“Mother, what happened to your face?”

Rinaldo could see a large crack running through her face, marring her appearance. It was an eye-catching feature that drew him to her. He felt the desire to caress her face, to look closer.

He turned his gaze away, and the moment passed. It was so fleeting that Rinaldo did not even realise what he wanted to do.

“I fell down the stairs.” His mother brushed her hand over her face, covering up the broken surface. Her actions seemed clumsy and made the wound even more obvious.

Rinaldo walked closer and pulled her hand away from her face. “Oh, mother…”

She turned to him, and as he inspected her face, he could notice something else he hadn’t seen before. Her skin looked pale, lifeless, and her eyes appeared faded, as if they were no longer the vibrant, bright colour he remembered.

“Mother…?” The words failed him. Something felt wrong about what he saw.

When Rinaldo touched the woman’s face, he could feel it was even worse than he had thought, as if there was a deep bruise underneath her skin. He couldn’t understand why her skin was so cold, as he was used to it being the temperature of fresh bread.

The woman did not respond, letting him do as he pleased. He pulled her close to him, hugging her tightly. The scent of her perfume lingered on his chest, but he couldn’t feel the warmth of her body. He tried to feel his mother’s heartbeat, and his stomach dropped to the ground.

“Why are you so cold? Why is your heart not beating?”

After letting go of his mother, Rinaldo let her arms fall to her sides. He felt cold himself now and was about to step away from the woman, but he could not. Something stopped him. He didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was that he was so close to her. It didn’t matter.

“I’m a construct. The real me turned accidentally turned herself into a child. She is talking to you through me.”

How could one accidentally turn themselves into a child? Rinaldo didn’t understand. Was it human transmutation done wrong? He wanted to ask how that had happened, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to know.

Alchemy was one of those things that made Rinaldo’s head spin. It was so mysterious. Who knew how deep the secrets ran? Some transmutations were as simple as breathing. One could do anything with alchemy, but it had to be done properly.

The only way to do things properly was by the careful instruction of a knowledgeable individual. There was no guarantee, and success would vary from one person to the next. It wasn’t something he could fix.

“So, you’re both mother and not mother at the same time?”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Rinaldo tried to make sense of that. “How does that work?”

“It just works.”

They talked for what seemed like hours. Rinaldo found it difficult to keep the thread of the conversation. The more they talked, the less sense it made. He was tired of trying to understand and felt like missing something important.

He didn’t think the woman was lying about being a construct, but he was still uncertain. He couldn’t explain it to himself, but something about the woman’s story did not sit well with him.

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “Just relax.”

“I can’t relax. We don’t know when the cultists will return.”

“Lady Ragnell,” a voice came from behind. “It’s ready.”

Rinaldo twisted his neck to see who it was. He recognised the speaker as Victor and saw he was carrying a replica of Flamberg in his arms. He looked on the verge of falling over with joy as he held it in his arms.

“Thank you, Victor. I appreciate your diligence.”

Victor handed her the replica of Rinaldo’s great sword, his eyes bright with joy and pride as he did so. “I have a feeling it will come in handy tonight.”

“I am sure of that.” Rinaldo’s mother placed a finger over the blade. “This is a fine piece of work, Victor.”

The sword Victor had made replicated many features of the original. The only difference was that it lacked the enchantment of the first.

He had constructed the sword to exacting specifications, which bore the most intricate engravings. The extraordinary attention to detail resulted from much research and experimentation on Victor’s part. It had been some time since he had attempted such a feat.

To create a masterpiece of such proportions, one must study every single part of the sword: the blade, the hilt, the tip, every curve, the engravings, and even the leather wrap decorating the handle.

“I hope you find it as satisfactory as I did in working on it, Lady Ragnell.”

“It will be the weapon to seal the fate of the cultists once and for all.” The smile on her face was so wide that it looked like she was having a fit of laughter.

“I will see you soon, Lady Ragnell,” Victor told her before leaving. “Be prepared for what is coming.”

“I will, Victor. You’re my best son-in-law.” She omitted the part where Victor was her only son-in-law.

Lady Ragnell did not doubt his technical expertise. She had witnessed the incredible creations he had produced in the time that he had spent recreating and copying old swords. To her, the sword Victor had made was flawless.

Rinaldo, however, looked at it with a different eye. He noted the flaws in Victor’s work. While the engravings were precise and as accurate as the original, he noted the difference in the grip and the width of the blade.

He pointed at the replica Victor had produced. “May I have your permission to touch it?”

“Yes, I don’t see why not.”

