Welcome to Redwaters - 8. Chapter 8

On the other side of the Portal- Zain’s dimension

In the council chamber of the palace, a solemn silence prevailed, permeating every stone of the kingdom. Uma, seated alone, let her fingers graze her temple, immersed in deep reflection, persistent memories etched in her mind. The seats, once witnesses to lively discussions and crucial decisions, remained desperately empty, like forgotten remnants.

The walls themselves told tales of the past, bearing countless conflicts, declared or avoided wars, and enacted laws. Uma, a pillar of justice in her kingdom, guided her people through storms at the cost of her own happiness. Draped in a black kaftan, a tribute to the loss of her son, she exuded an aura both dark and majestic.

Since Zaïn's departure, her world had lost all flavor, plunging Uma into profound sadness. Her fingers moved slowly to her locket hidden beneath her kaftan, bearing Zaïn's name in calligraphy. Every curve of the writing invoked intimate moments, shared laughter, and tender instances. A precious treasure, a symbol of their unbreakable bond.

Zaïn's escape had triggered a titanic battle, leading to the desertion of Bashar, her treacherous husband, and the flight of her two other sons. Their shadows now conspired to find Zaïn, hoping to deliver him to the dreadful clan that had vowed to retrieve him. The betrayal of her own family had inflicted a deep, irreparable wound on Uma.

Her hand rested on her heart, easing a persistent pain. She bore her burden with dignity, praying for her son's salvation. When Zaïn was revealed as the Decipherer, the prophecy surrounding him spread fear throughout the kingdom. But Uma did not perceive him as a threat, but rather as an invaluable asset. His power was a glimmer of faith in the future. She hoped that Zaïn would ascend to the throne, ruling with the wisdom and compassion she knew he possessed, a hope dwindling more each passing day. In their final moments, she confided in him that fear clouded Bashar's heart and that of her other children, a fear born of her son's difference, a son without whom she could not fathom living.

The imposing doors of the room swung open abruptly, revealing the entrance of an enigmatic entity entirely veiled in a black shroud. Only its purple eyes pierced the mystery of its figure, pulling the queen from her thoughts. The silhouette advanced toward Uma, a palpable concern in its gaze.

"My queen, I bring news," she declared.

Uma's heart tightened further in her chest. "What is happening?" she asked.

"It's Zaïn. It seems he has used his powers, casting a spell of great magnitude. A spell that would have left traces across the worlds..."

A smile appeared on Uma's face at this revelation. Her interlocutor, perplexed, asked, "You don't seem to understand, my queen. This activity could hasten his location..."

Uma's smile persisted. It had taken only 24 hours for her son to access his power, his abilities were even more impressive than she could have imagined.

"That kid is truly remarkable!" she exclaimed proudly, though aware of the danger that awaited him.

"What will we do, my queen? Your husband and your other children seem to have allied with our enemies to find him. We need to cover his tracks."

The news, though bearing potentially dire repercussions for the secrecy of her son's location, had revived hope in Uma. She was aware that Zaïn was temporarily safe, and she was more determined than ever to do everything in her power to ensure it endured.

"Gather the council, summon them all to come immediately. We will no longer wait for attacks from our enemies; we will strike first!" she declared with determination, her purple eyes shining with a regained light.

A few minutes later, the council room vibrated with a tense atmosphere, illuminated by the flickering light of candles. The dark woodwork of the walls seemed to absorb the anxious whispers that floated in the air. Queen Uma, seated at the end of the large stone table, observed attentively the leaders of the kingdom who had been hastily pulled from their beds.

Among them, six women and four men, each adorned in the traditional burgundy cape, richly embroidered with golden threads. Their faces, marked by fatigue and worry, formed a mosaic of varied expressions, testifying to the sacrifices made to answer the queen's urgent call. The massive door creaked open with a muffled sound, revealing the last arrival, the head of cultural developments. An almost centenarian man, his gaze filled with desolation, laboriously dragged his steps to his seat. The creaking of his feet on the floor echoed like a distant reminder of the weight of the years borne by this almost comically frail individual. His appearance completed the tableau, every member of the government now assembled.

