The End of our Time: A Tale of Lie

The room was pitch black again.

This time, thick canvas drapes had been nailed down over the frame, making sure not a single sliver of sunlight could leak through from the courtyard.

The air was thick, suffocating, almost heavy enough to choke on.

Lucien was sprawled across his cot in the most relaxed pose Mo had seen him in for weeks. Arm thrown over his eyes, ankle resting over his knee, for once, he didn't look like he was carrying a mountain on his back.

He shifted his arm, tilting his chin to stare at Mo.

"So? How does it feel?" Lucien asked.

His eyes had that sharp, gleaming curiosity he only got when a new experiment actually worked.

Mo didn't answer right away. He stood dead center in the dark room, flexing his left hand. He watched his fingers curl into a tight fist, the skin stretching taut over his knuckles. A sharp, unfamiliar ache throbbed in his forearms, muscles he had never used before, cramping under the sudden weight of exertion.

He shifted his weight from his heels to his toes. His inner ear swirled, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over his head as his brain struggled to parse gravity and balance. He had to lock his ankles just to keep from swaying into the nightstand.

"It's... strange," Mo said softly.

Even his own voice rattled inside his chest, the vibration humming through his ribs in a way that made his throat itch.

"I've never felt air move through lungs before," Mo added, testing the rhythm. "I don't really know how I'm supposed to feel about it."

How could he?

For as long as he had existed, Mo had been nothing but a drifting spirit, a weightless, silent observer unbound by blood, bone, or temperature.

And now...

He had a chest that expanded and contracted. A steady, annoying thudding behind his chest, a heartbeat, pounding away in a endless, rhythmic drive.

He lifted his right foot, set it down, and felt the sharp, cold bite of the wooden floorboards against his bare sole.

It all worked. Every nerve worked.

The only problem was the scale. He was stuck in the frame of an eight-year-old boy.

Mo simply hadn't gathered enough power to form an adult vessel, leaving him trapped in a small, underdeveloped shell. The condensed magic sitting inside such a tiny chest created a dull, throbbing headache right behind his eyes, a constant pressure threatening to burst through his temples.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

His hair was black as pitch, falling messy over his forehead. His eyes were pure void, so deep and dark it looked like looking into a bottomless pit. But every few seconds, tiny specks of bright purple mana surfaced in his iris, glowing against the black before fading out again.

"I'm sure you'll get used to it," Lucien groaned, letting his arm flop back down over his face. "Great. Now I've got another kid to take care of."

Kid?

Mo's left eyebrow twitched hard. A sudden spike of tension tightened the muscles in his jaw, making his teeth click together.

He was older than Lucien. Centuries older.

Hah.

Mo let out a shaky breath, feeling the warm air stream past his nostrils.

Lucien hadn't noticed.

Good. He had masked his residual spirit trail well enough despite the chaotic pulse of his new circulation.

Though he shouldn't have been surprised, Mo was ancient. If he couldn't hide his age from a human, he’d be a disgrace.

Still, a cold knot twisted in Mo's stomach, making his gut feel heavy and sick.

If he finds out what I am right now, he'll kill me.

Lucien wouldn't hesitate. He wouldn't care about their history.

And Mo couldn't even fight back. Right now, burdened by weak bones and heavy joints, he was slow.

Far weaker than the man lying on that cot.

It made Mo's head throb worse just thinking about it. How had a regular human reached a level of power that put ancient entities to shame? It defied everything Mo knew about mortal limits.

Then again... nobody got that kind of strength for free. The price Lucien paid was written all over his pale face every time he woke up screaming from a nightmare.

"You won't betray me, will you?"

The question dropped out of nowhere, flat and heavy into the dark room.

Mo froze, his shoulder muscles locking up tight. A sharp pulse of panic made his heartbeat spike, thumping hard against his ribs like a trapped bird. He hadn't expected Lucien to blurt it out so directly.

He turned his head. Lucien was glaring at him through the gap under his elbow.

His eyes weren't lazy anymore. They were cold, dangerous, tracking the subtle, rapid rise and fall of Mo's small chest like a predator watching a cornered animal.

Mo kept his mouth shut for three long beats, listening to the rushing sound of blood in his ears.

Then he remembered the choice he’d made a long time ago.

The very first day he had drifted past Lucien, ages ago, when the man was covered in blood and staring into nothing, Mo had made up his mind.

No matter how dark it got. No matter what atrocities Lucien committed.

He wasn't going anywhere.

They were going to see the end of this world together, or burn at the bottom of it.

"Never," Mo said. His voice was small, but he planted his feet firmly into the floor, fighting through the wobble in his knees.

Lucien held his glare for another second, testing the weight of the word. Then, as if satisfied by the steady pulse of energy behind it, he gave a tiny, single nod.

He turned back toward the ceiling, staring up at the bare wooden beams.

Mo let his shoulders drop an inch, his lungs taking in a deep, heavy breath.

Now's the time.

If Lucien was in a talking mood, he needed to get answers while he could, before this headache made it impossible to think.

"I have a question..." Mo started, taking a half-step toward the bed, carefully managing his center of gravity.

"Hmm?"

A faint spark of pale green light flickered around Lucien's fingertips.

"Why did you take Turman's blood?"

"Secret."

Mo's jaw set tight, his teeth grinding together so hard his temples twitched.

Unbelievable.

Classic Lucien. Giving out cryptic breadcrumbs and shutting the door the second anyone asked for real details.

Mo couldn't help it, he let out a sharp, ragged breath through his nose and rolled his eyes straight up toward the rafters.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

Lucien's neck cracked as his head snapped around toward Mo.

His face was terrifying, eyebrows raised, eyes wide and twitching with that borderline unhinged expression he got when someone pushed his buttons.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mo said instantly, locking his gaze straight ahead on the wall, his whole body going as stiff as a board to hide the flush of heat creeping up his neck.

Damn it! How does he catch everything?!