The storm lashed the carriage's wood with such intensity that it seemed on the verge of splintering. The moment a bolt of lightning tore through the darkness, flooding the cabin with an intense, icy white light, I opened my eyes. That flash illuminated Maria's face. She held me in her arms with a possessive strength; it was an embrace that seemed to protect her very essence, as if she feared I might vanish if she relaxed any part of her body, even for an instant.
A thunderclap burst immediately after, a roar that made the sky vibrate and the carriage sway like a discarded toy in the hands of a giant. Maria was tossed from side to side, but her grip did not loosen for a single moment. A new flash of lightning lit up her heavenly-blue eyes, and I realized that the absolute panic dwelling there transformed, for a brief second, into an almost painful relief upon realizing I was watching her.
She pulled me close, burying her face in the blanket that enveloped me. That closeness... it was an exact echo of the first sanctuary I received upon coming into this world. There was an immense love there, but also an intense apprehension that flirted with madness. Why this anguish over losing me? The dark idea I tried to keep imprisoned in the depths of my mind began to mutter again: What if I am the result of abuse? The thought that my life might be a constant reminder of a violence she suffered caused me physical revulsion. I wanted to push the idea away, but the world is painful, and Maria's story had the scent of a Greek tragedy.
A tremendous jolt of the cart pushed my thoughts aside. I struggled to focus on the here and now, avoiding sinking into bitterness. Beside me, I noticed Emanuelle. The girl was huddled up, small, with fear evident in every line of her youthful face.
What kind of world forces a three-year-old child to live like a cowering animal? The injustice of it made my fatherly blood boil. But looking at Maria's trembling determination, I had the answer: any flight, no matter how tempestuous, was paradise compared to the roof of a man she hated and feared with every fiber of her being.
In the midst of the chaos, a sharp knock on the window. Claude.
Isabel rose with the readiness of a sentinel and opened the small hatch. Her movements were swift and precise—the indelible mark of one who had served as confidante and shield for years on end.
Claude appeared at the opening, surrounded by the fury of the storm. The rain hit his face with force, while his hair was plastered to his skin, soaked and devoid of any elegance. He displayed an air of weariness, completely exhausted, but as his gaze met mine and Maria's, a worn but genuine smile lit up his lips.
"So he woke up..." he said, and I could feel the weight of relief in every syllable, as if my consciousness were the barometer of our luck.
"Yes," Maria replied, her soft voice vibrating with constant anxiety. "He just opened his eyes."
"Right. Maria, we are approaching the border between the Kingdom and the Principality of Aldebaran." Claude made a tactical pause, letting the information settle. "Once we arrive, I believe an acquaintance will be waiting for us..."
Maria remained in silence, a heavy melancholy upon her shoulders. Perhaps it was the pain of leaving her native land, or the guilt of dragging her brother into exile.
But at that moment, something far more shocking than political borders hit me.
How the hell did I understand what they said?
I realized it with the same intensity as a lightning bolt striking outside. Before that sleep, their language sounded more like noise, music, or an expression of feeling, and words were like a glass barrier—I felt the fear and urgency, but I couldn't quite understand. Not now. Now, Claude and Maria's sentences made sense, in grammar, structure, and meaning alike.
What the hell is this?
The shock was absolute. My adult mind knew that a baby's neuroplasticity is fascinating, but this... this was a supernatural anomaly. It should have taken me years to master the language with this fluency, even with my intellect preserved. To understand everything, suddenly and without effort, was impossible.
My mind raced to the only strange variable in this equation.
Hey, Ur... can you hear me? I called out mentally, testing the connection with the Shadow.
I waited. One second. Two. The sound of rain filled the vacuum of my consciousness, but no answer came.
Is that not how it works? I thought, feeling a sting of frustration. It would be too invasive if he could read my mind without a formal invitation.
Then, I thought about the logic of the armed forces. If that entity called me "Master"—or if it was my will that commanded it, as happened in the alley—perhaps there was a hierarchy. A protocol. Perhaps he was there, hearing everything, but waiting for "permission" to act, like a dog that doesn't enter the room before receiving the owner's command.
I remained in silence, staring into the void within myself, pondering if it was enough for me to simply want to grant that permission, or if the pact demanded something more visceral, something I wasn't yet ready to offer.
I tried to project the thought with the clarity of a military command: "You may speak."
I waited for a response, a whisper, any reverberation in my mind. Nothing. The mental silence was absolute, a mocking vacuum that ridiculed my attempt at authority.
Perhaps the mechanics weren't that easy. My memory brought me back to the void where I woke up—that place which, for now, I called the Ethereal Field, though I now find the name a bit too academic for something so intense. There, both Ur and the Crimson Moon reacted more to my intent than to language itself. Ur even said that space would respond to my will; he even promised to create a throne especially for me.