Uma, scrutinizing the assembly, could feel the electric anticipation that had settled in.

The queen stood up, her dark kaftan echoing the gravity of the situation. All eyes converged on her, captivated by the quiet strength emanating from her person. She could feel the weight of responsibilities resting on her shoulders.

"The times are grave, I don't need to remind you," she began, her voice resonating in the room like a solemn echo. "We are preparing to engage in a battle that will not be without losses, and whose outcome is uncertain. I understand your fears; I understand your doubts."

Murmurs of approval were heard, exchanged looks expressing shared anxiety. Uma continued, her eyes scanning each face like decipherable pages.

"If my own husband, Zaïn's father, and his brothers could turn their backs on their family and kingdom, I am not naive about the torments that must afflict you since the beginning of this conflict."

Faces nodded, visibly disturbed by memories of a familiar betrayal. Uma tightened her grip on the edge of the table, palpable emotion in the air.

"The DAZARI, our sworn enemies, dedicate their existence to the search for the Decipherer. They chase us across the worlds, have made us nomads to escape their pursuit, and this even before Zaïn's birth, before learning of his power."

A shiver ran through the assembly, each one recalling the endless nights spent fleeing, the worlds traversed in the shadows.

"They seek Zaïn because he is powerful; they seek Zaïn because in their eyes, he is a formidable weapon they hope to use."

The queen's eyes met worried gazes, sparking flashes of determination.

" Until now, many of us, my husband included, leaned towards the idea of surrendering him and bringing closure. However, how unwise would it be to hand over our most potent weapon to our fiercest enemies? What guarantees do we have that, once Zaïn is captured, this despicable clan won't exploit his powers to dominate not only us but also other worlds under their tyrannical rule? What I urge you to do today is to cease seeing Zaïn as my son, your prince, or even a citizen of your people. Recognize him for what he truly is, for the power he represents in the eyes of the DAZARI. Regard him as a weapon, the ultimate weapon, and carefully consider whether it is wise to part with him or protect him at all costs."

Silence settled, heavy with the stakes weighing on their shoulders. The expressions of the leaders oscillated between fear and responsibility, their faces becoming reflections of the crucial decisions that would shape the destiny of their kingdom.

 

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Zain stretched languorously on the guest room’s bed, his gaze lost in the patterns on the ceiling, a slight weariness creeping over him. His body, relaxed, surrendered to a carefree yawn. It was then that the door to the room opened suddenly, revealing Hadrian. The young man straightened up, taken aback by this sudden appearance.

"I gathered that knocking on doors was customary in your world," the boy said, his tone tinged with irony.

Hadrian looked at him in silence, a teasing smile playing on his lips. The divinely sculpted body of the immortal, bare chested and dressed only in his black jersey shorts- as usual before a workout session -seemed deliberately crafted to evoke temptation.

"I've had enough of being stuck in the perpetual melancholy of the manor. I was wondering if you'd be up for hanging out…"

"Hanging out?" the young man exclaimed in surprise.

"I've been feeling quite isolated lately. We could just chat, spend some time together, if you're not too busy…"

Zain shot him an amused look, making it clear that he seemingly had nothing better to do.

"Alright, let's hang out!" declared Zain as he got up from the bed.

Hadrian approached him slowly, closing the distance between them to mere inches. His eyes, infused with barely concealed seduction, unsettled Zain, whose cheeks flushed despite himself.

"I need to sort something out first. Meet me in my bedroom in a few minutes." Hadrian's warm breath gently brushed against Zain's neck, a sensual breeze that elicited a delightful shiver. Their eyes locked, a thrilling spark igniting between them. Zain's heartbeats quickened.

Zain remained motionless, captivated by his magnetic presence.

Hadrian turned away confidently, throwing a final glance over his shoulder at the still-astonished Zain. The muscles of his back outlined under the dimming light, his invitation lingering in the air, a silent challenge thrown to Zaîn as Hadrian disappeared.

