"Ansel, what about the sword? Is it done?" Mr. McVeigh's voice carried a weight of urgency as he stood at the edge of the backyard, watching Ansel's practiced swings with a wooden sword.
"I don't know." Ansel paused mid-swing, his breath steady but his eyes clouded with uncertainty. He lowered the wooden sword and approached Mr. McVeigh. He admitted quietly. "I will ask him later."
Mr. McVeigh's gaze shifted upward, his index finger tracing a slow arc toward the sky. "Look at that sky, do you feel there is something different?"
Ansel followed the gesture, his eyes narrowing as he took in the horizon. The sky was no longer the soft blue of a typical afternoon but had deepened into a dark, ominous red. "I see. It is a dark red sky." He said thoughtfully.
He turned and pointed toward the small garden where the Passiflora vine curled around the wooden trellis. The flower's petals, once vibrant and full of life, now bore an unnatural black hue. "It has a similar color to the Passiflora flower."
The petals had been watered with Heka's blood, a sacred and terrible ritual meant to bind the flower's fate to his own. The blackened petals were a grim sign: death was near.
Ansel's mind drifted back to the previous day when he had delivered the Crystal Diaphanite to Andrew.
He had caught a faint, unsettling scent, an aura unmistakably belonging to Heka. But try as he might, Ansel could not sense Heka's presence anywhere nearby.
"Grandpa, yesterday I smelled the aura of Heka's body, but I couldn't see him. I'm sure he is definitely Heka." Ansel said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. McVeigh's eyes darkened with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. "You have to be ready to face it soon. I'm old, no longer able to eradicate demons. You're the only hope."
Ansel knew very well the limits of his abilities. If he had to fight, it was a hard responsibility.
Mr. McVeigh's voice softened, yet carried the weight of hard-earned wisdom as he continued, determined to instill belief in Ansel's heart.
He said, his eyes locking onto Ansel's with a fierce intensity. "Your element is water. That's why you are weak. But when the water freezes it will harden like a rock and can become a sharp weapon like an iron sword."
Ansel's brow furrowed, the concept both intriguing and daunting. He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the answer might shatter the fragile hope. "Then how to turn it into ice?"
Mr. McVeigh sighed deeply, the lines on his face deepening with the weight of truth. He admitted. "It's very difficult because your heart is very soft. You have to be able to change your feelings to be cold. It takes a long time. But there are other ways."
"What is it?" Ansel's eyes searched his grandfather's face, desperate for a glimmer of hope.
Mr. McVeigh's gaze darkened, the shadows of countless battles flickering behind his eyes. He said slowly, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. "You have to kill."
The only way to freeze feelings is by eliminating compassion for living things. And it definitely has to kill.
For Ansel, it was very difficult to do, because killing was not for revenge. But killing for no reason. He wasn't sure he could do it at all.
"I know this will be difficult for you. However, I have to force you. Because it will be your responsibility. You can't vent it on someone else." Mr. McVeigh said softly, his voice heavy with the burden of truth.
He reached out and grasped Ansel's hand firmly, the strength in his grip a silent vow of support and urgency. "Perhaps the other one can take over all this. Lorena, Andrew or anyone else. But in the end, it will not necessarily be a happy ending. Maybe it will be miserable. I know you can see it if you have to end it."
Ansel's heart twisted painfully. The weight of what was being asked of him pressed down like a crushing wave.
To sacrifice a soul, perhaps even his own was a terrible, unimaginable act. And it was not something he could delegate or avoid. It had to be done with his own hands, by his own will.
He thought of Lorena and Andrew, imagining them in his place. The vision was bleak and unforgiving. Death would follow many lives lost, including those closest to him. Mr. McVeigh, Lorena, countless others. All would fall except one. That one survivor would be Ansel.
And then, the burden would return to him, heavier than ever. The responsibility to finish what was started, to bear the consequences alone.
Ansel's mind raced, torn between fear and determination. The path ahead was shrouded in shadow, but he knew there was no turning back.
***
"Wow... woof... woof... woof...woof...woof...."
Ansel was abruptly awakened by the insistent barking of a dog. The sound was loud and persistent, echoing through the quiet house.
Groggy and curious, he rubbed his eyes and climbed out of bed. He followed the noise down the stairs, each step bringing him closer to the source of the commotion.
At the foot of the stairs, Ansel saw it, a small, fluffy Pomeranian puppy, its pristine white fur almost glowing in the soft morning light.
The puppy's bright eyes sparkled with innocent excitement as it wagged its tiny tail furiously. It was undeniably adorable, a perfect bundle of joy and warmth.
Without hesitation, he knelt down and scooped the puppy into his arms, holding it close as it licked his face with enthusiastic affection. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift, replaced by the pure, simple happiness of this new companionship.
"It is your first dog." Mr. McVeigh's voice broke through the moment, calm but heavy with meaning.
The words hung in the air like a shadow, turning the warmth of the scene cold and heavy. Ansel's smile faltered.