Chapter Text
In hindsight, Enkrid should have expected that something would go wrong when the mission site was quiet. In his line of work, quiet never means anything good.
A quiet growl beside him echoed his thoughts. He glanced down at the black panther, his resident companion for this mission. Enkrid specifically chose Esther precisely because she’s quiet, and they’ve known each other long enough to read each other’s queues. No dialogue necessary.
The mission they’re in on right now especially requires a mage, a witch, rather, of her caliber. Because while Enkrid has some idea about curses, being cursed himself, his knowledge about magic is, in his opinion, still quite lacking.
The village they entered was something equivalent to a ghost town almost, if not for the people he can see hiding here and there. They wear cloaks and are huddled into groups of two and threes, whispering amongst each other.
The streets as well look unmanaged, trash and plastics here and there, looking like a town of poverty on the outside. Yet, the bounty reward for this mission would make even Krais enter this place unhesitatingly.
All in all, very, very suspicious.
It makes every hair on Enkrid’s body stand on its ends, especially when he can feel the piercing stares on his face. Esther nudged him with her paw.
“I know.” Enkrid muttered, pointedly not looking at the direction of the stares. Instead, he resolved to proceed with the mission requirement. Talk with the inn owner, gather information, kill whoever is responsible, then go home.
When he was given this mission, it was mentioned that the people here are wary of outsiders, which seems to be the understatement of the century. But they also suspect that someone from the Demonic Realm is responsible for this. And that, out of anything else, piqued Enkrid’s interest.
His men were practically shouting amongst themselves regarding who would be accompanying their captain. Thus, they were more than just disappointed when Enkrid pointed to the black panther looking quite smug amongst the jealous stares on her person.
If Enkrid had known that they’d get jealous over getting to kill a demon, he’d have made it their regular mission. Nevermind the fact that the mission itself was not the reason they were jealous in the first place.
Anyway, by the time they arrived at their destination, the inn owner’s residence, he felt the piercing stares reside over the neighboring roofs. From the looks of things, they’re not looking for a direct confrontation, but more on keeping an eye on him.
Understandable, considering the dire state of this town.
The inn was an old structure—creaking wood, cracked tiles, and a faint scent of herbs that did little to mask the lingering odor of decay. A single lantern flickered near the doorway, its flame weak, like it was holding on for dear life.
Enkrid rapped his knuckles against the door twice. The sound echoed unnaturally loud in the still air. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the sound of a deadlock turning.
Enkrid paused, waiting for a moment, meeting Esther’s eyes. When the panther nodded, Enkrid took a deep breath before pushing the wooden door, creaking so loudly it could alert the whole neighborhood.
“Enkrid of Border Guard?”
Immediately after entering, an old, hoarse voice welcomed him. Though, judging from the man’s cold, emotionless tone, he was anything but welcoming.
Enkrid nodded, entering the dim… what looks like a lounge. There’s an old ratted couch, and a table that looks like a single strong breeze would make it collapse. He didn’t sit down nor touch anything.
The man, surprisingly, doesn’t look that old, compared to what his voice seems to make it. He’s more like Marcus’s age, and though the town looks like it’s suffering from sickness both outside and inside, the man looks particularly normal. He also didn’t comment on Enkrid’s actions, just sipping on an already half-way empty tea.
The man didn’t offer anything to Enkrid, but he didn't mind. He doubts he’ll be eating anything here, too.
Smacking his lips, the man continued gravely, “I’ve been informed tha’ you can dispel curses.”
Now where did that rumor start? Enkrid stayed silent for a second, then replied, “Is that the reason I’m here?”
“Yes.” The man speaks straight-to-the-point, which Enkrid appreciates, “I’m sure you saw when you entered… but there’s a curse lingerin’ on every nook n’ cranny of this town.”
Even without any magical abilities, even someone normal like Enkrid can see that this town is anything but normal. Nevertheless, he nodded calmly, allowing the man to continue speaking.
The man’s eyes flickered toward the curtained window. His fingers drummed against the wooden table, a slow, uneven rhythm.
“It began months ago,” he said, voice low. “At first, just livestock—dead overnight, no wounds, no sound. Then the children started seein’ things. Shadows, they said. And now…” He trailed off, staring into his cup as though the tea might give him courage. “Now we lose people.”
Esther growled, agitated. Enkrid glanced at her and patted her furry little head. He spoke to the man in an equally quiet voice, “Lose?”