Zain exhaled deeply, incredulous in the face of the interaction. His mind was in turmoil, trying to make sense of it all, to rationalize. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the situation, but with each attempt to convince himself otherwise, Hadrian's teasing looks came back to him, as did the nuances of his lower back that his slightly sagging shorts revealed. Zaîn, realizing he had never felt such attraction for anyone, sat back on the edge of the bed.

He took one last deep breath, regaining somewhat control of his emotions, but he needed to be sure... The young prince got up and quickly left the room, crossing the long corridor leading to Hadrian's chamber. His heart accelerated with anticipation as he quickened his pace, until finally arriving at his door.

"This is the moment of truth"

Shrill cries suddenly erupted from inside the room, a true nightmare of sound that grabbed the boy's attention, abruptly bringing him back to reality. About to knock on the door, Zain decided to open it instead, concerned by these discordant sounds.

"I know what I said about knocking before entering, but..."

He said while entering the space, abruptly halted by the sight that met him.

The walls were smeared with blood.

Ouray's mutilated body layed lifeless before him. Zain's eyes widened as he discovered Hadrian, crouched over Fleur in a corner of the room, his face and body covered in blood, strangling the young woman. The witch struggled in vain as life escaped from her body. A shiver of terror ran through the young prince as Hadrian turned towards him, his eyes bloodshot, reminiscent of the night when Zain had seen him under the influence of his curse, murdering Tucker and his gang. The immortal, as if possessed, declared to Zain while still choking Fleur:

"I told you to wait for a few minutes; your turn is coming!"

Terror, like an irresistible impulse, propelled Zain out of the room in a desperate flight. Every corner of the manor becoming a maze of horror. Hadrian's sinister laughter echoed behind him, a demonic melody resonating with unleashed madness. Every heartbeat echoed in the corridor, like the rumbling of a funeral drum, leaving Zain trapped in the relentless agony pursuing him.

Zain emerged from the nightmare in the guest room, his body covered in sweat, the sound of the television he had neglected to turn off the night before resonating in the room. A blonde journalist, with a monotonous and tired voice, and countless boring suits, repeated the same details for a week, describing the developments in the investigation into the disappearance of the sheriff and his gang. Their personal belongings and boat had been found at sea, but not their bodies, and the search continued, plunging Redwaters into widespread mourning.

One week.

Zain quickly grabbed the remote control to end this redundant report. Television, an invention that Fleur had introduced to him, turned out to be his most valuable tool for understanding this new and unfamiliar world.

At first, he had immersed himself in reading, exploring numerous historical books to better grasp the macabre past of this world, a dive into desolation. A world governed by conquest and oppression. He discovered with a heavy heart racism, sexism, homophobia, genocides, plunging into deep depression and unprecedented incomprehension.

One afternoon, Fleur found him, empty eyed, pained beyond words.

"How do you overcome all these horrors surrounding you in this world?" he asked, somber.

"We numb ourselves in front of the TV," she replied simply, piquing his curiosity. "And if we're really feeling down, we turn to reality TV," she added.

Fleur then introduced him to Netflix, Prime Video, HBO, and all the other streaming platforms. Zain immersed himself in discovering pop culture shows, undergoing a true dive into American culture and its codes. He touched upon the importance of first dates, and all first times in general, proms and other social and coming of age gatherings. The arbitrary hierarchy that seemed to reign in their school system, as well as the importance they attached to all kinds of sports, which completely escaped him.

Just as Fleur had predicted, beyond fiction treasures like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" or cartoons like "The Little Mermaid" that he watched shamelessly on repeat, reality TV strangely managed to free him from his own reality. In particular, those shows where middle-aged women endlessly quarreled after consuming a mix of alcohol and prescription drugs. One of them even threw her prosthetic leg on a restaurant table during an argument, absolutely fascinating... He could finally divert his mind to conflicts bearing no consequences. However, just like his newfound fondness for sugar cubes, his recent love for television was not enough to soothe the torments that afflicted him. Despite his efforts to learn more about this world, his heart longed to be truly a part of it, not just observe it.

