Dreamland

“It cannot be true!”

“Do you accuse me of lying?”

Noviel's brows furrowed as she watched Ayra with a half-amused, half-angry-mad smile. She was still distraught at what Spartacius had requested from her, but Ayra could hardly accept the facts.

She sighed. Ayra's resemblance to her own was disturbing. It was as if looking into a mirror. A distorting mirror. Gone were her muscles. In front of her was a weak girl, a weak self a couple of years younger, plump and naive. Looking at Ayra, she understood why she had been chosen, which angered her even more.

Ayra had shared her story with Noviel, who had vowed to assist her in escaping to Lilitown. However, their conversation inevitably circled back to Ayra's unwavering fixation on Spartacius, as Noviel saw it.

They remained sheltered inside the farm, occupying the sole room with a mostly intact roof. Seated at a table, they dined on provisions provided by Noviel. Outside, heavy rain poured down, reducing visibility to just a few meters.

Raindrops created a persistent drumming on the tiled roof with increased intensity. Ayra cast a concerned gaze at the deluge that encircled the building, while Noviel, in contrast, found solace in it. The rain would significantly hamper any tracking efforts and, hopefully, keep their pursuers at bay.

Ayra attempted, once again, to offer a plausible explanation. "No, no. I didn't mean that. What I meant was..."

Noviel exhaled with frustration and cut her off. "Dany, Questa, and Damia were there—three of my old friends who joined the guards in Lilitown! And what does your Sir tell me? He told me coldly: 'Kill them! Kill them!' Is that not the act of a demon?"

"But... but, I know Sir Spartacius. He would never..."

Noviel snorted in disdain, leaned in with her hands on the table, bringing her face closer to Ayra's, and fixed her gaze directly on her eyes. "Your Sir is a demon!"

Ayra leaned back further in her chair, squinting against the intense glare. Could this really be just a twist of fate? Was it destined for Noviel to return to the camp and rescue her?

But she hesitated to voice this thought to Noviel. She shook her head; Noviel needed to arrive at that realization on her own.

"No, it can't be! There must have been something else he meant," Ayra protested.

Noviel settled back in her chair, her face flushed with anger, and let out an exasperated sigh. "What else could 'KILL THEM' possibly mean?"

Ayra drew in a deep breath, preparing to respond, but for a moment, she was left speechless. After some contemplation, she tilted her head to the side and looked at Noviel with a sidelong glance.

Speaking softly, she ventured, "Could it have been some kind of test?"

Noviel observed her, a look of confusion on her face. She responded with a wheeze, "A test? A test? To see if I'd kill my friends? No, I would never do that." With a solemn expression, she added, "Even if it meant my own life."

Ayra's left cheek quivered, betraying her nervousness. She had listened to Noviel's story, aware that she meant every word. Nonetheless, Ayra weakly protested, "But I do know him! He wouldn't mean that!"

Noviel wearily shrugged, saying, "You can't possibly know him! He might have liked you, but..."

Tears welled up in Ayra's eyes as she poured out her explanation. "He didn't demand anything from me, not a thing! He rescued me from those slavers and risked his life to save me! It was three against him, and they nearly killed him before his ruthless mother reluctantly stepped in to help him."

"His mother?" Noviel questioned, a perplexed look on her face.

Ayra lifted her gaze and spoke, tinged with both fear and disdain. "Cala the Assassin, Tenebra's right hand."

Noviel's eyebrows shot up, and she let out an astonished gasp, struggling to grasp Ayra's words.

"Tenebra's right hand? She can't be his mother!? Or Tenebra's..."

Ayra stubbornly kept her gaze fixed on a point in the air as if watching something only she could see.

"He said it so himself. He called her 'mom.' I heard it. And she protected him in her own strange way. As if wanting to teach him a lesson. She is a monster; you cannot imagine how fast and how deadly she is, and the superior mother herself told me that she's Tenebra's right hand!"

Now Ayra raised her eyes to meet Noviel's.

"And you believed her?" - Noviel wondered.

Ayra nodded hesitantly. "I... I... Maybe it's not true... but Cala has this... this aura... I could sense it..."

Noviel sighed deeply and shook her head. Her voice dropped to a hushed tone as she spoke,

"Tenebra's right hand? That can't be true. I know Alice; she's my aunt, my only family in this cursed world. She'd never serve Tenebra's henchman! She even risked her own and Cala's reputation to save me using witchcraft potions."

Ayra shrugged, feeling calmer but resolute in her beliefs.

"Who knows what their arrangement is? I think Alice might have been promised they'd eliminate the great evils in this world. She even mentioned..." She started to whisper, "She spoke even of killing Lord Mephisto himself. I used to think it was crazy bragging, but now... I'm not so certain."

Noviel exclaimed, "My aunt boasting? No, she never did that; that's simply not her. From what you say, I fear that this Cala business is way beyond our understanding. We should probably just let it go. Oh, my poor aunt, what kind of a deal did she make? She must have been deceived by empty promises! If this is true, your Spartacius may be even more demonic than I thought!"

Ayra took a deep breath, her eyes welling up with tears. "No, please, don't say that about Spartacius! I'm certain he didn't intend for you to kill those guards. It must have been a test."

"A test?" Noviel questioned. "A test for what? To see if I'd shoot and kill them?"

"No, not that," Ayra explained, her conviction growing. "The test was whether you were ready, whether you were willing. That's the only explanation I can believe!"

"But why would he put me through such a test? It doesn't make sense," Noviel wondered.

