him. He swallowed. Inhaled slowly and exhaled even more so. How badly shaken had his nightmare left him that he was stunned by a mere traveler? “You won’t find whatever freedom you think you’re looking for. Or at the very least, it’s at the end of a path that’s not worth treading.”
“What dangers could possibly be here? I haven’t been bothered by anything all day.”
Fortune Teller squinted at the lady skeptically. “Monsters. Illusions. You were better off wherever you were before you returned. I implore you to turn back. Please. For your own good.” He returned the cards to his deck and reached for his staff. He should take his own advice. Leave. The dream he had woken up from and the wolfish woman before him were unsettling him to an extent he had never experienced before. He should go home.
“I can’t, I’m afraid.” The lady leaned forward, preventing his departure by resting her hand atop his. Her smirk was gone, replaced by a soft frown. Her voice dropped to a low murmur to share a secret for only him to hear. “I didn’t leave here by choice, you know. The place where I came from wasn’t very nice at all. Not to mention it’s gone, now. There are people and places I’ve been away from for ages. You understand, don’t you? How I can’t leave?”
Honestly, no. He didn’t. Fortune Teller had no friends here and nothing of value other than his staff, cards, and the robes on his back. If there was anything or anyone who he had valued or who valued him, they were lost to him. (And he was lost to them, too, for he had never heard so much as a rumor of someone looking for someone like him).
And yet, he couldn’t help but feel pity for how desolate her fortune was, how it dulled her eyes with disappointment. Even though he felt a sliver of relief that her downcast gaze would keep her from sending that awful glare his way.
“I wish you luck. And implore you to reconsider.” He leaned back in his chair, expecting her to leave. Hoping she’d leave. He’d read her fortune, it was unpleasant, he warned her, she refused to accept his advice, so it was time for her to write him off as a superstitious fool and huff off. Maybe he’d breathe a little easier when she did.
Instead, she stayed. She twirled a lock of white hair around her finger, gaze distant. Chatter and laughter from all the other patrons echoed around them, yet the air felt suffocatingly silent. His fingers twitched in his lap. The coil of nerves in his chest was winding itself tighter with each passing second.
“Surely there has to be a way to get around this bad luck,” she mused.
“I just told you how,” he answered flatly.
“And I just told you how I can’t do that.” She let her hair fall from her finger, fixing him with the weight of her gaze once more. “But you seem smart. Surely we can put our heads together and come up with some way I can go home without getting devoured by wolves?”
Wolves again. His accursed dream clung to his heels and refused to let go. The corners of her eyes seemed to narrow a fraction more at the way his lips pressed into an uneasy line. No, surely he was imagining that moment of smugness. Why would she notice his reaction, let alone care?
“After all, you’ve been here quite a while, haven’t you? Surely you know about how to best avoid the dangers around here,” she continued. Excitement slowly started to trace her words as she leaned in a little closer. He suppressed the urge to lean away, his shoulders tensing. “So, what would you suggest I do to get home safely? I’m sure once I get there, I’ll be alright. It’s just a matter of making the trip.”
Fortune Teller began to stand. Perhaps leaving this table would be more convincing than his words had. Only for the Two of Cups to slip from his sleeve and give him pause. Of course the only card that offered any guidance was the one that he didn’t pull. The message was quite clear: unity, partnership, and two becoming one.
“I can walk you back to your home.” The words fell from Fortune Teller’s lips reluctantly. It wasn’t an offer he made ever, really. He had walked every adventurer with a bad fate to their destination, once, until the effort was no longer worth exerting. He couldn’t afford walking with every traveling party that came through here. The lady in front of him shouldn’t have been an exception, especially with how she unsettled him.
And yet the offer was made. The cards wanted him to, after all. He couldn’t walk it back now, especially not when she lit up with a childlike glee, clapping in excitement.
“Oh, you’re such a gentleman!” She stood up quickly, her chair screeching against the floor. His heart skipped a beat and he wondered, briefly, if he could outrun her. She smiled sincerely at him, “I feel much better already!”
The cards could’ve been wrong. He should have just accepted her refusal and walked home and prayed for a more comfortable sleep tonight.
“What are we waiting for, then?” She circled to stand next to him. “We should leave before it gets too dark, don’t you think? Especially since you’ll have to walk home as well.”