Over the past week, a memory had resurfaced from the depths of his past. It stirred in him the lingering feeling that even in the dimension he came from, he felt out of sync, a stranger in his own world. Despite the certainty that in his home universe, a deep affection awaited him, his heart, like a wanderer, longed to discover its true place, somewhere else, where his roots could flourish.

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Zain dragged himself wearily to the kitchen, the shadows of the terrifying nightmare still lingering in his eyes, marked by the uncertainties that seemed to weave the threads of his new life.

Ouray and Fleur were engrossed in conversation, their voices filling the room with animated vibrations, when he made his entrance.

"Well, well, look who finally honors us with his presence, our very own grumpy teenager," teased Fleur as she noticed his scowling expression.

"According to your laws, I've been considered an adult for a year now, old enough to be on my way to university, legally carry weapons, and vote, but still deprived of the right to savor a single glass of alcohol! Someone will have to explain that to me," pleaded Zain as he took a seat on one of the stools around the central island of the kitchen, next to Fleur.

Ouray flashed a smile in response to his remark while pouring a steaming cup of coffee, delicately placing it in front of the boy. Zain expressed his gratitude with a nod before seizing a sugar cube, devouring it, gradually regaining color.

"You are aware that sugar is supposed to go in the coffee, right?" teased Ouray with amusement. Zain responded with an embarrassed look, realizing that the idea of sweetening his drink had indeed never crossed his mind.

"Did you know that almost all of Elliott's little sister's classmates had to redo their senior high school year after the accident last fall ? They're all eighteen or older," Fleur casually slipped in.

Ouray shot Fleur a suspicious look, his voice tinged with mistrust.

"Fleur, where are you going with this?" he inquired, detecting a mystery in the young woman's words.

Fleur's gaze softened as it delved into Ouray's eyes.

"Ouray, take a moment to observe this poor boy," she whispered, as if revealing a long-held secret. "He's bored to death. Trapped in these walls, between reading, television, and training sessions to harness his powers, with you..."

Ouray gave Fleur a vexed look at , compelling her to amend her statement, her confusion evident on her face : "Of course, there's nothing boring about training with you... It's just that he needs the opportunity to dedicate his time to other activities more in line with his age," she explained.

Fleur's words carried a weight that conveyed a genuine concern for the well-being of the boy, who had become an ally and fast friend through the shared experiences they had faced together. Ouray felt a pang of guilt, a flash of realization in the face of the unintentional isolation that had befallen Zain.

"The 'he' you're talking about is sitting right here, hearing both of you," interjected Zain, raising his hand. "And he actually agrees. What do you suggest?" he asked, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes.

"I believe there's no better way to fully explore our world than to attempt enrolling in high school for senior year", Fleur concluded, eliciting general surprise.

"What an idea, Fleur?! What will he tell people: 'Hello, I'm Zain, and I come from another dimension, that's why i don't get social cues?" retorted Ouray, sarcastically.

"He can say he's from Europe. It worked for my father. Mom was shocked by the privileges he was granted simply because he came from France. I think, for most people around here, another dimension seems less foreign than Italy or Spain. That would explain the cultural gap that might occur and avoid second guessing..." Fleur offered as an idea .

Ouray and Zain both looked at her; she seemed to have undoubtedly thought about the matter.

"And what about the school curriculum? Do you think he can just show up in senior year and miraculously get by?" asked Ouray.

"Ouray, Zain managed to decode our language in a matter of minutes, and he has read more books on the history of our world in a week than most of these high school students in their lifetime. I don't think the curriculum would be challenging for him," assured the witch, with a determined tone.

Zain was in awe, a silent spectator. He had never considered that enrolling in high school could be a possibility. Could he really do it? Attend an educational institution like those he had seen in TV series, make friends, take part in social activities, go to the prom… Feel normal?

