Chapter 12: Sapphires in the Night

The fire crackled. The scent of rich broth filled the air.

Sam absentmindedly traced patterns on the rim of his bowl until Albert said:

"All right. Let's see if we can feed the girl."

Inside the tent, it was stuffy — the smells of herbs, old blood, and smoke mingled together.

The girl lay there, barely breathing.

"I'll hold her up — you feed her," Albert said, lifting her into a half-sitting position.

"Got it."

"Careful now. Cool it down first. Last thing we need is burning her throat."

Sam nodded, blew on the spoon, and brought it to her lips.

Some of the soup dripped down her chin.

"You handle a spoon like it's your first time?" Albert grunted. "Easy. Small sips."

They fed her in silence. She barely moved.

Sam fought to keep his hands steady.

"That's enough. Let her rest," Albert said, easing her back down.

Outside, night had fallen.

The fire threw long shadows across the ground.

The mark on Sam's arm burned even hotter.

5 hours left. Sapphire eyes.

If it's not her… I'll forget something important. Damn it…

"You can sleep by the fire. Nights are warm," Albert interrupted his thoughts.

"Or, if you're worried…"

He gestured toward a nearby tree:

"Go past that tree. See for yourself."

Sam stepped forward—and the world vanished.

No tents. No fire. Just an empty, dead clearing.

He stepped back—and everything snapped into place again.

Albert was smirking.

"Should've seen your face."

"This is… magic?"

"Illusion. A veil. From the outside, we're invisible. No light, no sound.

And trust me, getting caught with a spell like this? You'd end up a slave."

Sam tried to process it all.

"You know a lot."

"I know enough. Not everything's meant to be shared."

"You're a good man, Albert."

"You'll change your mind when I slap some sense into you," he grunted.

Sam chuckled.

"But still… you helped. You saved me. You saved her."

"Nobody helps for free, kid. There's always a price.

Sometimes it's just your conscience that pays."

Silence.

Sam looked at his hand.

"I have… a mark."

"A mark?"

"'Three days. Sapphire eyes.' It was there when I woke up."

He showed Albert his wrist.

Albert leaned in.

"I don't see anything. You sure you didn't just take a hit to the head?"

Sam quickly pulled his arm back.

"Maybe…"

He turned away.

Albert muttered under his breath, almost as if to himself:

"Just like that old nursery rhyme…

'And the savior will come,

With a mark unseen by eyes…'"

Sam frowned, but Albert had already fallen silent, staring into the fire as if seeing something far beyond it.

"Sleep," the old man said. "Tomorrow we'll figure things out."

Sam lay by the fire, staring at the tent.

4 hours left. Sapphire eyes.

***

A few hours later.

He woke to a feeling — a gaze.

He cracked his eyes open—and froze.

She was peeking out of the tent.

Moonlight spilled over her skin. Her hair shimmered like silver.

But it was her eyes that struck him.

Sapphires. Glowing. Wild.

She stared straight at him.

Fear. Pain. Hatred.

He sat up slowly.

"Hey… you shouldn't be out of bed…"

She bolted.

Her legs gave out.

She collapsed, dragging herself away from him.

"Wait!" Sam lunged after her. "I'm not going to—"

"NOOO!" she screamed and sank her teeth into his wrist.

Pain flared.

His palm instinctively ignited with fire.

She saw it—and froze.

Then collapsed.

Albert stumbled out of the tent, bleary-eyed:

"What the hell…"

He saw Sam. Saw the girl. Understood immediately.

"Can you stand?" he asked her gently.

She nodded.

Sam reached to help, but she hissed:

"Don't touch me."

She could barely move, but she resisted with everything she had.

Albert stepped in, helping her back inside.

When he tried to adjust her blanket, she bit his finger.

"Stubborn one," he chuckled. "Got a death grip."

She glared at him.

"Want some water?"

"Give…" she rasped.

He returned with broth and a cup.

"Slowly. Easy."

She drank greedily. Every drop.

"More."

"Tomorrow."

"Stingy old man?"

He grinned:

"Tomorrow you'll get double. Deal?"

She mumbled something unintelligible.

Sam sat back by the fire, clutching his wrist.

The mark had vanished.

But he knew.

It was her.

He spoke first:

"Why does no one stop them?"

"Because no one's planning to," Albert said without looking away from the flames.

"They do exactly what the people at the top want them to do."

Sam stayed silent.

