WALD WAS RUNNING CIRCLES AROUND HIS APARTMENT, tidying everything he could think of. Dirty dishes were scrubbed and put away. Floors were vacuumed, shelves dusted, and toilets cleaned. Random articles of clothing, strewn about the furniture, were hastily gathered and crammed into the washing machine, along with the smelly content of an overflowing laundry basket. Bedsheets were changed for fresh ones, bins were emptied of unmentionable things, and the tissue boxes were thoroughly hidden away. A Wi-Fi password memo was set in plain sight.

Ariel had given zero hint things would or might progress beyond a movie and a few drinks, but Wald believed in preparedness…ish. Sometimes. But if—for any reason—they ended at his place. At least it wouldn’t look like the dank lair of an aspiring hikikomori.

In truth, Wald’s frantic cleaning came from a place of fearful embarrassment rather than hope.

Well, maybe a little hope.

A man could dream.

Twenty minutes before the appointed rendezvous, Wald stepped out of his apartment, shaved, showered, combed, and sprayed with just a dab of discreet perfume, which he hoped could be appreciated without coming across as trying too hard. He jogged out of the building and set out for the bus stop across the street.

*HOOOOOOONK!!*

The air displaced by the truck blew Wald’s hair sideways and ruffled his shirt.

He stood very still, half-a-step off the curb, heart pounding and brain processing the wall of speeding vehicle that had just dashed past. Had he been a second earlier, a little faster, he’d have become street frosting.

“……”

What was one supposed to say after they’d felt the breath of Death on their face, and lived to tell the tale? Other than the fact Death’s breath smelled strongly of exhaust fumes?

Inhaling deeply, Wald looked up at the full moon and its background of stars. All appeared oddly bright despite the city lights. And was that Venus, right above the moon? Wald vaguely recalled a post he’d read online earlier in the day. It was about an unusual alignment of planets happening this week, but he’d paid it no mind. That kind of clickbait popped up all the time. The post had probably mentioned alien robot chickens.

Aliens or not, the truth was, he’d almost been run over… and that had to be a good omen, right? An omen at least, or some kind of grand wake-up call. Live your life to the fullest, ‘cause it may end at any time. Something like that?

Or maybe he was just one lucky son of a bitch, one who ought to watch out before crossing the street. Twice is a pattern, as people say.

And speaking of watching the street… Wald’s bus had just veered into view. Existential crisis and potential alien-induced lethal accidents were quickly swept under a tide of social anxiety and the fear of lateness. Luckily, Wald’s home was close to the city centre. A short five-minute ride took him straight to the cinema—not quite enough time to melt into a total puddle of nerves.

Wald arrived with whole seconds to spare. Ariel was already waiting out front, decked in a white halter top, black above-knee circle skirt, and heeled sandals. Her long fingers clutched a sleek black purse. Her makeup looked more pronounced than usual, beautifully so. She was a skilled artist in that.

Ariel’s listless expression lit up when she spotted him.

Wald’s heart fluttered in response, happiness warring with the anxiety.

“Wald! There’s my escort for the night.” The woman beamed cheekily. She glanced at the large watch she wore on the inside of her wrist. “Early too. I’m impressed. A bit sad I won’t witness another homerun slide, but I’ll live.”

“Ariel. Hey,” he greeted, lamely, a nervous chuckle in his mouth.

“Hey,” she smirked back.

Wald stopped himself from fidgeting. Enough now. You’re acting ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, he looked her over. “You’re kind of making me feel underdressed.” He spread his arms self-deprecatingly to showcase a plain t-shirt and jeans. Honestly, he’d tried other, classier outfits, but they all made him feel like a clown playing dress-up.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Ariel laughed and gave a little twirl. “I just love dressing up. There’s nothing quite like sensing others’ attention and knowing all they see is a beautiful woman…” She paused, an uncertain smile on her peach-painted lips. “You must think I’m vain.”

“Nah…” Wald shrugged. He had to force his eyes back to hers, as her lips seemed to demand his attention. “It’s like a painting, right? If you put effort into making something beautiful, why wouldn’t you want people admiring it?”

She laughed. “My, aren’t you the charmer?”

A blush warmed Wald’s cheeks. He scratched his head awkwardly. “I’m not trying to…”

“I bet you’re not the jealous type, are you?”

“…I think I’m lucky for any attention I can get.”

