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The icy look was expected, but Aaron shifted uneasily when Varis followed the length of his arm and dug his hand into his coat pocket, yanking the medallion out and running his thumb over the face of it. The Count looked absolutely livid; Aaron could feel a slight tremor in the hand on his arm, unpleasantly reminding him of the last time he’d seen Varis literally quaking with rage. Fortunately, Aaron could tell Varis’ ire wasn’t directed at him, though that cold, collected tone he spoke in next—easily worse than any scream of rage would ever be, in Aaron’s opinion—ran a familiar chill up his spine all the same. 

When the Count called him by his name, Aaron froze, eyebrows shooting up. Was… was that the first time Varis had called him by his name? He admittedly hadn’t kept [i]that[/i] close track of how he was addressed—really it was context cues he responded to more than any one belittling nickname, as much as Aaron loathed to admit it—but he was sure he would have noticed if it had ever happened before. His name sounded so [i]odd[/i] coming out of Varis’ mouth that he didn’t really want to dwell on what that might mean, and thankfully he was given a task to distract himself from it. 

He did as Varis instructed him, though he couldn’t help the strange look he gave his master (not that he’d see it) as he took the jacket. Don’t look no matter what he might hear? It was odd for sure, but he wouldn’t question it, doing as he was told and turning away, working on beating the dirt out of Varis’ jacket as best he could. 

Until a deafening [i]CRACK[/i] tore through the air, that is, and Aaron reflexively dropped, heart beating a mile a minute. He almost looked back, but managed to still his head; as a veritable cacophony of wood cracking, metal screeching, and of course, Varis screaming, filled the air behind him, Aaron wasn’t sure he even [i]wanted[/i] to see whatever was going on back there. He felt something land on his hair (which upon investigation was a large splinter of wood) but kept his eyes down, flinching now and then at a particularly loud noise as he did his best to do as he’d been instructed, until finally the chaos ended. Varis sighed behind him, and eventually found his way back, though with some difficulty by the sound of it. Aaron had to bite back a painful hiss when the vampire clung back onto his arm. 

[color=f7976a]“If you’re done boy, help me get this back on and we’ll be on our way. I’m quite ready to quit this place as quickly as possible.”[/color]

[color=f0d705]“Yes Master,”[/color] Aaron replied quietly, automatically, as he dutifully helped Varis back into his coat. He was only half-listening to the Count’s complaints, wondering what on earth he’d just borne witness to and ready to kneel and pick him back up when commanded, when his attention wandered to Varis fiddling with something. Or, rather, fiddling with nothing; he looked like he was trying to remove his gloves, but they were nothing but tattered scraps clinging to his wrists now. Aaron bit back a gasp, however, at what he saw in their place. 

Varis turned soon after he realized his gloves were gone, but one look was all Aaron needed. His stomach turned at the sight of Varis’ hands, which had before been pale and pristine just like any vampire’s, now cross-hatched with a terribly organized grid of scars like Aaron had never seen. His nausea only worsened when he realized they morbidly reminded him of grill marks, and his breath caught in his throat. 

That was Solaris Pius. 

It seemed impossible, but there was no other explanation; scarring a vampire was no easy task, and Solaris Pius was the only way to do so so cleanly, and in such a neat pattern. Aaron was terribly reminded of the illustrations he’d seen when he’d done some research into the topic, sketches of vampires twisted in agony and burning alive in neat lines through the slats of some nightmarish torture box. [i]That[/i] had never been taught to him—and for good reason, it was meant to disappear from history altogether—but despite his initial horror when Varis had revealed its existence to an [i]entire lecture hall full of strangers[/i], Aaron’s curiosity had overtaken him by the time he got home on break, and he’d gone to the library in search of information himself. He’d been shocked to find a chapter in a volume on historical punishments featuring the topic, totally uncensored and unguarded, where anyone with access to the palace library could view it. But seeing it here, in the flesh, still appalled him; it was [i]Lady Sinnenodel herself[/i] who had single-handedly outlawed the practice for its barbarity, so why on Earth was her heir and favourite bearing its scars? Varis wasn’t nearly old enough to have suffered it in the days when it was legal, had committed no crime besides (at least, none that would be prosecuted) and if he’d been kidnapped and tortured, Aaron was sure the world would have known about it. 

So… did she order it herself?

No, that was absurd; Aaron nearly slapped himself for such ridiculous speculation. But what other conclusion could he draw? The scars were new; Varis’ hands had been fine when he left for break, and he’d worn gloves at all times since his return. He knew Varis would be called to see her at some point in the break, and what else could have happened in that time? If anyone else had done it, they surely would have been executed with much bravado, but no such thing occurred. Varis hadn’t even uttered a word about it. 

A biting chill gripped Aaron as he took Varis’ arm and led them left of the trees, as the medallion’s chest had instructed. He hardly even registered the destruction; he was too busy being mortified. He was sure he’d vomit if he opened his mouth, so he led his master silently, absently keeping an eye out for obstacles even as his vision swam. Was Lady Sinnenodel truly torturing her heir? Her reputation as a monster was plain, but the Sinnenodels abhorred violence, preferring mental and emotional avenues of torment instead—with the milder of which, he now realized, Aaron was quite familiar. Could her mandate of nonviolence be a cover-up? Was Varis too wily to be controlled by manipulation alone? How deep did his new Lady’s sadism run?

