Chapter 2

Lock arrived at his family estate without issues. Although referring to the place as an estate was a bit far-fetched. Their small garden wasn't capable of supporting their entire family, at least not agriculturally. Financially was another story, with all the plants being grown in the garden being of the alchemical variety that his father used to support his occupation as an alchemist.

 

Lock arrived at his family home, yes. That sounded better.

 

He walked past the still-lit alchemist workshop, which told him that his father was either still working, or had fallen asleep doing so again. He opened the door to the main house to find his grandfather waiting for him in his favourite armchair, and almost shouted out in surprise.

 

Gripping his heart, thanking the heavens that they lived slightly outside of Abrakshana, he sat himself down on the velvet couch facing his grandfather. The atmosphere tasted odd, the lit fireplace being the only source of light, throwing a rather intimidating pallor on the whole living room.

 

His grandfather sat there silently, eyes gazing into nothing, arms hanging lazily on the armrests. Lock had never seen Abraxas up so late, the old man preferring to retire for the evening at sunset.

 

Oh, wait, Abraxas slept with his eyes open. Lock rolled his, stood up and gently shook the frail-looking man, causing his eyes to flicker back into focus and his body to twitch... before apparently deciding to fall asleep again.

 

“Is it morning yet? Let me sleep,” were his exact words.

 

Well, if his grandfather was waiting in the living room to talk to someone, it was probably him. So the correct course of action would be to wake him up again and let him get his bearings, for what would undoubtedly be a rather uncomfortable conversation. Lock considered it a great showing of the love he held for his family that he only considered not doing so for a fleeting moment.

 

A few more gentle shakes woke the man up completely. Lock watched as Abraxas rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes and sat up straight before fixing him with his gaze.

 

It was a slightly more intimidating one than Lock was used to. He got along well with his grandfather and comported himself in a manner that did not necessitate any harsh gazes, words, or actions.

 

It would be quite embarrassing to be chastised by someone who was mentally the same age as him and for someone of that age, no matter the age of his body, to behave in a way deserving of chastisement.

 

Now, locked under the intimidating gaze of his grandfather, he couldn't help but note that while they might share the same amount of worldly experience, the experience of his grandfather was composed of events quite different from his own.

 

Namely battle, and the killing that came with it. Not necessarily just the killing of monsters either.

 

It was intimidating, yes, but Lock held the gaze, unwilling to look away. If a simple look from a person who he knew would never harm him was capable of making him shrink back in fear, then what would he do when confronted with an actual monster?

 

“Found the answers you were looking for while talking in the pillows?” Abraxas asked grumpily, defaulting back to his less serious demeanour.

 

Well, one of the few things that his grandfather begrudged him were his visits to women of ill repute. Though how the man could tell, and then accordingly almost scare him shitless with his displeasure was a mystery.

 

He subtly took a whiff of himself. A bit of perfume still clung to him. Oh well.

 

“I did. Talking to someone who had no background tainting their view of the tradition let me take on a more clear perspective of the issue at least,” Lock answered, lying slightly. The help his talk with Cindy had provided was minimal at best. He was simply wording it in a way that defended his hobby.

 

His grandfather visibly relaxed, slumping from his straight posture and stroking his short white beard. “Good, good.”

 

“I shall bear the burden of your sacrifice fully. May the might I receive help me in my quest and the guilt not burden me,” Lock said solemnly.

 

“Guilt is worthless; it can only be felt for actions and missed opportunities that are in the past. It’s not like you could repeat the process that made you feel guilty. You only have one grandfather after all,” Abraxas said, and laughed.

 

Lock grimaced at the reminder, “How... eloquent.”

 

His vis-a-vis shrugged.

 

“I think guilt is a bit of a strong word in hindsight. The phenomena is fairly worthless after all. As you've pointed out, it only bogs down the present and distracts you from the future,” Lock continued as his grandfather listened. “I simply fear that the ritual will taint all the fond memories of my childhood that we shared together. That the image will always come up when I think back on simpler days.”

 

“You're talking about the image of my slit throat right?” Abraxas asked, with a grin.

 

“Grandfather!”

 

They sat in silence for a while after Lock's chastisement, listening to the crackle of the fire and looking each other in the eyes.

 

Brown and blue, young and old, living and dead.

 

“Will it be a slit throat?” Lock asked solemnly. “I've been too preoccupied with participation, to ask what the ritual even is...”

 

Abraxas leaned back. “It depends on the class of the receiver. It needs to be structured in such a way that the class you want to advance most gets the experience.”

 

Lock rolled his eyes. “Well, I knew that, it’s quite obvious. I was more wondering if there are any traditions to fulfil, particular steps to take to make it easier.”

 

“I don't know,” his grandfather admitted, which made Lock nod.

 

“It makes sense. I imagine every family has its own way of doing things?” Lock asked.

 

“Yes, I asked around in my still-living circle of friends.” Abraxas shook his head. “It’s all individual, fasting, vigils, runes, and specific ways to live your life in the year leading up to the ritual. My peasant ancestry once again got one over me.” He sighed. “I had thought the days of me getting tripped up by a lack of knowledge were over.”

 

“They never are. I imagine that knowing everything would be quiet boring as well. Any preferences to how you want to die?”

 

“Think of which class you want to funnel the exp into. I can make my decision then.”

 

“I will need some time to consider the question.”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

“Yes. Goodnight, grandfather.”

 

-/-

 

The rhythmic clanging of the church bell awakened him from his stupor. Made aware of his uncomfortable position, crouching before the graves as he was, Robert stood up.

 

The gravel crunched behind him, heralding an approaching person.

 

“What is death?” a melodic voice asked.

 

“The ceasing of all bodily functions,” Robert answered. He had never been an overly empathetic person, so he noted with some surprise that he was apparently capable of feeling the amusement of the person behind him.

 

“Simple words to understand a phenomenon that is anything but,” the voice mused.

 

“Death is what it is, something to be avoided.” And to be feared, but he kept that part to himself.

 

“Just because your opinion is the only one that matters, does not mean all answers must come from within.” The voice was chastising now, as if talking to a small child that was incapable of seeing a simple truth.

 

But he was not a child.

“Convince me otherwise, then.”