Green eyes considered him. “You know, that’s not the worse. Nobody likes a jealous datefriend.” Then, playfully, the blonde bumped her hips with his. “We’ll have to work on that self-confidence, though.”

“Aw. But that’d rob me of half my jokes repertoire.” Wald pouted exaggeratedly.

“Nah-uh. You don’t get to humour you way out of this, mister.” Ariel’s tone remained light, but her eyes were serious. “Buuut… that can wait. The movie’s about to start!” Wald didn’t resist when she grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers, and pulled him towards the building entrance.

He looked over the advertised posters, wondering. “Which one is it?”

“That one.” Ariel pointed.

“His and her strange tides,” he read out loud. “In search of themselves, they found each other. Based on a novel by bestselling author Laurel Daniels. Sounds kind of cheesy. What’s it about?”

“Wait and see~” she sang, then added to the booth employee, “Two tickets, please.” She zipped her purse open.

“Ah. Wait. I’ll…” Wald tried for his wallet, but she gently batted his hand away.

“You can pay the first round of drinks later.”

Wald slumped dramatically. “Yes, dear.”

That earned him a playful slap on the shoulder. Then the blond woman’s fingers sought his again, and he gave in easily, letting her usher him deeper into the cinema. Truth be told, he rather liked his companion’s take-charge attitude. It helped soothe his worries and freed his mind to simply enjoy Ariel’s company.

Wald let his cheerful date pull him inside a dark theatre room, a hesitantly hopeful smile on his face.

♦ ♦ ♦

Seraphina stared at the man seated in one of the armchairs, in the cave nook by the tea-table. His stark white mask stared back. The crimson mouth painted over it almost seemed to curl up, as if to form an amused smirk.

“[Barrier]!” She threw her hand up and cast her magic instantly.

This was Seraphina’s best spell. One she’d chosen for its versatility and her natural aptitude for it. One she’d mastered perfectly. With a mere thought, she could now alter the properties of the conjured magical shield, to block magic or physical attacks, or both, to trap enemies or protect allies, to isolate sight, sounds and even heat or smells… If she willed it, she could crush a person inside.

Thankfully, it had never come to this.

Seraphina aimed at the masked fiend, anxious to trap him—to silence him before he could speak out any order that would activate the odious slave runes tattooed on her body. Casting this spell was so instinctive to the saintess that it took a moment for her to realise it had failed to go off. Like a sleeping limb refusing to move.

Seeing her kidnapper sit unbothered, Seraphina’s eyes widened.

“[BARRIER]!!” She tried again, a note of desperation in her voice—in vain. Nothing happened.

Her magic wasn’t responding!

She could still feel her mana, the fuel of her arcane, tinged with Caelista’s bestowed holy power. But it was as if confined by an intangible membrane. She could feel it, like a familiar and comforting warm pool in her abdomen. But she couldn’t touch it!

Now that the saintess was aware, the abnormal sensation made her very nearly vomit.

She pointed an accusing finger at the man. “What did you do, villain?!”

Her captor reclined and spread his hands unhurriedly. “Surely you must understand. I had to protect myself,” his pleasant baritone drifted through the mask. “One cannot simply visit the notorious Chosen of Caelista without precautions. Your wild reputation precedes you, Miss Saintess. And I must say, I find it quite thoroughly validated. See how you attacked me without warning, without even a pretence at civil intercourse? Why, my life would have been forfeited had I not taken steps to seal your rampaging power.”

“Wild– Ramp– Wha–” Seraphina choked up. “You kidnapped me! You defiled my body!” She didn’t know how to deal with this absurdity. He’d drugged her, taken her away against her will, molested her privacy, and imposed those horrid marks into her flesh… and she was notorious?! This madman was too removed from reality.

Unfortunately, the insane ones were always the hardest to deal with.

Without losing sight of her deranged enemy, Seraphina peeked around to try and find the entrance he’d used.

She failed.

“Abduction? Oh, hardly,” the masked man scoffed. He crossed his legs under his dark robe. “You wound me, Saintess. You are my most esteemed guest. You see, I am new to these southern lands. It is by hearsay that I learned of your chivalrous spirit and your… pugnacious idealism. I knew then I had to have your opinion on some of the most flavourful philosophical doctrines I’ve been contemplating. Afterwards, you shall be free to leave as you please. This I swear upon my soul.