Ayra's enthusiasm grew. "Who knows what he's up against! Who knows what he's facing, what kind of evil! He needed to be absolutely sure that you would trust his word above everything else!"

Noviel shook her head, finding it hard to believe that Ayra might actually be onto something, as ridiculous as it seemed. It was rather irritating to consider that this plump, seemingly simple girl could have a better grasp of the situation than herself.

She repeated with stubborn skepticism, "This just doesn't add up."

But Ayra, now firmly committed to her theory, insisted, "What if evil spirits had taken control of your friends? What if they were being manipulated by malevolent forces? In that case, you couldn't afford to wait for proof from Spartacius! It might have been too late!"

Noviel paused, still grappling with disbelief. "But they weren't possessed, were they?"

Ayra grinned, a trace of mischief in her smile.

"So, what was your response back then?" she inquired. "What did you say when he asked you to shoot them?"

Noviel suddenly felt weary of the whole conversation. She knew Ayra was searching for any means to clear Spartacius. She had been certain there was no way to do that, but now Ayra seemed to have found one, even if it sounded absurd and far-fetched.

"I told him no," Noviel admitted, her voice heavy with resignation. "I simply refused and turned my back on him."

Ayra's expression turned nearly triumphant. "And what happened next?"

Noviel sighed. "That was it. There wasn't much he could do as the guards arrived to arrest him, and he was wise enough not to face them alone. I, on the other hand, left to..."

Ayra nodded knowingly, placing her hand on her face. "You failed his test. Poor Spartacius, alone again!"

Noviel's eyes shot an intense glare.

"Poor Spartacius?! He compelled me to... Oh, cut it out. It's not true!..." - she declared, then she got an idea -"Do you know something?"

"What do you mean?" Ayra inquired.

"Now that you've brought up Cala, maybe you're onto something..." Noviel pondered.

Ayra observed her with a quizzical expression. "Why do you say that?"

Noviel grinned.

"Take a look at this burnt-down farm. All the farms along this road have been laid to waste. Burned by a dragon. Word in Lilitown is that it's because Cala provoked the witch in the mountain, and her dragon wreaked havoc," Noviel explained.

"Cala provoked her?" Ayra questioned. She had heard some rumors in the camp, too, but she had been too busy with her own problems to listen to them.

Noviel nodded, her left hand resting on the table. She leaned on her hand to get closer to Ayra.

"Yeah, I heard some rumors, but I couldn't believe it. However, if she's working for Tenebra, and if that's true, it might explain why she can openly provoke even the witch in the mountain without repercussions. I never bought into those rumors, but now... they might hold some truth," Noviel raised her head. "And if Spartacius is her son, as you seem to suspect, he could be a demon!"

Ayra let out a sigh and gave her head a dismissive shake. Her belief in Spartacius being a force for good was unwavering.

"No, he isn't. And even if he were, he's a good demon!" she insisted.

Noviel snorted, her patience wearing thin.

"There's no such thing as a good demon! Even Manchua, the priest, has spoken of this new wave of demons coming to our world just for the thrill of it. They kill, they murder for fun! He's not what you think he is; he must be one of them!" Noviel argued.

Ayra attempted to voice her protest once more.

"But he saved me..."

Noviel's voice rose, her eyes filled with frustration.

"Yes, I know. But that doesn't change..."

Before she could finish, Ayra's fiery response cut in.

"He saved all those people at the outpost! He saved them from slavery! He compelled his mother; he forced her to stand against the empire and set them free! Just the three of them against a whole raiding party! And they emerged victorious, liberating them all!"

Noviel let out a sigh. While Ayra's description of such a feat seemed like something achievable only through demonic or heroic power, the fact that it served a noble purpose was perplexing. Perhaps some high-ranking royal paladins could pull off such feats, Noviel considered.

She reclined in her chair, deep in thought. "But isn't she too young to be his mother?" she mused.

"Why else would he call her 'mom' then? And she responded quite naturally when he called her that. She appears youthful. How can we possibly know her true age? There are ancient tales about her, and I remember one of the earliest stories I heard was about her. I was about six years old at the time. Do you know the story of High Vezir Kowak? The one about the founding of our republic? When the Vezir was assassinated! Do you remember who did it?"

Noviel whispered, "Calamity Lara! That's Cala the Assassin!"

"Exactly! She may be older than she appears! That was eight or ten years ago, right?"

"It's possible," Noviel conceded.

Ayra's determination remained unshaken. "I'm going to follow him! I am going to find out! I am going to help him and prove to you that he's good, that he's not a demon!"

Noviel chuckled, slightly amused. "You'll meet your demise the moment you step outside this farm. The creatures here are far more treacherous than the ones you encountered around the outpost!"

But Ayra couldn't be swayed. "I'll learn magic! I have a book! Give it to me!"

Noviel let out a sigh. "Not right now. We'll head to Lilitown. I need to find an enchanter to examine it. The book might be tracked. In my inventory, it's concealed and untraceable. Once we're in Lilitown, we can investigate. We'll inquire about what transpired there concerning your Sir and his demon mother. I'm sure we'll uncover wrongdoing and misdeeds. That's what demons are known for!"

"No, you'll see that I'm right!" Ayra insisted.

The horse raised its head and let out a soft neigh. Noviel nodded, saying, "Yeah, we'll keep quiet now."

She took her saddle, placed it near the horse, and settled down for some sleep beside the horse. A minute later, Ayra joined her, resting against Noviel.

The only remaining disturbance in the otherwise silent night was the rhythmic drumming of rain on the tiled roof.