“Dead,” he said shakily. “Missing, at first. We find them days later, no blood. Just empty hollow shells.”
“It’s a curse,” the man continued fiercely. “Something is fo’ sure feeding on us. The priests don’t give a damn. So I—” He hesitated, lowering his voice again. “—I sent a letter. Letters, actually. It was not just ta’ you, I sent several to other countries but no one showed up.”
Then, the man looked into his eyes, something unreadable in his gaze, contradicting the cold and emotionless demeanor he showed before, “Until you, that is.”
But Enkrid shook his head, “You don’t even know if I can even help.”
“Right, but that doesn’t matter,” The man replied, leaning back on his creaking seat, “The fact that you came doesn’t change anything.”
Enkrid properly looked at the man, at his gait, at his gaze. There was something unwavering in there, something angry, upset. Judging from the way this man poised himself, he was undoubtedly a soldier before. A soldier that took upon this place as something he was meant to protect.
And now that it’s come to this state… That must’ve been really painful, yet, here this man was, a wall that was slowly losing its foundation, but still stayed strong.
That, more than anything, resonated something within Enkrid more than anything else.
“I’ll help this town.” Enkrid said, resolute. Esther behind him let out a soft sound like a sigh, as if tired of his antics.
The man looked at him for a minute, before reaching out a calloused hand, years of obvious labor evident, “Emmanuel.”
Enkrid smiled, taking his glove off on his other hand, and firmly clasping the other man’s, Emmanuel’s, hand, “Enkrid.”
True to Emmanuel’s words, this place up north is filled with a darker aura than the one that was in town.
“It resides up north,” Emmanuel informed him, emotions more open on his face now; grim and grave as he looks at Enkrid and Esther double checking their equipment. “Please, be careful. We really don’t need to be enemies of Border Guard out of everything.”
“I’m not going to die.” Enkrid replied flatly, even if he does, it doesn’t matter. “Where’s the map?”
For three days, they talked about both the town and their plan. According to Emmanuel, the culprit was a child—or a child in appearance, anyway—of this town, someone with the extraordinary ability to transfer the ailments of others into oneself. The child was their pride and joy, someone so kind that he was willing to absorb the town’s external grief into his body.
Yet, the child’s parents, his only family, were killed on the child’s birthday. And from that day on, the pride and joy of the town became its downfall.
The ailments the child consumed also became its cursed powers, spreading the dark energy all around the town. An overabundance of misfortune that killed anything and anyone.
Enkrid, out of anyone else, knows not to underestimate what a child can be capable of.
“Stay close, Esther.” The panther growled in response, paws soundless against the ground.
Esther prepared a barrier for Enkrid that could block off any magical traps that might be waiting for them. To a witch of Esther’s caliber, any form of magic is useless against her.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Additionally, mist started creeping up on the sides, making Enkrid squint harder just to see where he was going. This far, even the sounds of their breathing seemed to be swallowed up by the mist.
No birds. No wind. No signs of life at all.
He crouched low, forming a fist in front of his chest and pointing to himself, then to Esther, then pointing to the other side. A gesture for her to check there. The panther let out a breath, reluctant to leave his side, but followed his orders.
Enkrid turned back forward, he can’t really see or hear anything, but he can feel that he’s getting closer to where all these dark aura is coming from. Keeping a hand on the hilt of his sword, he advanced unhesitatingly.
Not long after, a rundown chapel came into his view. Esther’s not by his side.
The ground itself seems to be moving towards the chapel, as if it’s sucking everything up, life and death alike. How can something like this be so hidden for months? Anyone with eyes can practically see this is the work of the demonic realm.
As he pondered, he also mentally marked some sigils formed on the ground. Someone like Jaxen can probably read that at a glance, or Esther, if she sees this.
Enkrid approached the chapel slowly; everything looked like it could fall over with a single tap, but he knew better than to touch unknown stuff on the walls.
Then, the sigils flared red.
Getting into his battle stance immediately, he noted that beyond the threshold, the chapel interior is bathed in shadow. Candle stubs lined the pews, melted into the wood, and in the center of the floor—a circle of bones.
That thing is either a summoning ritual or a sacrificial one.
Then, from the far end of the chapel, a voice—soft, trembling, and unmistakably young.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
Enkrid didn’t move, his gaze sharp and calm. “...Emmanuel is worried about you.”
A boy stood near the altar, barefoot and pale, his hair matted, his eyes hollow black voids that reflected no light. It’s more accurate to call it a demon.