He carefully slid his right hand towards the hilt, the blade glinting in the light. He ran his fingers along the leather wrap. The feeling of leather was as if he was touching his fingers with his hands, and he felt his palms warm up as he moved toward the weapon.

“It feels smooth,” he mused. “Almost as if I could feel the wind in my hand.”

“What are you doing?”

“I am measuring the sword.”

A look at the hilt also showed his attention to detail. The pommel was not as rounded as he would have liked. While he would have been hard pressed to identify the difference in any of the other replicas he had viewed, he could spot some differences in this one.

Still, it was no doubt a fine replica of the original. Rinaldo was unsure if it was the fact that he would have to make his move soon or how he felt about this replica. He was not sure what made the difference. Whatever it was, it left him feeling slightly apprehensive.

After a while, he handed the sword over to his mother. She carefully wrapped it in a leather sheath. A look at the sheath told him what it was for, but he held his tongue. He didn’t need to say it out loud.

“Rinaldo, do you want to hear a story?”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, mother.”

She pulled a book of stories from somewhere and read. The stories, which were a mixture of old and new stories, took on a mythical feeling as she told them. She started with an ancient tale, one that was about the beginning of the universe.

“In the beginning there was nothing. The only existing thing created by the Divine Creator was the World-egg.”

The woman told him of the first spirits who emerged when the golden egg cracked open under the influence of life forces who would later rule over their younger brothers and sisters. The world tree, the ash tree, arose from the top of the eggshell, which separated the skies from the earth and sea.

Rinaldo loved the idea of spirits emerging from the egg like a butterfly out of a cocoon. He had read that story many times, but it never seemed as cool to him as it did in the stories she told.

She smiled and continued. His mother told Rinaldo of how the first spirit, who would become the goddess of dawn, created the sun and how the second spirit, who would become the god of dusk, created the moon. She told him how the two understood and agreed that they would each rule for half of the day.

“That’s why we have day and night.”

Rinaldo nodded, his eyes wide. He had never heard the story told like that before, and he loved it. He wanted to hear more.

“And then what happened?”

“Then one of the first spirits became enraged at the imperfections the world has. He sought to perfect the world.”

“Why did he want to change the world to be perfect?” Rinaldo frowned. “The world is beautiful.”

“Yes, but to him, it was not good enough. He wanted to make it perfect.”

His mother paused and looked at Rinaldo. He was trying hard not to nod off to sleep, but she just kept going with the story, telling him more and more as she went on. She began with the next part. He was nodding off, anyway.

“What did he do?” Rinaldo’s eyes were getting heavy.

“He left the world and became one with the void. In the void, he found true perfection and became the god of the underworld.”

“But why did he have to leave the world?”

“Because he could not stand to see the world the way it was. To him, it was a travesty.”

Rinaldo was quiet for a moment, digesting the story. “Do you think the world is a travesty, mother?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, Rinaldo. I think the world is beautiful just the way it is.”

He smiled as well. “Well, then I like the world the way it is.”

She looked at him, satisfied with his answer. “Eventually, he wanted to spread the perfection to the rest of the world by absorbing parts of the world into the void, becoming one with him.”

She paused again, and when she looked at Rinaldo, he was in such a deep sleep that she shook him awake. “Wake up! No more sleep for you!”

Rinaldo opened his eyes and looked at his mother. “What did you say? What was that story?”

“Oh, the spirit who tried to perfect the world. Did you sleep through that part too?”

“I guess so. So what happened next?” Rinaldo rubbed his eyes. “Did the spirit succeed in making the world perfect?”

“No, he failed. The other spirits banded together against him and sealed him in a rift between dimensions.”

“That is good, so he is locked up, right?”

The woman nodded, then explained the only way to free the spirit was to break the seal using the blood of the ten spirits who imprisoned him. When the spirit was sealed away in the rift, he created a new, weaker form to free his true form. The form he created was the black sun.

“He is stuck where he is. He will always try to make the world perfect, and he is going to fail again. There will always be stories of him trying.”

“He will try again? Why? How many times will he try? Is he going to come back?”

“You will probably figure it out soon enough, if not tonight.” She shrugged. “Do you like the story, Rinaldo?”

He nodded. “I do, mother. Thank you for telling it to me.”

Rinaldo looked at his mother, thinking about the story. It was a lot to take in, but he liked it. It was a good story. At least the part about the spirit trying to make the world perfect, and failing. He liked the idea that the spirit was stuck in a dimensional rift and couldn’t get out.

Suddenly, something about the story struck him. He remembered his mother hadn’t told him the name of the spirit.

“Wait, what is the name of the spirit that tried to perfect the world?”

“The Black God.”