No sooner had Fortune Teller curled his fingers around his staff and stood than she grabbed his free arm. The proximity was startling and the contact even more so. He tried not to flinch too hard. She wasn’t unpleasant to be close to for any reasons other than his own paranoia, her touch warm through his robes and her hair smelling faintly of fresh blueberries. Was he truly so unused to friendly contact that it came as a shock?
This was his last chance to back out. He could scrounge up an excuse about how he really should stay, actually. He had to read fortunes for other travelers in case they would listen better than she did.
“Thank you so much, sir,” the lady murmured. Her smile softened for the first time that night, and his anxieties abated a touch. “You really don’t know how much this means to me.”
In walking her home, wasn’t he helping more than his cards would? It wasn’t like she was a foolhardy adventurer hoping to slay monsters and return with riches and glory. She was just trying to make her way back safely. They’d both be cautious. He was familiar with the land. It would be fine. Perfectly fine. Perhaps the extra walking would even tire him out enough to ensure a dreamless sleep.
“We should get going. It gets dark quickly.”
“Lead the way!”
The lady didn’t loosen her hold on his arm as he pushed in his chair and began to leave. He caught the surprised glance of the innkeeper in his staff’s periphery as he wove through the crowds. Understandable. He hadn’t left with someone uninjured in a long time.
The sun was already starting to set, streaking the sky with dull orange across the darkening blue. A few stubborn rays continued to dapple through the leafy tree canopies, painting the forest with a deceptively warm glow. As if to complete the picture, a bluebird flew by, chirping as it passed Fortune Teller. He couldn’t help but take a few moments to track its path until it disappeared into the trees.
His companion giggled playfully at the shift in his mood. “Do you like the birds here?”
“Quite a bit.” Fortune Teller replied. “Bluebirds are so cheerful. Even when things get dark, I can always count on them to greet me and make my day a little brighter. Not to mention, they’re quite cute.” His face heated as he cut himself off from digressing any further.
“Well, if I had known that talking about birds was the secret to get you to open up, I would’ve started with that!"
“My apologies for rambling."
“Oh, no, I think it’s sweet!” she assured, patting his shoulder.
“Ah, well, thank you,” He cleared his throat. “We should get going."
Fortune Teller returned to the trail, leaves crunching softly under his staff. His pace wasn’t slowed in the slightest by his companion, despite how she clung to him.
“Just how I remember!” She grinned, her gaze sweeping around the trees and tangled bushes. “It’s almost like I never left. I spent so many hours in this very forest, you know, wandering by myself or chatting with old friends. Almost exactly like what we’re doing now! It really is so wonderful to be back. I can’t thank you enough for coming with me.”
Fortune Teller hummed in distant acknowledgement. She took that as her cue to continue and talk about the land, what had stayed the same and what had changed, and what she liked best about both. He let her chatter fade to background noise, listening distantly as he would birdsong or a babbling brook. If she minded, she didn’t show it. Knowing her fate, he should have asked her to be quiet. Her chatter could attract monsters, even if it was nice to listen to her words rather than the nervous voice in his head urging him to make a break for it. Yet strangely, there was no hint of anything bothered by their noise. No rustles of creatures prowling in the woodland, no cracks of twigs in the distance, not even the chirping of birds in the air. It was eerily silent, save for the lady fastened to his arm.
Once again, he wondered if his offer was a mistake.
“It’s rather quiet tonight, isn’t it?” she mused. Fortune Teller startled, then forced himself to relax. It was mere coincidence she was thinking the same thing. He really needed to stop assuming the worst. “Must be because you’re here!”
“Larger groups than two have been attacked before.”
“Oh, I’m not referring to that—I mean you being here really did change my fate!”
Fortune Teller was silent. He doubted that was the case. But it wasn’t like he had a better idea as to why the forest was so willing to let them pass. With each step, the landmarks he recognized seemed to dwindle, replaced by thickening trees and longer shadows cast over gnarled roots. Fortune Teller lengthened his stride ever so slightly to position himself in front of his companion. She took the change in pace in stride, positioning herself to remain in the view of his staff.
“So, you’re a local, right? How long have you been here?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.
“A while.” It really was the best way to answer that question. He’d been here as long as he could remember, yes, but that said nothing about how long he lived here before his memories were wiped. It didn’t help that no one else who lived here recognized him. He had been here a while, whatever that entailed.