"Fleur, Zain remains the target of a pursuit about which we still know nothing. It wouldn't be wise for him to be exposed in that way," reminded Ouray.

The boy plunged back into the reality of his situation with his words, watching his dream of integration gradually dissipating before his eyes.

"I disagree." said Hadrian as he entered the room, dressed in a black suit and a sky-blue T-shirt, accentuating the gray of his eyes as Zain immediately noticed.

All three turned toward him, surprised by his appearance and intrusion into the conversation. Hadrian had kept a low profile after the events of the past week. Once the effects of the tranquilizers had worn off, he had isolated himself in his room, only emerging for lonely training sessions, otherwise numbing himself with pills intended to calm his episodes, becoming a mere shadow of his former self.

Zain had visited him daily, making sure he stayed stable. However, the immortal remained an unyielding wall, unresponsive to almost any contact. Yet, there he stood, freshly shaved and dressed as usual, just as he was before that harrowing night they had all endured, which left his three friends perplexed. A palpable tension hung in the air, carrying the weight of all the unspoken questions that none of them had the time or courage to address...yet.

"Going to high school could be the perfect cover for him. Blend into the crowd. It'll be harder to track him down that way," added the immortal.

"We're getting really good at this game, the cover-ups..." replied Fleur, still incredulous at their success, even if temporary, in concealing their involvement in the sheriff's and his gang's demise.

Hadrian lowered his eyes at this remark, his guilt still palpable. Fleur immediately regretted her words, not realizing their impact. Sensing the tension, Zain quickly intervened:

"I really want to try this high school thing, even just for one day. Who knows, maybe I'll hate it! In all the TV shows I watch, students spend their time skipping classes... I just want the opportunity to experience something... anything... more." pleaded the boy, eager for new discoveries.

The look in Ouray's eyes, previously full of reservations, softened in the face of the excitement that seemed to animate the boy, as he declared:

"I don't see any harm in giving it a try... just to see, as you said..."

"For real? Am I really going to do this?" he asked, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Zain jumped off the stool and landed on his feet, he couldn't believe it. A thousand thoughts clashed in his mind, but for once, it wasn't his anxiety associated with fear, but genuine excitement.

"Im going to need new clothes!" he exclaimed, ecstatic.

"Hadrian has a black card, he's your man for shopping!" Fleur confided with a complicit wink. "I would have loved to accompany you, but my flight to Paris takes off in just three hours!"

She had indeed made the decision to follow through with the lead on the potential involvement of her father in her mother's murder.

The accusations made by Marsha on the matter when Fleur was held captive, combined with the revelations Tucker had made to Hadrian in the cabin- clearly incriminating her father-and which the immortal had shared with her during one of his rare human interactions in the past week, had prompted her to try and close definitely this chapter by getting to the bottom of it.

"Are you sure about this, Fleur?" Ouray asked her one last time, concerned about the potential dangers and implications that this reunion might have, especially if their suspicions proved to be true.

"Don't worry, I've got it under control. I need this, to finally move on. And I promise not to do anything reckless. I just want answers." reassured their friend, although secretly besieged by fears and doubts...

"Fleur, I have two words for you: Moulin Rouge! Please take a picture for me!" Zain asked her, excited at the thought of the young woman visiting one of his favorite film locations.

Hadrian couldn't help but smile at the boy's reactions, he seemed to have regained a spark of joy.

"I can take you to town if you want, you could check out what's at the mall" Hadrian suggested to Zain.

Zain gave him a skeptical look, flashes of his nightmare assaulting him abruptly. Hadrian chasing him through the corridor. Blood on the walls… The boy pushed away the images. The immortal disturbed him beyond words. His attraction towards him was as strong as the fear he inspired him.

"Let's go!" Zain exclaimed, trying to keep his composure in the face of the surge of conflicting emotions that overwhelmed him when it came to Hadrian.