“I didn’t mean to hurt them,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “I just wanted to take their pain. I didn’t want them to die—”
Enkrid took a slow step forward. “Of course not, this isn’t your fault. Whatever’s binding you, I can—”
“You can’t.”
The boy’s tone shifted—low, resonant, unnatural, as if he was suddenly centuries older. His face twisted into something feral, grief bleeding into rage. “You can’t take what’s already mine. You won’t take my parents away from me!”
Fuck.
That was his last thought before the ground split beneath him, bones cracking open like the earth itself screamed. Esther’s barrier around him flared to life just as black tendrils shot upward, wrapping around Enkrid’s legs.
He sliced through one with his blade, but for every tendril severed, two more sprouted. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the sound of whispering—hundreds of overlapping voices, clawing at the edges of his mind.
“Esther!” Enkrid shouted, continuing to sever the frankly disgusting tentacles in front of him. It was only thanks to the lake panther witch’s barrier that he hadn’t turned into a rotisserie chicken just yet.
He heard the latter’s growl behind him, only to spy Esther running towards the child, teeth bare in fury. “Esther! Don’t—!”
Something invisible brushed his temple.
A voice whispered right into his skull.
“You carry a curse too, don’t you, Enkrid of Border Guard?”
Enkrid froze.
“Then you will understand. Pain belongs to us. Death is our territory.”
The last thing he saw was the boy’s eyes flaring red—then a blinding light seared his vision, followed by the deafening sound of silence.
The world collapsed inward.
He reached for his sword—but there was no sensation. No sound. No sight.
Just this yawning emptiness that swallowed everything around him, and from somewhere within that deep well, Esther’s voice screamed his name.
When Enkrid woke, the first thing he noticed was the absence of everything. No sound, no color, no air, not even the faint echo of his own heartbeat.
Then came the pain—searing, dull, everywhere. Like the world itself was pressing down on him, and he couldn’t scream.
He opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see. Black. Not even the shadow of a form, or light, or even the faint blur of motion that his cursed sight usually caught when everything else failed.
Can’t see.
He tried to breathe, but even that came without sound.
Can’t talk.
And when he reached for the familiar hum of vibrations, the faint tremor of his surroundings—there was none.
Can’t hear.
His curse had taken many forms before—searing fever, burning wounds that refused to close, blood that evaporated into black smoke—but this… this was new.
“...rid…”
He thought he heard it—faint, distorted, like a ripple under the surface of a still pond. A voice trying to reach him from a different plane.
Esther.
He pushed himself upright—or tried to. His hands met something cold, wet. The texture was wrong—slick, like mud mixed with flesh. He grimaced and reached for his blade. But he couldn’t feel it either.
The void pulsed once.
Then something laughed.
He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it in his chest. A vibration. The kind that crawls under your skin.
The boy’s voice—warped and distant—spoke from every direction at once: “Do you see it now? This pain belongs to me, but I will share it with you. Like I have shared with many others, you will feel nothing and everything at once.”
A curse. That’s what this was, he's been cursed. He can't see a damn thing.
Esther, he realized dimly, wasn’t beside him anymore. The thought sparked panic through his fogged mind. He tried to reach for her, for any trace of her magic that might tell him she was alive—but all he felt was the hum of the curse itself, thick and alive, like a second heartbeat lodged deep within his chest.
He tried to—to stand up, sit up, do something, but suddenly, there was a hand on his chest. Large, rough, definitely not an Esther-sized hand, human or panther. He stilled, body locking up immediately.
His mouth opened, but there was no sound—of course, he couldn't speak. The sensory deprivation is forcing Enkrid’s mind to work overtime, but it only succeeded in making his breaths faster and faster.
Hyperventilating—he’s hyperventilating, he thought hysterically. He can’t breathe. He knows he’s trying to breathe, but there’s so much wrong—
Then the hand on his chest moved to his back, gently. Slowly, as if unused, and then it started patting his back.
Comfort. Whoever is with him is trying to comfort him. Is he somewhere safe then? Who is this?
Slowly but surely, his breathing slowed down. From somewhere in his hazy mind, he realizes the hand is tracing something on his back.
R…e…m…?
Rem?
What? How is he here? Is this another illusion? How dare—
Enkrid snarled, moving away from the hand, and almost falling backwards from what he was staying on when there were another set of hands on him, confident and brusque in its actions. More illusions.
