Chapter 8B: You're Not Invulnerable

When I met Jack, I was really young. I still remember the stupid look in his eyes when he would tease me or praise me. It was just Jack and me for a long time—we were the only family each other had. Jack was my best friend, but he was more than that; he was the only person who truly knew me.

When Finn joined us for the first time, I truly felt like I belonged. We were a mismatched group of street urchins, but we were family. That's why Jack's betrayal seared into my memory and stung so much worse whenever I saw him. I still remember the words he said when he got out of prison: "That life isn't for me anymore. We aren't kids, Rin. It's time we move on."

That stung. It stung so badly, and I hated Jack for it. I hated him for leaving our group behind. I needed Jack—he was all I had. Yet, he ran away like a fucking coward. He won't admit it, but prison changed him. That childlike bluster and feeling of invulnerability vanished. I pushed him away first. He felt like a stranger to me, someone wearing the face of my best friend. We fought a lot after that. Eventually, our fighting turned into cold shoulders, and one too many cold shoulders turned into distance. Finn tried to put the pieces back together, but our relationship had become too strained.

I set off on my own. I was always good with my hands, always a good thief, even from an early age. Jack would provide the plan, and I would steal the goods. Whether it was bread or money, we took care of each other.

Now, I stand in the dark hall, and some distant part of me wishes Jack could be here next to me. I try to put on a brave face, but I'm scared. I'm scared that Jack isn't going to make it. I'm scared that I will die. And I'm downright panicking over this situation. I'm not like Jack, who can just rush into everything with stone-cold resolve. I have my doubts.

I also have resentment—resentment for Finn. I trusted that bastard. He was the only one who stood by me after Jack went to prison. He was a good friend, and I could tell he cared about us. But I don't take betrayal well, which is why I am more determined than ever to get out of here. How fucking dare Finn look me in the eyes and push that button. Just because some Ai promised him his sister? I owe him a punch in the jaw.

Suddenly, I hear a voice directly in my head—a woman's voice. "Oh, vengeance is your motivation? How quaint."

I look around. The room is pitch black, the air is cold, and the only thing glowing is a sigil on the wall to my right. The eerie voice speaks directly into my head again. "You want to be my host? Let me inform you that I am picky." I can practically feel her breath against my ear. "I want an interesting host, one I can trust with my veil."

The disembodied voice feels like a knife slicing through my thoughts—sharp and intrusive. The cold in the room seeps into my bones as the sigil pulses faintly, casting an unsettling glow. I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm despite the overwhelming presence.

"You think you're interesting enough, do you?" the voice continues, dripping with mocking amusement. "Or are you just another fleeting mortal, desperate to prove their worth in a world that will forget your name? Just a lowly vessel, determined not to die. Do you really believe your meager little existence holds any value outside your own mind?"

I sigh. "Yeah, you figured it out. I want to live. Not because I think my life holds some cosmic purpose, but because I know I still have things to do. I can handle whatever little trial you have for me, so stop stalling and give it to me."

The voice chuckles, a soft, chilling sound that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "Confidence. Or is it arrogance? No matter. All who seek my power must face the truth within themselves. And that includes you, little liar."

My heart skips a beat at the accusation. "Liar?" I retort, forcing a laugh. "I've never—"

Before I can finish, the ground beneath me shifts violently. Bright lights sear my pupils, and I find myself in a ruined forest of hollowed oaks. The air is misty, and I can barely find my way. I feel eyes on me and I begin to walk down the dirt road. The fogs adds to my fears and my false bravado is reaching its limit. I lose my composure when arms reach out from the mist, bony and dirty.

"Shit, get off me!" I squeal, uncharacteristically.

The bony hands shoot out to grab me again, their cold fingers grazing my skin as I sprint away. I run endlessly until my lungs feel like they're on fire. At last, I reach a crossroads. A sign reads "Danger!" and points to the left path, while another says "Ashfield" and points to the right.

I can't see where either path leads, but the choice seems obvious. I turn toward the right. Just as I'm about to start walking, I hear a voice behind me—boyish and alarmed.

"Rin, where the hell are you going? The bridge is down that leads to Ashfield. We need to go this way!"

I turn and see the familiar bright green eyes that always manage to set my heart aflame. It's Jack. His delicate features are etched with concern, but there's a quiet confidence in his gaze.

"This path says danger, idiot," I snap, gesturing at the sign. "Can't you read?"

Jack chuckles like I've just made a good joke. "Since when have you ever cowered away from danger? Come on, Rin, this way. Trust me."

I look into those childlike eyes, and my resolve crumbles. I follow him down the left path.

But just as we take a few steps, I hear another voice behind me. I turn to see Finn standing on the other path. His features are grim, more serious than I've ever seen him. With a wave of his hand, the fog lifts as though it was never there. On the other side, I see a picturesque view of the city—its bright lights cutting through the darkness. The wooden bridge is wide and intact.

Finn gestures at the bridge. "Rin! What are you doing? The city is this way. Jack was lying—he's trying to trick you. The bridge is still intact."

I hesitate, my heart thundering. Jack stands beside me, his green eyes steady and unyielding, though there's a flicker of vulnerability beneath his confidence. Finn stands on the other side, his face stern, his words ringing with clarity and reason.

"Jack is trying to deceive you. He's trying to get you killed," Finn's voice echoes, resolute and certain. "The bridge is fine. You know I've always had your back, Rin. Even when Jack didn't I was there don't throw that away."