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At the police station, the officers' faces were pale, marked by fatigue from the search at sea for the bodies of the sheriff and his gang, as well as the investigation surrounding their disappearance. In the cafeteria, Elliott sat across from his fellow officers Oliver and Nina, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Fleur was leaving for Paris to see her father. He feared the impact that this reunion with the man who had abandoned her could have on his beloved. He would have rather tried to dissuade her, especially after the violent accident she had endured the week prior at Hadrian's when an old chandelier collapsed on both of them. He would have at least wanted to be able to accompany her on her journey, but it was impossible for him to take time off from work in the current circumstances. Fleur assured him that it was an essential final step before they got married, and he could only support her in this crucial endeavor, although he couldn't help but worry about her well-being, as he always did.

Nina broke the silence, addressing the two men in a low voice:

"Are you aware of the FBI’s arrival this afternoon?"

"The FBI? But why?" questioned Oliver, surprised.

"Apparently, they want to dig deeper into what happened to Sheriff Tucker..." she replied, still whispering.

"What exactly would they want to investigate?" asked Elliott. "The storm capsized their boat; there was a tempest that night, and there were no life jackets or lifeboats on board. It must be just to keep up appearances..." commented Elliott, emerging somewhat from his thoughts.

"I think Tucker was involved in shady dealings, and they apparently want to explore those leads..." added the young woman softly, making sure that no one was listening.

"We've always known he was shady, with his strange behaviors, mysterious comings and goings, and hidden files..." confirmed Oliver, looking unsurprised.

"What hidden files?" inquired Elliott, curious about this revelation.

"Officers saw him studying red-labeled files on several occasions. Each time they caught him, he would divert their attention and change the subject..." Oliver recounted to him.

"Some officers even think they were cases he was trying to bury to hide his involvement, others believe they might just be porn magazines. But we'll never get the answer unless the FBI makes the information public after going through his office." Nina concluded, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Red files." Elliott indeed remembered catching the sheriff arranging files of that color in an old rusty crate. It was one evening when he had come to greet him before taking leave. Tucker had seemed particularly unpleasant during that exchange, but Elliott hadn't paid attention to the contents of those documents, merely observing the dilapidated state of the old, worn-out crate in which the sheriff stored them. He remembered thinking that the supplies budget definitely needed an increase before someone caught tetanus.

But what could the sheriff possibly be hiding? If the FBI came in the afternoon to retrieve the documents, he would surely never find out...

"I lent the sheriff my mother's engraved pen just before his disappearance, for him to fill out a discharge form. It's still in his office. Don't you think the FBI would take it with his belongings?" Elliott asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"If they come because they suspect something fishy, they'll take absolutely everything. You know their methods..." Nina replied.

"If I lose her pen, I'll hear about it until the end of my life or hers. I'm supposed to sign my marriage contract with it, a family tradition..." he added hastily.

"I advise you to go get it quickly then; everyone is having lunch, take advantage of it!" Oliver told him, seemingly invested in his colleague's dilemma.

Elliott looked at them, awaiting their final approval, doubting himself. His two colleagues signaled him to hurry. Elliott quickly stood up, discreetly leaving the cafeteria.

"Do you think those FBI agents will be hot at least?" Nina asked Oliver as Elliott slipped away. Oliver ignored her question and silently ate a fry, both of them oblivious to Elliott's true intentions.

Elliott discreetly entered the sheriff's office. The light was off. The officer pulled out his phone to activate the flashlight and headed towards the desk. Utter chaos reigned on the furniture. Elliott's heart raced as he heard footsteps outside the door in the corridor. He waited for a moment, wondering if satisfying his curiosity was worth the risk of being discovered here and the potential repercussions it could have on him. The external sounds ceased, somewhat calming his nerves. A rusted box, a mystery to unveil. Elliott cautiously advanced into the dimness of the office, guided by his phone's flashlight. He opened the first drawer, revealing a jumble of documents and yellow folders, the usual color for most filings at the police station. Nothing suspicious at first glance.