And if this was the sort of thing she was willing to do to her [i]heir,[/i] what the hell happened to her mages?

Another wave of nausea washed over him as Vanessa came back to mind, with her back full of holes with a [i]ribbon[/i] woven through them and her eyes all but melted out of her face. It was all too sickening to think about, though even as Aaron shoved the thought violently into the recesses of his mind, he knew it would gnaw at him until it was dealt with. But he couldn’t very well deal with it now, so he had to swallow his nausea and get on with things, even if he figured he’d probably be looking a bit shell-shocked for some time—he didn’t know it, but he’d already gone pale. In that way, the maze of the forest was a blessing; no one nearby to ask him why he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

As he scanned the forest for instructions, clues, or anything else that might mercifully distract him, he began to notice that the flora around the path was thinning; on closer examination, it looked like the plants were sick, dead and dying, or stunted at best. He followed one twisted and leaning tree with his eyes for a moment as they walked, and when he turned the other way, he almost physically jumped at the sight of… himself. 

Walking next to him like everything was perfectly normal was what Aaron had to assume was an illusion of himself, eerily silent with eyes trained forward. The illusion wore a carefully constructed court expression that Aaron knew well, but his eyes were unsettling to say the least, entirely black like glassy marbles and trimmed with red and swollen flesh, as if he’d been crying. Aaron wondered absently if [i]he[/i] looked that unsettling when he covered his emotions with a smile, noticing how tensely his clone held himself and his white-knuckled grip on Dawn. 

The illusion didn’t seem to notice him, and peering suspiciously at it, Aaron reached out and waved a hand in front of its face, receiving no response; in fact, part of his hand brushed the clone’s shoulder by mistake, feeling nothing but air and confirming the thing’s status as mere illusion. Impressive illusion, though. Aaron briefly wondered if he’d someday be able to use his magic to craft one that looked so real. 

Turning to report this… newcomer to Varis revealed yet another illusion, this one a copy of Varis walking alongside the Count. That one looked more like the original, characteristically impassive, though what caught Aaron’s eye even before the weapons was the dried blood veritably painted all over it. The weapons, though, were almost equally surprising; not only was it strange seeing [i]Varis[/i] carrying a weapon of any kind, Aaron recognized the arrows (interestingly absent a bow) and daggers as tools dating back to the formation of the Treaty, weapons designed for the express purpose of killing werewolves. The illusion seemed to notice Aaron’s attention and caught his eye, misstepping a bit as if surprised and silently trying to speak, though Aaron couldn’t tell what it tried to say. 

[color=f0d705]“Master, it would seem we have company,”[/color] he finally reported, his former horror replaced with an eerie curiosity as he eyed Varis’ clone. [color=f0d705]“Two illusory copies of ourselves are walking alongside us, though they aren’t identical to us. For one, their eyes are entirely black; mine looks tense, like it was recently upset, and it has a death grip on Dawn. Yours is covered in blood and carrying weapons for killing werewolves; if I didn’t know any better I’d say it recently bit something’s throat out.”[/color] 

As he spoke, Aaron waved curiously in the direction of Varis’ clone, expecting it to be unresponsive and for its little miming trick to have been pre-programmed. To his surprise, however, its glassy black eyes (as far as Aaron could tell) seemed to follow his hand, and the clone silently laughed in response. [color=f0d705]“As far as I know, both are incorporeal, but while mine is unaware of us, yours seems to be able to see us. It tried to speak to me, and it’s surprisingly cheerful.”[/color] 

As Aaron watched Varis’ clone, its attention snapped away from him and to something in front of them. Following its gaze, Aaron found that they’d entered a clearing, devoid of all plant life and home to nothing but a pedestal in the centre holding a skull. It looked to be made of ceramic, but Aaron couldn’t see its face; it was turned opposite them, looking in the direction of—Eris and Max?

His surprise at having crossed paths with another pair was shelved as his and Varis’ clones approached the centre. As he watched them walk ahead, Aaron was struck by the strangest sense of deja vu, though it was no mere nostalgia; rather, it settled in his gut a stone of potent dread, though Aaron couldn’t for the life of him understand why. His own clone freely touched the skull and vanished, but the feeling in his gut grew stronger as Varis’ clone resisted, silently cursing and swearing before training its gaze firmly on Eris and Max and disappearing altogether. 

[color=deepskyblue]“A prize you wish and prize you’ll get when the demons of others you completely vanquish. Any trick and any way, to win the fight and save the day, you may employ but don’t forget, more often than not it’s simpler than this. A hand you lay upon my head and into others you’ll fall instead.”[/color]

Ominous words ringing in his head and unsure what to think of what he’d just seen, Aaron turned to Varis to explain the situation; though, upon seeing the vampire blinking and looking around, he inferred that he must have gotten his vision back for this challenge, and probably saw everything Aaron did. Grasping weakly at where Dawn’s handle [i]should[/i] have been, the thoroughly unamused expression he’d been wearing when the night began came back in full force as he gradually realized what it was they were apparently meant to do. 

A tired sigh escaped him, and his hand rose to his temple. [color=f0d705][i]“Great.”[/i][/color]
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