My mind churns. Memories claw their way up, unbidden—Jack, with his teasing grin back when we were kids, stealing bread just to survive. The quiet nights when we'd talk about everything and nothing, the world stretching out before us like a story we hadn't yet written. And Finn, always calm and steady, the glue that tried to keep us together when everything was falling apart.

But Finn betrayed me too. He pressed that button. He looked me in the eyes and chose something else—someone else—over us, over everything we'd been through.

Jack shifts beside me, saying nothing now. He doesn't plead or argue; he simply waits, watching me with those eyes I've both loved and hated. His gaze says he'll understand whatever choice I make. On the other hand Finn's face twists in frustration at my silence, his hand still outstretched. "Rin, don't let your emotions cloud your judgment. I'm showing you the truth!"

I take a step toward Jack, my resolve hardening. "You call it truth, Finn, but you shattered everything I believed in. You broke us. Jack... he may have left, but he didn't destroy me. You did."

Finn's face contorts with something unreadable—regret, anger, desperation—but I don't look back. I move closer to Jack, and his eyes soften. The flicker of vulnerability in them turns into something warmer. Relief. Gratitude.

As I reach him, the fog around us begins to shift and crackle, the ground trembling beneath our feet. The voice returns, softer now, almost approving. "A choice made not with the mind, but with the heart. Trust is dangerous, isn't it? Yet you chose to leap. I approve. You are cautious about who you trust—burned once, cautious twice—but you are open to letting someone in again. I appreciate that in a host. But we are not yet done."

The mist swirls faster, shifting until it solidifies into a grand, silent ballroom. The air hums faintly with unspoken tension. Around me, countless figures dressed in elegant finery stand frozen mid-movement, their faces obscured by blank, featureless masks. At the center of the room, a small pedestal holds a single golden key, gleaming under a beam of pale light.

The voice speaks again, smooth and sharp. "The veil of power I offer is not just a tool of deception—it is survival itself. A true master can blend into any scene, weave any illusion, and hide even their most damning secrets in plain sight. Can you wield it, Rin? Show me if you can."

The room comes alive in an instant. The masked figures begin moving gracefully, the sound of muffled chatter and soft music filling the air. No one notices me yet, but their presence presses in on me, suffocating.

The voice whispers in my ear. "The key is your goal. But should they uncover your identity, you will be consumed. Blend in, become one of them, and reach your prize."

I glance down at myself, realizing I'm still in my worn, ragged clothes. The stark contrast to their pristine, formal attire makes me stand out like a flare in the night. I step back, my mind racing. I need to blend in I need to manipulate my new power on the spot. The gazes of the guests hit my face like lasers, but in order to black out their intense gazes I need a new outfit. I need to borrow Nyr's veil in order to blend in. 

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and focus, letting the lessons of survival flood back to me. I picture the finest dress I've seen, the subtle movements of the wealthy I've observed, the soft, lilting tones they use when speaking. My form begins to shift. A shimmering fabric cascades over my body, forming a sleek black gown. My hands rise instinctively, gloved and delicate now, to adjust a mask that wasn't there before.

I step forward into the crowd, matching their rhythm. I weave through the masked figures, my movements graceful, my head bowed just enough to seem unassuming.

A man in a silver mask turns to me, his voice low and skeptical. "You. Who invited you here? I don't recognize you."

My heart races, but I force myself to remain calm. I incline my head slightly, letting a faint, practiced smile touch my lips. "I was invited by Lady Viola of the house herself," I say smoothly, using a name I overheard moments before from one of the guests. "She assured me my presence would remain discreet."

He hesitates, his head tilting slightly, then nods and steps aside.

I approach the pedestal, my fingers brushing the cool metal of the key.

Before I can grasp it, the voice returns, louder now, demanding. "You have taken on the mask, but do you understand its burden? What lies would you tell to protect yourself? To keep the veil intact?"

I hesitate, gripping the key tightly. Around me, the masked figures begin turning, their blank faces all directed at me.

I raise my voice, calm and commanding. "Enough. You seek to expose me, but what would you do if you could see my truth? Nothing. Because it is not the truth that matters here—it is the story you believe."

The figures freeze again, the ballroom dissolving into mist.

The voice echoes, softer now, tinged with satisfaction. "Well done. You are a worthy host. You are a liar, a sneak, but you hold trust for those you deem important. You remind me of myself, mortal. For that, I grant you my pact."

The dark room reappears—the same room from before. A vision appears before me: a tall figure cloaked in shadows, with pale skin and a deep night black aura.

The entity before me I instinctually know is Nyr, a demon of darkness and illusions, her form radiating that very notion. Nyr is tall, their form cloaked in shifting shadows that ripple like living smoke, obscuring the edges of their figure. Their pale skin gleams faintly, like moonlight piercing through the darkness, accentuating sharp features—high cheekbones and a pointed chin that exude cold elegance.

Their hair cascades like liquid midnight, strands rippling in unseen currents and reflecting faint hues of deep violet and indigo. It frames their face, spilling down their back in endless waves that blend seamlessly with the surrounding shadows.

Her eyes burn with an eerie orange glow, molten and hypnotic, with cracks of gold radiating outward like veins of fire. They seem to pierce through me, stripping away pretense and defenses with a single glance.

They wear a flowing garment, stitched from the night itself, shimmering with faint, fleeting constellations that shift as they move. Their claw-like fingers, tipped with obsidian nails, glint faintly as they gesture, rings etched with ancient sigils glowing dimly.

When our hands touch, I feel ancient, dark power flow into me. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness is the half-moon sigil burning itself onto my skin and soul.