The conversation lulled after that, only occasionally broken by his companion’s comments. Fortune Teller found himself captured by the almost supernatural way the trees seemed to stare at them as they walked by. There were no real eyes in their bark, of course, just the illusion of them in the aspens. Yet if he turned his staff at just the right angle, its enchanted sight seemed to meet another gaze carved in the gnarled bark.
“Look out!” the lady in azure shouted a fraction of a second after his foot caught on a branch and sent him hurtling forward. The earth blurred with the sky as his staff slipped from his grip. He hit the ground with a grunt, his cheeks and palms stinging from where they scraped against the rocks. Something clattered and tumbled faintly in the distance as his connection to his staff flickered into nothing.
He blinked, squinting for some semblance of focus as he felt around. Healing his scrapes could wait. Navigating this stretch of the woods blind would be near suicide, no matter how uncannily quiet they had been so far. Danger could be around any corner. He went on this walk to try and protect his newfound company, he couldn’t very well do that while only seeing a blurred mess of the world around him. His staff couldn’t possibly have gone that far, could it?
“Are you alright?” The lady asked, skirt rustling as a smudge of black entered his periphery. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see that branch until it was too late!”
“Don’t worry, you’re alright. Did you see where my staff landed?”
“It flew right out of your hand as you fell, I’m afraid. Here, let me help you up.” Fortune Teller reached towards the blue shape of her hand, fingers brushing against it once or twice before he properly held her hand and let himself be pulled up.
“How far?” Dread started to knot in his chest, tying itself tight enough to make each breath a challenge
“Quite far.” Her apologetic tone made his stomach drop. She wrapped her hands around his arm once more, her grip tighter now. “If we hurry, we can probably find it before it gets too dark. At least, I hope we could, I don’t know if I could find my way home after dark. I think it went to the left?”
“Wait.” He held her arm, preventing her from walking off. He took in a deep breath through the tightening vines of dread wrapping around his chest and throat. “Let’s get you home. I can search in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s alright. I have some sight, as long as you don’t mind me relying on you for directions a little more.”
“Oh, you really are an angel!” She snaked her arm around his and pressed closer against his side. “You can spend the evening at my place and I can help you look tomorrow morning, when it’s light out. It’s the least I can do for walking home with me!”
“You’re very kind.” Fortune Teller offered a slight smile, trying not to think about which would be worse, being unable to find his staff or finding it mangled beyond repair. Not like he knew where he could get a replacement.
They continued their walk in silence, save for the lady in azure’s gentle humming of a haunting tune he’d never heard before, breaking it up with guiding comments such as “there’s a rock in front of you” or “duck under this branch.” It was helpful in giving him the space to concentrate on increasingly vague blurs of the forest, yet it did nothing to distract him from the dismay of losing his staff.
No, not losing, simply being separated from. Losing had implications he wasn’t willing to confront.
It’d be fine. Today was just an unfortunate combination of poor sleep and poor luck and tomorrow was going to be much better. He just had to focus on the pleasant things that had happened rather than the negatives.
“Careful of the stairs, now,” his companion hummed. The gentle click of heels on stone substituted the softness of walking on dirt paths. “I’ve always loved how the Spire looked in its heyday. Shame it's fallen with its Master gone. Now everything is either crumbling, covered in ivy, or both." She tugged him forward with a tightened grip up his arm.
He froze in his tracks, squinting to make sense of the scenery. She let go of him rather than be held back, leaving him alone to gaze upon the blue and white streaks reaching for the sky amidst the green overgrowth.
How far did they walk to bring them to the Spire of All Knowledge? If only he didn’t lose his staff, then he could have noticed the scenery beginning to change and have guided them along a different path, somewhere farther from the landscape still steeped with deceit and malice.
“We should go around.” Dead leaves crunched under his feet as he took a step backwards.
“Oh, nonsense!” She waved his concern away with an airy chuckle. “I’ve always cut through the Spire’s courtyard on my way home. Have you seen the size of this place? Going around takes ages!”
Fortune Teller tugged at the edges of his sleeves, picking at the loose threads at the hem. “Remember your fortune? Danger and chaos awaits you. A Beast wouldn’t leave his domain unprotected. I really don’t think it’s wise to continue through this path.”
“Well, you can always just turn back and let me walk alone,” she mused, her tone utterly unreadable. Dead leaves skittered down the stairs with the rustle of her skirt twirling. “You’ve walked me this far, haven’t you? I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own. Nice meeting you, stranger!”