“As for the tattoos, I do want to apologise for the barbarism. Rest assured their sole purpose is to keep your magic under control, temporarily. These markings will become irrelevant once you depart… Isn’t that the bare truth? Do you believe me a liar? Although, no belief needed. You should still be able to tell. Unlike mortal occultism, divine gifts are not so easily cowed.” A pleasant smile was audible through his flowery verbiage, of which each word crawled over Seraphina’s exposed skin like bugs.

Unfortunately, Seraphina did know—as much as it chaffed her to admit. The man had spoken only the truth. At least, what he believed to be the truth. The saintess’ divine power gauged honesty. It did not grant her omniscience. This made the insane and most zealots complicated to deal with.

“These are slave runes,” she protested, attempting to hide how unsettled she truly was. It was hard not to cover her deep cleavage defensively. She was keenly aware of how exposed her outfit left her. Being unaware of where his gaze laid only made things worse.

“They are letters of a language long lost,” the fiend countered serenely. “Nigh as ancient as this universe itself, if you’d believe it. So ancient, in fact, that it holds power over most that succeeded it… which, again, is most everything. We titled it the Old Tongue– as grossly uninspired as that is. Calling these exalted glyphs ‘slave runes’ is simply vulgar.” His captivating voice switched to disdain, then to wonderment, “They are capable of so much more, Saintess. So much more than the crude curses of bondage which Prisma’s merchant guild utilises them for.”

We call it the Old Tongue. Seraphina swallowed, insides quivering. “Who’s ‘we’? Who are you?”

“My friends call me Voice,” he answered with a nod. A small lie. “I am part of an organisation whose goal is to make this world a better place, for all who call it home.”

He believed it.

“I’m not your friend,” Seraphina hissed. She could say little else. Disbelieving his words was fruitless. The man was too deeply into his own bombast. His every word rang to her ears with the loud bell of fanaticism.

“But I’d love you to be.” Again, Voice countered charmingly.

“I’ll die first.”

“We shall see,” he said mysteriously. His white-gloved hand gestured for the empty armchair opposite him. “Why don’t you take a seat? We can share a fragrant cup of tea and talk about your selfish actions of the past.”

She took a step back instead. “What are you talking about?” The vile man was trying to destabilise her, and not even subtly. Harrowingly however, it was working. He’d robbed her of all her advantages. Seraphina couldn’t remember a time she’d felt this vulnerable.

Voice stared at her without replying. His smiling-without-smiling mask gave nothing away, and his hand remained opened towards the empty chair. Reluctantly, Seraphina obeyed and sat, suddenly made again very aware of the shortness of her dress and her lack of underwear. The sheer cloth rode dangerously up her thigh, exposing a scandalous amount of healthy pink flesh marred with black tattoos. She resisted the urge to tug it down. It would be like a confession of weakness.

“Have some tea, friend.” Voice poured two cups out of a fuming pot, startling the saintess who’d somehow failed to notice the tea set until this moment.

Illusions? Seraphina wondered warily. Having her magic cut off figuratively blindfolded her mana sense. A spellwork could be right in front of her, and she’d be none the wiser. That small reminder was terrifying. She watched, petrified, as her kidnapper pushed one cup towards her and took a sip off the second. The porcelain phased through his white mask without a ripple. Another illusion. The confirmation brought Seraphina no comfort.

Could any of her senses be trusted right now?

“I’m not your friend,” she insisted. Stubbornness felt like all she had left.

That, and the hope of a miracle from her goddess.

She stared at the fuming beverage, then at the masked man, and raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled deeply. “Please. Why would I poison you, Saintess? Not to mention spoiling such exquisite infusion. That would truly be criminal.” Seraphina just kept staring, unamused. Voice sighed. “Must you be so distrustful? I sincerely mean you no harm.”

“What you mean to do and what you’ll do are entirely separate.”

“So you can play this game!” he cheered, delighted.

“Are you working for Archbishop Lue?”

“I am working for no one but myself.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Ah. Well… You got me.” The man shrugged and tipped his head. “Although… Ultimately, aren’t we all mere pawns in the gods’ great ineffable game? As such, any claim at independence, whether in action or thought, can surely be construed as a lie. Freedom is but… an illusion.” He fanned his fingers like a phoney street magician performing a vanishing trick. Sparkles even glittered between them.