He scampered for his sword, it was nowhere beside him, not on the thing he was laying on—a bed. When he couldn't feel his sword, he reached for the dagger on his chest. Surely, his daggers are with him, Jaxen made sure that Enkrid would always place his weapons on the most accessible of places.
But before he could brandish his dagger like a madman, there was another set of hands. But this time, it’s familiar. It’s large, larger than the first two, warm, and from those hands, an energy that emits warmth. Holy. Familiar. Those hands have been on his back numerous times through training and healing, just like now.
Audin.
Enkrid gasped, or he went through the motions of it. Audin is here. He can trust Audin. He tried to look back, where he assumed Audin would be. But there were hands on his cheeks, forcing his gaze forward. Then, large hands—Audin—lifted him, placing him back on the bed where he was before. Only this time, he wasn’t so keen to destroy everything that touched him.
He can feel the cold sweat on his face, the forced gasps of breath he was letting out due to the overwhelming situation. He’s never felt anything like it before, this—this was torture. He can’t even see a wall in front of him; he can’t hear Audin, the only one he truly currently recognizes.
And, and Rem, if Audin was here, there was no way he'd let a Rem-lookalike touch Enkrid, right? So that must be the true Rem, not a conjured-up illusion. Who was the second one?
Ragna? Jaxen? Krais?
Before he even knew it, his breath started picking up again, his lungs were on fire, and his heart was beating thrice as fast. And he knows if he keeps this up, he’s gonna lose consciousness again, back to that emptiness, at that abyss.
Those familiar large hands caressed his cheeks, moving to his forehead to sweep his bangs up, once again, it’s emitting that warm, warm energy. Only this time, it’s making Enkrid lightheaded.
He tried to speak, “A—” He coughed before he could even finish, something dribbling down the sides of his mouth. Did he even speak? Was there a sound? He couldn’t feel his vocal chords moving.
Enkrid tried to emit anything, pursing his lips around a whimper, hoping to at least express even his pain through expression. Audin caressed the sides of his eyes, as if he wiped something off. Doing the same to his mouth.
But before he can truly figure out what his subordinate did, he has already lost the fight to consciousness.
The hallway was silent when Audin finally came out of Enkrid's room five hours later.
He closed the door quietly behind him, gently, to not disturb the only one who was resting in there. His hands—always steady, always calm—were trembling.
Rem noticed it first. “He’s finally asleep?”
Audin didn’t answer immediately. He rubbed his palms together once, as though trying to scrub off something invisible, then looked up. The usual clarity in his eyes was gone—drowned beneath exhaustion. “He was able to recognize me,” he said finally. “But he can’t… hear. Or see.”
Or talk, for that matter.
The words dropped like stones.
Ragna, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed too tightly around himself, straightened up. “So what is it?”
Audin took a deep breath, “His senses are gone. Entirely.”
Rem’s expression darkened, disbelief bleeding through. “That’s impossible. Even curses have limits. You can’t erase—”
“You can.” Jaxen cut in quietly from his corner. He’d been silent all this time, his fingers stained with ink and ash from the sigils he’d been trying to decode since Esther brought Enkrid back in a panic. “If it’s of demonic origin, sensory erasure is possible,” then he gestured to the sigils around him, “It’s a form of transference. He absorbed part of the curse instead of destroying it.”
Rem turned sharply. “You’re saying he took it?”
“Yes.” Jaxen’s tone was flat, but his jaw was set. “Probably to keep the kid from dying entirely.”
That silenced even Rem.
They’ve known of the situation through Esther’s hasty explanation, even giving Jaxen a series of sigils from the site. Though they were forbidden from going exactly to the site where it happened.
Ragna exhaled heavily through his nose, breaking the tension only barely. “Of course he did. Of course, the captain would think taking a demon’s curse into himself is a good idea." He kicked the wall once, quietly, before adding under his breath, “Dumbass.”
Krais, who hadn’t said a word since Audin came out, finally spoke. His voice was rough, low, and deliberate. “How long will it last?”
He looks devastated. He was the one who recommended the mission to Enkrid. Because the bounty they offered was immeasurable, priceless. Krais should’ve known. He thought he had learned his lesson before, but this took the cake.
No one answered immediately.
Jaxen looked down at his papers, then to Audin. Audin looked to the floor. And Rem’s hands clenched until his knuckles went white.
“It’s not permanent, is it?” Krais said again, voice colder now.