“Wait!” He hurried forward, bunching up the trailing edge of his robe with his free hand feeling for a railing or wall he could brace himself against. Flaking paint clung to his hand as he dragged it along the wall, pushing ivy vines with each slow step. He couldn’t just let her walk into whatever lingering malevolence shrouded the Spire alone. Not when the cards had been so clear in their warnings. Not when he was, for once, ensuring a safe passage home.
“So, you’re coming with me?” She clapped twice before clicking down the stairs again, meeting him and resuming her role as his guide. “How noble of you, fortune teller. Don’t worry, this’ll be quick!”
He hoped it would be. Being in the courtyard was worse than standing on the outskirts. The air here was cold enough to raise goosebumps on his arms and thick with the scent of decaying plants and wet dirt. The weight of being watched settled heavily on the back of his neck and he deeply regretted leaving his staff to the woods.
In another lifetime, this place might’ve been beautiful. A perfect place to read and stare at the stars under the watchful eye of the Fount of All Knowledge. But the course of history had stripped away any welcoming charm, leaving nothing but a whispered warning to leave and never return. Still, what choice did he have but to press on? If he was here, he could at least try to protect against whatever might be lurking in the shadows. Assuming there even was anything.
“You don’t mind if we walk inside a little, do you?” Her nails dug into his skin through his robes. “Just a quick shortcut through the foyer?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “Who knows what—”
“Look around, silly! Does it look like anything or anyone has been here recently?” She gestured to the disarray and debris. “Here, I’ll prove it! Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?”
There was nothing. No magic, no residents, no Beast. Of course there would be no Beast. They had been imprisoned long before he was born and would still be imprisoned long after he was gone, regardless of what his dream might’ve said.
“I’ve done this thousands of times. No one’s here to care. And it's getting so dark so quickly. Isn’t this safer than walking through the woods where anything could leap out of the shadows?”
The lady tugged him along. Fortune Teller stumbled into the steady gait she set. “Come on, we’ll be fine! We’re just taking a quick foray into the foyer. Nothing to be afraid of.” She paused, her tone turning pleading as she murmured, “Don’t you trust me?”
The doors opened with a low, creaking groan, before he could formulate a response. He couldn’t help but stiffen and hold his breath as he waited for curses to bloom to life or for monsters to jump out of the shadows and sink their fangs into them.
Silence was the only thing that greeted them. Silence and enough dust in the air to make him cough and choke on his inhale. Nothing more.
“Nothing to be afraid of!” She squeezed his hand. It shouldn’t have been as soothing as it was.
“Let me go first.” Just in case.
“Such a gentleman,” She repeated, stepping to the side to allow him passage. Fortune Teller swallowed his apprehension and set his shoulders in a display of confidence he didn’t quite feel. He squinted in a last check for threats, however futile, and crossed the threshold with a hesitant step.
Nothing happened. The air was still and stale, free of curses or traps. It was like the lady said, this place had been abandoned for many years. Any remnants of the Beast who lived here were surely lost to time. His second step was much the same, except this time there was the echoing click of heels on ceramic tiles behind him.
It wasn’t until the third step that the doors slammed shut with a bang that reverberated through Fortune Teller’s bones. He whirled around, coughing at the sudden flood of dust in his face that his robes kicked up.
Any trace of his companion was gone. In her place was laughter, high pitched and pointed, coming from every direction at once. Had she been locked out of the spire? But then whose footsteps was he hearing? The slow growth of dread shot up into pure panic, stealing his breath and turning his blood to ice. He ran for the doors and felt for the handles, yanking with all his strength. They refused to budge. Iron and magic worked together to seal them shut.
“Oh, you’re just a regular saint, aren’t you?” He knew that voice. Nasally and self-satisfied. He’d heard it before a wolf’s jaws ripped into his chest just last night. “You wanted so badly to save a stranger that you walked right into the belly of the beast, hmm? Get it? Since you’re stuck with a Beast now? I gotta admit, I’m kinda flattered!”
“What are you?” He gasped. He tried the door again. No luck.
“C’mon, not even a who? So rude!” The voice was louder, closer, still coming from no direction at all. “Don’t worry, I’ll answer you tomorrow morning.”
This time, he heard the voice from right behind him, the speaker’s breath hot in his ear.
“Tomor—?”
The moment he started to jerk his head around was the moment a starburst of pain whited out his vision.
“Sweet dreams!”
Everything went dark.