A throne, huh?... A cynical smile curled my infant lips for a brief moment, but I made sure to dissipate it. It was no time for delusions of grandeur or fantasies of omnipotent power. Physical reality demanded immediate attention.
The carriage continued its flight to wherever we were going, shaking violently as if the wooden axles would give way at any second. We were tossed from side to side, hostages of the potholed road and Claude's blind urgency. The vehicle bounced, creaking in protest at every hole—a wooden box on the verge of disintegrating.
After all, who is driving this carriage? It can't be Claude, since he appeared at that window...
I decided to ignore the external problems. I closed my eyes and sought that specific energy signature, the cold vibration of Ur that I knew was fixed upon me as if it were part of my very self.
I chose to follow the path I knew best: meditation. In the Order, this wasn't relaxation; it was the foundation of any practice, the only safe bridge between the practitioner and the deities—or abysses—we sought to contact. If the technique served to dialogue with detached gods on Earth, logic dictated it would serve to access an entity that was, literally, stitched to my soul.
I inhaled deeply, filling my tiny lungs with the damp, musty air of the carriage. I held it for four seconds. I exhaled.
I repeated the cycle. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Gradually, the sound of thunder and the groaning of the wheels became white noise, distant and irrelevant. I felt my consciousness detach from the limitations of the flesh, initiating a controlled drift into myself.
Inside, the sensation was strange, even hostile.
Instead of the crystalline clarity or the complex forms I saw in my past life meditations, my consciousness was drawn into a heavy, oppressive fog. It was as if I were navigating inside a cloud storm made of lead and pitch. Everything was dark. There was no light, no direction, nor any point of reference.
For the first time in years—summing up both lives—I felt genuine fear during a meditation. That wasn't the passive void of the universe where the mind rests; it was an active, heavy darkness that seemed to be watching me back.
Still, I forced my way forward. I pushed my will against that oppressive mist, deepening into the labyrinth of my own psyche.
That was when I collided.
I felt a shock. Not electrical, but solid, like hitting a concrete wall head-on in the dark. There was something in front of me. A barrier.
It was like an invisible wall in my mind, yet one I could feel clearly. It blocked my path while simultaneously acting as a shield. I felt the strength from the other side—something large that pulsed and scratched at this wall, wanting to cross over to my side.
Is this the limit?
I directed my will against the impediment, pressing the intangible barrier with a strength that did not originate from the body, but rather from the mind. I remained in this state for moments... or was it for long hours? The distortion of time within one's own mind is a deceptive phenomenon, a peculiarity of consciousness that Earth's scholars were always interested in analyzing, but which now revealed itself as a prison.
I was lost in thought. That damned habit of study. I didn't imagine I would run into an obstacle at the exact moment I sought answers. Was it an impediment created by Ur? Or perhaps a protection system of my subconscious, guarding me from something I am not yet prepared for?
"So, what is left for me to do?" I murmured into the void, bringing a spectral hand to my chin in a habitual gesture of reflection.
My lack of knowledge about this universe was frustrating. I was aware that the magic present here was real—I had heard the metal clash against the ground created by Maria. But was it just that? A matter of substance and sound? When she materialized that wall, my senses remained indifferent. I noticed no heat, no electricity in the environment, nor a chill down my spine. It was as if nothing had happened.
This raised a terrifying question. Do I possess magic? Or am I just a flawed spectator? Is Ur external, or a demonstration of my own strength? If I cannot modify reality, what is the value of it all?
Ur had already told me that he has accompanied me since my past life... so is he part of my magic?
My thoughts were leading me down paths I didn't want to contemplate right now. I first need to figure out how to contact my shadow.
Mentally isolated in this void, I abandoned the struggle with the barrier and changed strategy. I tried to find where this energy came from. When I am awake, I feel Ur stuck to me like a cold second skin. Therefore, there must be a bond, a sort of metaphysical umbilical cord connecting us.
But that Mist... it was everywhere, dense and suffocating. Was it the interference? Or was the Mist itself part of my power?
"Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck is happening?!" The frustration exploded, raw and vulgar, breaking my facade of control.
Still, I forced my focus. With my "eyes" closed in that darkness, I sought the trail. I tried to feel not where Ur was, but where he was pulling me.
The response was visceral.
My metaphysical body trembled. I felt a violent tug, as if a hook had snagged something in the center of my being. An invisible thread, emerging from my chest, stretched and began to drag me.
The occultist's curiosity screamed for me to open my eyes and map the route, but fear—a primal and sensible fear—kept me blind. I couldn't risk interrupting the process. I let myself be taken.
For a moment, I was pulled in directions I would never be able to describe, but at some point, my body stopped. Feeling a sting where the Grim Reaper had pierced me, I understood it was time to open my eyes.
It was the signal.
I opened my eyes and, for an instant, the world seemed to stop on its axis. The place was overtaken by a mist even denser than before, but then, with some effort, I managed to understand exactly where I was.
And standing there in front of me, Ur watched me in silence.