Audin forced himself to look up. “I don’t know. The Brother Captain’s body is stable, but the curse has integrated itself too deep. Instead of going for his mind, it went for his life force. That’s why he’s… still alive.”
For now. Was the echo around the room.
Rem’s breath came out sharp. “Then what are we supposed to do? Wait until he withers out of existence?”
“No.” Audin’s voice was cold, colder than it had ever been in a long, long time, “I’ll find something. The Lord knows I’ve always done so.”
He turned back, facing the door to their captain’s room, his fist clenched tight. There was still the faintest hint of blood on his knuckles; there was no doubt to anyone who and where it came from.
“But,” Audin continued, a bit more subdued this time, “What he truly needs right now... is us. The curse thrives on isolation. If it devours his connection to the world, then our job is to keep him connected. No matter what it takes.”
If they let that connection be severed, there is no telling they’ll still be waking up to a day where they still have a captain.
“He didn’t even recognize me,” Ragna replied, irritated and coldly furious at the thought of not being able to help his captain when he was desperately needed.
“Just guide him slowly.” Audin murmured, “He was able to recognize me when I did a similar move we do during training. Just let him ease into it.”
Rem sighed, mumbling something about a cat.
Krais gritted his teeth, “I’m going to stay with him. I don’t care if it takes him forever to recognize me.” This is my fault.
The others looked at the ginger with unreadable gazes. They can more or less understand where he’s coming from, but they didn’t move to comfort him.
Ragna was the first to move, pacing the narrow hallway with stiff, deliberate steps, his boots hitting the floor like drumbeats of irritation. “He’s blind, deaf, and mute—and he needs to be guided, doesn’t he? That’s my specialty.”
If Enkrid was with them, hearing this, he’d have immediately shut down the offer. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what Ragna was hoping for. He deliberately made his voice louder, enough to penetrate the door to Enkrid’s room, hoping that with it, his captain would burst out and look him dead in the eye just to tell him no.
But there was silence, and it felt wrong—heavy, stretching between them like a wound that refused to close.
Ragna’s jaw clenched tight, “He can still feel, no? That’s more than enough.”
Jaxen exhaled through his nose, fingers tightening around the parchment in his hand. “Emotion alone won’t reverse a curse of erasure.”
Rem snarled, “So what can we do?”
Audin sighed, “A curse of that magnitude can erase everything. It’s already starting with his senses, and it’s only a matter of time before his memories erode as well.”
By that time, nothing they would do would make their captain come back to them. No words, no actions, no guidance.
“Fucking shit—” Rem cursed, pacing restlessly, “Can’t we just kill the kid?”
It’s saying a lot about the situation that none of them grimaced or were even against the idea of killing the child. Not when their captain is involved, not when they could very well lose Enkrid at this very moment.
Audin shook his head, “Killing the child will kill all the things it has consumed. Meaning, permanence.”
They froze. That would be sentencing Enkrid to a fate worse than death. Jaxen’s fingers tore through the parchment, a momentary loss of control. He glanced down, the sigils are of demonic energy, it’s probably not even a language. But a burst of dark energy that carved itself into the paper.
He opened his mouth, but then there was a crash inside the room.
Instantly, all their heads whipped up and Audin almost broke through the door in his haste to get inside. It hasn’t even been three hours since Enkrid was forcibly put to sleep.
Their faces instantly twisted when they saw their captain gasping for breath, blood trickling down his mouth once again, and Audin wasted no time, golden light shining faintly from his hands, the cold sweat immediately beading on his forehead the only indication that the act was costing him too.
Enkrid’s body arched, tendons pulled taut, his fingers clawing into the sheets like he was drowning in open air. The ragged, strangled motions of his chest weren’t breaths, not properly; it was his body being driven over the brink after being robbed of its senses so cruelly and suddenly.
Audin gritted his teeth, thinking, ‘My Father, forgive me, but if this was the path, no matter what, I cannot let you take my captain in this way.’
He continued to pour golden light surged across Enkrid’s throat, his chest, his temples—Audin guiding his breath the way one guides a faltering heartbeat.
And slowly—too slowly—Enkrid’s convulsion eased into trembling.
His fingers loosened.
His chin dropped forward like the weight of his skull was too much to bear.
“Water,” Audin said hoarsely, resisting the urge to scrub his face.