Seraphina slapped the table, suddenly incensed, rattling the fuming cups. “Stop avoiding the question!”

“But I’m not.” Voice tutted, shaking his head. “Don’t you see? This is exactly the kind of obtuse and selfish thinking that brought you here in the first place.”

“That’s twice now you’ve called me selfish.” The saintess had been called many things in her life, some not nice at all, but this was one she seldom heard. “How dare you? I’ve dedicated my entire life to the goddess and her people!” Quite literally. She’d given her everything to the divine mission entrusted to her—everything!

She’d never thought herself thin-skinned, but the fiend’s casual insults cut surprisingly deep.

Again, Voice shook his head like a disappointed parent. “Was it not merely your egoistic desire? Did any of those people wish to be saved? Or, let me rephrase, did they truly need saving? Or did you, in your lonesome, decided to act one-sidedly, imposing your fallacious beliefs upon them, and others, and thus causing untold suffering to the innocent?”

“What are you even talking about?” Seraphina had a disturbed grimace on her face and a sinking feeling in her gut. The dim cave room seemed to swim around her.

“I’m talking about those slaves you were so intent on ‘saving’. Saving them from what exactly?”

“People are not merchandise!”

“So you would free them?”

“Of course!” The saintess’ face was beginning to grow heated. “Caelista wishes for all humans to be free!”

“All humans? Even criminals? Should they be freed as well?”

“That’s­– It’s not the same issue–”

“What about elves?”

“What about them?” Seraphina blinked, struggling to follow. The madman’s specious arguments somehow disjointed her thoughts.

“You said your goddess wished for all humans to be free,” Voice patronised softly. “So you mean elves should be enslaved instead?”

“Wha–? That’s not what I said at a–”

“But isn’t the war against the elves’ Sacred Forest a divinely appointed Crusade from your Faith?” Now he sounded openly mocking.

“That’s not–”

“Not true? Saintess, I cannot lie to you, so please return the courtesy. Or are you not able to detect the lie you tell yourself, I wonder? In any case, your Faith order certainly seems to believe the sanctity of their racial enslavement campaign. But perhaps, did your goddess tell you otherwise?”

Seraphina swallowed, her tongue pasty. “No, but–” Caelista doesn’t speak. She sends signs, dreams, omens and feelings. And I know she’s with me, was what the saintess wanted to say. If nothing else, her holy power was proof enough of the goddess’ support. Yet, the words jumbled as they formed, leaving her thoughts a convoluted mess.

She frowned at the fuming teacup she had yet to touch. The volutes looked oddly ethereal, dancing in the cave’s inexistent breeze.

“So you admit it is all your own selfish interpretation.” Voice nodded wisely. “Then let us hypothesise together. Supposing you would have set the slaves free at the Flesh Auction, what would it have accomplished exactly? Most of those poor souls sold themselves out of need. They couldn’t feed themselves or clothe their children. You would restore them to a life of beggary? From the top of your moral high ground, you would deny them this last resort to a long and terrible agony at the hands of famine and plague?”

“What? No! That kind of poverty is part of the problem! The rich… they… It’s… It’s the mentality…” Her mind and sight had started dissolving into blobs of thoughts and lights. She held her pounding head. “People aren’t… things… I… You– You– You’re mixing… everything… to your own ends!”

“And aren’t you the same as them?” The echoing baritone wrapped around her skull like a suffocating blanket.

I’m… same as who? Seraphina couldn’t tell whether she was talking out loud anymore.

Gravity betrayed her. Though she was sitting, she tripped. Strong arms caught her, a soothing voice breathing in her ear. “Poor child, you also are one of the lost souls who sought refuge in dependence. Am I wrong? Do you not joyfully let your goddess’ will supersede your own? Don’t you find the most incredible bliss in the servitude of another?

“You understand, do you not, Saintess? Independence is a burden. Nay. A curse. And what a blessing it is, to relinquish that illusory and oppressive freedom. What relief, to let another shoulder the heavy burden of choice instead. In this foul world, there is no greater salvation.”

A warm hand was caressing the saintess’ hair, gently, possessively. She was distantly aware she should have been horrified by something. But that idea refused to concretise inside her vaporous mind.

As Seraphina drifted off to sleep, the last words of the pleasant Voice echoed endlessly in the darkness swallowing her.

Only slaves are truly free.