"Slaves are bought by the ones with gold running in their veins and 'holiness' stitched into their sleeves. Harold's gang? Just suppliers."

Sam clenched his fists.

"So they're protected?"

"They're smiled at. In temples. At fancy dinners. Behind closed doors."

The fire cracked.

"You didn't really think all the filth lived underground, did you? No, kid.

It waltzes around ballrooms."

Sam said nothing.

His heart pounded, heavy and slow.

A branch snapped somewhere in the woods.

He turned sharply.

Nothing.

Silence.

But somewhere, deep in the trees… someone knew.

And they were coming.

***

He woke to the clatter of metal by the fire.

"Ahh… Albert? You're already up?"

"Yeah," the old man grunted.

"Soup's better today. Roasted a rabbit too. Breakfast's ready."

"Smells amazing…"

"Check on the elf girl. But easy — no funny business," he added, stirring the pot.

Sam lifted the tent flap.

Julia was awake.

Those sapphire eyes stared right at him.

"You're awake… You hungry?" he asked, nodding at the pot.

"I'm hungry," she muttered.

"Want help?"

"Don't touch me. I'll manage."

Struggling, she got to her feet and limped out of the tent.

Sam returned to the fire.

"She looks at me like I'm a wolf," he muttered.

"But she walked out by herself."

"And she's here, ain't she?" Albert said, when Julia sat down at a cautious distance.

"Good morning," the old man said warmly.

"A promise is a promise."

He filled a bowl and handed it to Sam.

Sam carefully approached Julia, offering the food.

She snatched the bowl from him, spilling some, and clutched it tight.

"Sheesh…"

"Samuel!" Albert barked.

Julia flinched.

Her eyes filled with fear.

"I'm yelling at him, not you, sweetheart," Albert said more gently. "You're safe here."

"And the spoon?" Sam said.

Sam handed it over.

Julia snatched it — but less violently this time — and tasted the soup.

For a moment, she froze.

"It's good…" she whispered, almost to herself, before devouring it like it might vanish.

"Slow down!" Albert laughed. "You'll make yourself sick."

"Samuel, crush those herbs. We'll make tea."

"You're not as soft as you look," Sam grumbled, obeying.

He stole a glance at Julia.

She gave a faint smile — then quickly turned away, scowling again.

"Man, a pint of ale and some dried boar meat right now…" Albert sighed dreamily.

"You're a gourmet," Sam said.

"Food is power. Good food — that's strength of spirit."

"Thanks for the food…" Julia said quietly.

"No need to thank us. Feeling better?"

"I guess…" she said a bit stiffly.

"Once you have some tea, you'll be back on your feet. What's your name?"

"Me?"

"Who else, you think?" Albert chuckled.

"Julia."

"Beautiful name. I'm Albert. And the grumpy one over there is Samuel."

"Hey!" Sam protested.

"Kidding," Albert said with a wink.

"Nice to meet you, Julia," Sam said.

"Yeah… whatever," she muttered. "Go crush your berries."

"You—"

"Don't sweat it," Albert murmured. "Right now, care matters more than words.

She's still healing."

Sam nodded.

They ate. Drank tea.

Julia, clutching her spoon like a weapon, retreated to the tent afterward.

Albert got up, rummaged through the cart, and returned with a leather-wrapped bundle.

"Catch," he said, tossing it to Sam.

"What's this?"

"A book. Not for everyone. But for you… maybe."

Sam unrolled the cover.

Faded leather.

Inside—blank, snowy pages.

"There's nothing—"

"Patience," Albert said, eyes still on the fire.

Sam almost closed the book… when ink began to seep into the pages.

Words.

Heavy and slow, as if someone were writing them at that very moment.

Sam froze. His heart hammered in his throat.

The book was alive.

It responded to him.

"You see this too?" he whispered.

"I see it," Albert said quietly. "And it explains a lot."

Sam gripped the binding tightly.

***

Fragment I: The Spark

I am not a god.

I am not a demon.

I am a witness.

I saw the first taste of power touch mortal hands.

I watched invention become curse.

He did not teach — he revealed.

He did not rule — he breathed knowledge.

And the secret was made known.

But mortals are no vessels for truth.

They knew no restraint.

And by the time he realized it… it was too late.

Thus began the story of the greatest gift… and the greatest revenge.

***

Sam closed the book.

His lips were dry.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered.

"I didn't understand a word of it," he said aloud.

But Albert stayed silent.

And deep down, Sam knew.

Albert understood far more than he was willing to say.