Rem darted out the door without another word; no one commented on the devastated expression on his face. Jaxen hovered by the bedside, shoulders rigid, locked on Enkrid’s every action, or lack thereof. “...It’s escalating this fast?”
Audin didn’t answer, sweeping sweaty bangs from Enkrid’s forehead. The motion was gentle, almost too gentle for hands built for combat.
“What?” Ragna’s voice cracked. “Like—his mind? Already?”
“More or less,” Jaxen answered before Audin could. His tone was hollow.
Rem came back with the water, subdued in his actions, watching intently as Audin tilted their captain’s chin up gently and made him drink slowly. A sigh of relief went through all of them when Enkrid was able to stomach the liquid.
The thing is, the curse shouldn’t be eating away at Enkrid this fast if it were the only curse on Enkrid’s body. However, unbeknownst to all the conscious people here, their captain has already suffered more than a thousand deaths, at the hands of others and their own alike.
The ferryman’s curse of endless repetition has forced Enkrid’s soul into overdrive, but frankly, it protected him from other curses.
However, this demonic curse exists not only to erode one’s senses, but to also penetrate the soul. It takes months, usually. It was just Enkrid’s misfortune that, like parasites, the curses inside him are battling for their host. It sees Enkrid as a worthy vessel, and is thus killing him faster than what the ferryman’s curse can do.
In other words, Enkrid is dying every minute.
And no one—not even Enkrid himself—is aware just yet.
Audin caressed his captain’s face, still contorted in a painful grimace, even if he was being as gentle as he could be. “I made sure to block his pain receptors. That should ease his pain.”
For now.
“Would painkillers work?” Jaxen asked.
Audin paused for a moment, “...It should.”
For now, all they could do was hold Enkrid, let him know they’re there, even if he can’t see them or hear them. And most importantly, lessen his pain as much as possible. “We’ll bring you back, Brother. I promise,” he whispered against Enkrid’s hair.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
The next time that Enkrid woke up, or he felt that he woke up, it was worse than the first one. When he first regained some semblance of consciousness, he was at least delirious with pain to properly understand his predicament, too focused on the past events that he couldn’t have possibly known how bad everything truly is.
But on the bright side, he was capable of thinking.
At the very least, Enkrid thought, I know that I can’t stand sensory deprivation.
It’s like he’s drowning, everything is muddled, the blanket wrapped around him securely feels like a snake, and the hand grasping his own feels like a death sentence.
He doesn’t know who this is, his thoughts spiraled and his breathing started to pick up, tensing when he felt the hand tightly grasping his own pat his palm, tracing something on it, something sure in its movements.
Ragna. It’s Ragna.
Enkrid exhaled, went through the motions of it, and forced himself to relax, to understand that this is a trusted comrade, someone to whom he owed his life and abilities. The hand patted him gently, as if telling him, ‘good job.’
Ragna rarely speaks in verbal compliments; the rare occasions he does so are when Enkrid does something that surprises him enough his mouth speaks on its own. But always, always, his approvals are written on his actions, on the way his mouth quirks up just the slightest bit, and how his blade gets heavier and faster, because he’s certain that Enkrid can take it.
At the thought of his subordinate’s non-subtle subtleties, Enkrid’s heart slowed down to its normal pace, only startling slightly when the same hand wiped something from the corner of his lips.
Relaxing even further, he tried to rest his poor, battered body on the bed comfortably. Audin always told him rest is just as important as training; however, in this situation, he doesn’t really have any other choice but to rest.
Before he knew it, the tendrils of unconsciousness dragged him under.
…
Enkrid opened his eyes.
…He can see.
“Nothing can affect you when you’re here.”
The ferryman’s voice jolted him, he could even hear now too. Then—
“H—How?” Enkrid winced, his voice sounds rough, rougher than it’s ever been, like he rolled his vocal chords down in some gravel and let it dry out in the sun.
The ferryman is quiet for a moment, looking at him from across the boat they’re sitting on. His grey hands are resting on his paddles, as if he was in the midst of rowing when Enkrid showed up. “It can’t follow you here.”
He didn’t have to ask what ‘it’ is, the curse, or the child demon, or whatever it was, can’t cross the river where this strange ferryman resides.
Said ferryman clicked his tongue, hearing every word in Enkrid’s mind. “...This wall is different from anything else you’ve ever faced.”
So it is a wall.
Then, “You absolute crazy bastard. Are you a masochist? Why are you smiling?”
Was he?
