A fertility spell?
Sofia’s ears flushed a rosy pink at the thought.
Lyra frowned.
"What do you an by a fertility spell?"
"Exactly as it sounds,"
The elf replied smoothly.
"And I have valid reasons for this."
Then she clapped her hands together with a radiant smile.
"Let’s start from the top, shall we?"
...
Lugh found himself in darkness.
Except this ti, he wasn’t drifting aimlessly.
He was standing—his feet planted on a solid surface.
What that surface was, he couldn’t tell. It neither echoed nor yielded. Cold, but not unfriendly.
All he knew was that he was searching.
For what? He didn’t know.
Only that he needed to find it.
He sifted through the trash—a scattering of cracked stones, so black, so white.
Each ti his fingers brushed one, a burning mory imprinted itself onto his mind.
He picked up a stone.
A house on fire. A woman screaming as she was held back.
"My son is in there! My son is—"
He dropped it.
Another stone.
A wedding, fragrant with incense and blossoms, blessed by a priest in crimson robes.
"May the fire of passion never be—"
He dropped that too.
Before he knew it, Lugh was surrounded.
Countless figures had gathered, erging like ghosts from the gloom—bodies of data and information, still as statues.
They resembled humans.
Humans that had died.
But empty husks they were—their souls long since departed.
And yet—one of them spoke.
Lugh recognized the voice.
Emrys.
"What are you looking for?"
Lugh paused, a faint thread of understanding weaving itself through his thoughts.
He answered.
"I’m searching for my na."
Two more figures joined in—beastkin, their furred ears twitching slightly. They spoke in perfect unison.
"Your na?"
"Yes,"
Lugh replied, distracted, still sifting through the rabble.
"Your na."
The chorus grew.
More figures appeared.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Their voices layered into a single, eerie symphony of the dead.
"Your na is—"
"Lugh."
He cut in.
His lone voice sliced through the reverberations like a blade through fog.
And with it ca a hush.
A strange, blissful silence.
Then, as if he’d just snapped out of a trance, Lugh turned his head, startled—
"Where... am I?"
"Where are you not?"
The voices replied.
He hesitated.
"Who—who are you?"
"Who am I not?"
The sa voice, doubled and tripled across space.
Lugh’s heart raced.
"Are you... the Beast Crowned in Glass?"
He asked uncertainly.
"I am no beast!"
The thunderous reply shattered the calm.
All the voices—every single one—roared at once, and Lugh clutched his head in agony.
The pressure was unbearable.
"T-Then what are you?"
Silence.
The figures moved.
Synchronized like dancers.
Their bodies turned slowly, locking into perfect formation.
Ancient eyes fixed on Lugh’s figure.
"I am you. You are ."
"What?!"
Lugh blurted out in reeling confusion.
"You are my eye. The lens through which I see the world. Thus, you are ."
Lugh’s right hand twitched involuntarily.
An urge to reach for his eye surfaced, but he suppressed it.
He was realizing just how dangerous this was.
This was his first true eting with the entity that had changed the course of his life.
He told himself to play it cool.
But a question still lingered.
A persistent itch buried deep inside his mind.
He asked:
"And Xhi?"
The figures didn’t move.
But their eyes held sothing new—so strange, unspoken emotion.
Lugh gulped.
Did he push too far?
Then they spoke.
"She is . And I am her."
"...In what way?"
He asked again.
The reply ca swiftly this ti
"She is my tongue. The herald of my will."
Lugh nodded slowly
"And Lyra?"
"She is not a part of ."
"Ah. I see."
Silence reigned.
Then—
More silence.
Thicker than fog.
Lugh began to feel uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat.
"So uh... you gonna let out? Or do I just have to..."
His voice slowly died down.
The silence had turned oppressive.
It pulsed like a living thing.
He waited.
And waited more.
Then he snapped.
"Co on! Say sothing!"
The voices rose, sharp and angry.
"Arrogant fool!"
Their expressions twisted into contempt.
"Weak vessel. Do not hesitate to use the powers you’ve been granted."
Then Emrys—the figure of Emrys—reached forward.
His hand gripped Lugh’s head.
There was a flash, and sothing Lugh could only describe as "dark light" erupted from the point of contact.
It surged through his body like a firestorm.
The Mawglass burned.
They spoke.
"Rember this. If you fail—if you die—you won’t be the only one to suffer."
"...Thanks for the disclair"
Lugh muttered.
The the world lurched, and he was violently kicked out of that space.
He woke with a start, gasping for air, his bandaged hands stretching up toward the ceiling.
Or rather—
The floor?
That couldn’t be right.
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
When he opened them again, the ceiling was where it belonged—above him.
Must’ve been my imagination, he thought.
But then he turned—and saw the chaos around him.
The room looked like it had been turned upside down and then righted again without care.
Overturned furniture lay in awkward piles.
Books and scrolls spilled out like wounded soldiers.
Silver platters were dented, spinning slowly on their sides.
Alchemical ingredients—herbs, crystals, powdered minerals—were scattered across the floor in colorful, smoking trails.
One shelf had snapped in half, pinned beneath a bronze cauldron.
A strange, luminous liquid oozed from a shattered vial, hissing as it burned a smoking hole through the carpet.
It was as if the room had been shaken by a giant, then dropped back into place like a child’s forgotten toy.
Lugh blinked.
On the floor, sprawled ungracefully, lay Selaphiel the elf.
Two other youthful figures groaned in pain nearby.
They all had flaxen hair, and their ears marked them clearly as sothing other than human.
Selaphiel rose slowly, wobbling.
The graceful folds of her robe spilled like a waterfall of white and silver as she straightened.
She turned to him, dazed but furious.
"Lugh,"
She began.
"What the hell was that?"
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