“Ha…” Enkrid sighed, looking out into the distance. There’s no point in telling, he doubts the ferryman would understand.
“You’re getting more and more shameless every time you die.”
“I…Is that it, then?” Enkrid’s voice was still rough, but he needed to ask this question: “Am I dying every time?”
“Yes,” The ferryman answered readily, “But like I said, this wall is different, I’m sure you’ve realized it by now, bastard.”
Enkrid nodded silently, thinking back on the two precious instances when he was awake. Barely awake. How long has it been, then?
“A week.”
Ah. How kind.
“...Just go already. Why did I even bother.”
For a moment, the ferryman’s voice sounded concerned, regretful, even. Why? Was he waiting for Enkrid to start begging to let him die? To let this pain be over? Hasn’t he already proved that he can burn to death a million times before ever uttering the words ‘giving up?’
He didn’t get an answer as he felt the realm of reality pull him back once again.
“And don’t you dare surrender to a curse that isn’t mine.”
By the third time he awoke, he understood that some time had passed, because the hand on his own is different this time. Larger. Audin?
He also understands that Audin is the reason why he hasn’t needed food or anything yet. Was Audin continuously pouring energy into him just so that his mind doesn’t erode further?
Erode further from what? Enkrid doesn’t remember.
He remembers a mission. With Esther. Something went horribly wrong and now he’s like this. He desperately hopes Esther is okay, that the black panther was safe, somehow. The ferryman showed up, talking about how he shouldn’t surrender to something…
Ah.
The realization was slow, and Enkrid’s reaction was even slower. The curse. The mission. His predicament.
He instinctively raised his other hand that wasn’t being held to his forehead, massaging his temple. Immediately, the large hand that he assumed was Audin gently pulled it away to start pouring energy into his head.
Enkrid tried to shake his head, the wave of vertigo almost making him vomit. Nevertheless, he tried to refuse the treatment.
In response, Audin’s energy flowed deeper.
Enkrid frowned. How stubborn can this man be?
So without warning, he opened his mouth to speak, “N—”
The large hand on his temple stilled momentarily, but contrary to Enkrid’s expectations, vigorously spread even warmer energy to his entire body.
It’s no use. Enkrid wants to say. To scream. I’m still going to die by today.
That was the realization he almost forgot during the talk with the ferryman. He’s dying. But the day isn’t repeating, instead, the curse of repetition and this curse of erasure deleted his days, it was only the ferryman’s stubbornness to not let his entertainment fall to another curse that’s still letting him live.
Should he thank the ferryman after this is over? Whenever that would be.
For now, there aren’t any dramatic symptoms, aside from when his head is trying to kill him, and due to multiple recurrences, his bleeding from the mouth. Excluding the deaf, blind and mute, thing. He wonders if his lungs are still alive from all the forced breathing that’s been happening.
He forced his eyes—useless as they still were—to narrow, shifting his hand in a faint twitch. Not enough strength to pull away, but enough to protest.
He wanted to tell him. He wanted to say the truth: that he was already slipping, pieces of him eaten by each repetition; that his body was still dying, over and over, while reality simply refused to mark the days. It might not be visible physically, but he can feel his soul slipping out.
His mouth wouldn’t cooperate. His head throbbed. A wet warmth trickled down from the corner of his lips.
Fingers tightened around him.
Enkrid felt, rather than saw, the shift—the sudden spike of killing intent aimed at nothing in the room, the low, simmering fury directed at whatever had done this to him. The air thickened like a storm about to break.
For the first time in his life, Enkrid wanted to apologize for causing trouble for his subordinates.
But he couldn’t.
Warm magic swept through his chest, firm and insistent, stabilizing his heartbeat with expert precision. Audin was using techniques he only ever employed from where he was from — a church that valued his powers, most likely. And it's being wasted on someone who’s bound to die the moment the clock strikes twelve.
Wasn’t there a fairytale similar to that? He feels like a messed-up, downgraded Cinderella.
‘Idiot…’ Enkrid breathed, the faintest smile tugging at his lips despite everything. He felt Audin’s grip tighten again, as though that tiny expression offended him.
The world tilted.
He wonders when he'll wake up this time.
Audin heaved a sigh as his captain fell asleep again. His heart clenched, Enkrid is sleeping far too much far too often.
“Is there ever a time when I get to see him awake?” A voice echoed hollowly from the doorway, Audin didn’t have to turn his head to know that Ragna has the same look on his face that he did on his own.
It’s been almost two weeks, and Enkrid woke up only two or three times. And honestly, even if there were intervals where he was conscious, he probably wouldn’t have known due to his condition. They’ve been researching, executing, and researching again and again. Rem went back to the west to gather an artifact that he ‘was certain would help.’ Jaxen was gone more often, but Audin often felt his lingering presence at midnight, just watching over Enkrid before going somewhere again.
And frankly, the more time between the days where Enkrid stays asleep, the more they’re losing their mind.
It feels like any second, if they look away, the curse will take Enkrid away from them, their anchor, their guiding wind.
If he’s gone, then there’s no point anymore.
‘Father,’ Audin prayed, leaning his forehead into Enkrid’s cold hand, ‘...this humble servant begs you, don’t take him away from me.’
He watched as Ragna gently swept their captain’s hair, revealing his pale face. Thankfully, Enkrid doesn’t look like a corpse, as opposed to the victims of this curse. They took that as Enkrid fighting alongside them, that he’s still fighting in there, surely, wherever is keeping their captain so deeply under, is where he was fighting with all his might.
Enkrid would never surrender to this kind of fate.
That belief is what kept them afloat.
Esther, after teleporting Enkrid back, told them to stay by his side and left. They assumed that she was also trying her best to get Enkrid back. And perhaps, she is their biggest hope. Shinar appeared as well during the first week, saw Enkrid’s situation, and promptly left for her village.
“I will get my fiancé back, no matter what.” She vowed, brushing her hand against Enkrid’s cheek briefly, before requesting Krais to come with her. The man immediately rejected it, saying he wanted to stay by Enkrid’s side.
“If we succeed in what I plan, we will get him back.” Her voice was firm, as if she was sure that whatever she had planned would give Enkrid back to them, and with that, Krais accepted it.
Therefore, the military barracks have been quiet for half a month now. All the soldiers are worried about their Commander, and even the city itself has been asking the patrolling men for updates regarding their hero and savior.
“You have a lot of people keeping an eye on you, captain.” Ragna whispered emptily, he’s been trying his best to train as hard as he could, so that when Enkrid wakes up he’ll be reassured that they weren’t slacking off. So that Enkrid would not be discouraged, and Ragna can teach him everything he missed.
But it’s just not the same. It’s not the same without bright blue eyes trying to copy his every move, without his captain’s smile as he asks to try again, and again, and again.
However, he remained resolute. He will train, and Enkrid will wake up. Just as simple as that.
But I need you. Ragna thought, red eyes focused on Enkrid’s sleeping face. I need you to tell me where to go.
Their fate in Enkrid is unshakable, and their trust in him would always, always be a certainty.
Audin could feel Ragna’s stare settling on him—quiet in both its question and fear. They had run out of ways to voice their worry days ago. They had also run out of energy to argue with each other. Anything they said now felt like a plea to the universe, one that fell into silence every time Enkrid failed to wake.
“He’s holding on,” Audin murmured, partly to reassure Ragna, mostly to reassure himself.
Ragna didn’t respond. His hand hovered over Enkrid’s forehead as though he were afraid even a gentle touch might shatter whatever fragile link was keeping their captain alive.
The door creaked open, and the footsteps that followed were silent and undiscernible.
Jaxen.
He appeared in the doorway, hood still up from the night air. Audin felt some unknown static lingering on his aura, no doubt from whatever place he went to this time.
“You found nothing again,” Ragna said flatly.
Jaxen didn’t deny it. His jaw tensed; that alone was answer enough. He stepped further in, gaze softening only when it landed on Enkrid.
“…I’ll keep looking,” he said, voice rough.
Audin swallowed hard. Jaxen never admitted uncertainty before all of this. The tremor in his voice was worse than a scream of anger.
The room lapsed into silence again, thick and suffocating.
Then—
A faint exhale.
A twitch of Enkrid’s fingers beneath Audin’s hand.
All three men froze.
Audin leaned forward immediately, breath caught in his throat. “Brother Captain?” he whispered, desperation breaking through the calm he’d tried to maintain. Ragna straightened, red eyes wide, and Jaxen stood completely still, hands clenched.
They watched as a glimpse of bright blue eyes struggled to open behind Enkrid’s eyelids, and for a moment—for one staggering moment—they were afraid it’d close again.
But then, Enkrid opened his eyes further, and they watched as his blue eyes circled around the room, then it focused.
Directly into Audin’s eyes.