Closing the drawer, Elliott moved on to the next one. He pulled out a few loose sheets, and there, bingo! The papers concealed the infamous box. A shiver of apprehension ran through him. It was still time to turn back. What good would it do to uncover the sheriff's secrets, now deceased and taking his secrets with him? Elliott hesitated, looking at the object for a few moments before deciding to act. Placing the old box on the desk, he noticed a lock. Of course, an additional obstacle. Fortunately, traces of his rebellious adolescence persisted, even though he had long abandoned juvenile delinquency.

One summer, his mother had sealed the home bar to restrict access to alcohol, prompting Elliott to develop certain skills. The lock was tiny, child's play for him. He grabbed the green paperclip on the desk, unfolding it carefully, straightening it like a needle. Crouching in front of the box, the paperclip in one hand and his phone illuminating the object in the other, he delivered a few blows. In an instant, the inserted piece of metal causing the old lock to yield. Elliott's dexterity was as sharp as ever. Other footsteps outside the door caught his attention; he had to act quickly. Elliott straightened up and opened the box, illuminating its contents with the flashlight, finally revealing the infamous red folders. He pulled out several, each labeled with a different name. Opening the first one, labeled "Donna Silo," he found a picture of a woman with various documents attached. Elliott struggled to read their contents at first, and was surprised by the annotations when finally could.

"Unidentified creature," "Non-human," "Unidentified powers." What could all this mean? Did the sheriff believe in aliens? Elliott wondered naively, almost amused. He knew that Tucker seemed disturbed, but not completely insane. Elliott opened several red folders, quickly scanning through them, astonished to find the same annotations. However, it wasn't about aliens; the sheriff seemed to suspect these people of being demonic creatures. Unbelievable.

"Succubus," "Magician," "Suspected vampire" "Werewolf"... What would be next? The town had a vaguely supernatural reputation in the eyes of tourists, but he couldn't conceive that a man like the sheriff could genuinely believe that these people were creatures out of horror movies.

As Elliott, stunned by his discovery, prepared to leave the office, regretting having taken all these risks just to uncover that Tucker must have lost his mind, he stumbled upon a file with the name of someone he didn't expect to see at all. His blood ran cold as he read Fleur's name on the label. Fleur Willard. But what could this lunatic suspect about Fleur? The shadows in the corridor thickened as someone approached. Elliott, his mind racing, quickly grabbed Fleur's file, stealthily hiding it under his shirt, in his pants. As he was about to close the box, his eyes were drawn to the file underneath, bearing the name Hadrian Archer. What did all this mean? Elliott repeated the maneuver, concealing Hadrian's file with Fleur's in his pants before hastily closing the box, which he placed back in the drawer.

The palpitations of his heart intensified as the doorknob began to turn. The prospect of being discovered in this room was laden with oppressive tension.

Elliott zipped his jacket, ensuring that the files remained invisible through his clothes. He silently prayed that the FBI wouldn't barge into the room. The door swung open, revealing Nina.

"Did you find your pen yet?" she asked in a urgent voice. A sigh of relief escaped from Elliott.

"No... I looked everywhere..." he replied, trying to conceal the turmoil within him.

"I saw cars parking on the other side of the street; I think they're coming," she added, prompting Elliott to rush towards the door. The two of them hastily left the office, immersed in darkness, leaving behind a mystery that had only deepened.

 

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Zain and Hadrian had finally departed, and Fleur was already on her way to the airport. For Ouray, the long-awaited moment to embark on his quest had finally arrived. The shaman had diligently explored all available leads, earnestly seeking to unravel the mystery surrounding Zain's identity, the origin of his enigmatic powers, and the true meaning of Fleur's evidently prophetic nightmare. Despite his sustained efforts, the answers remained elusive, inexorably casting the shadow of impending threats upon them. Zain's powers seemed to have revived the white wolf slain by the sheriff, a power familiar to Ouray. It was this familiarity that had ignited the flame to pursue this avenue, which he dreaded more than anything in the world.

The manor, now deserted, became the silent stage for Ouray's secret endeavor.

What he was about to undertake would plunge him into the heart of the intricacies of his past, an era that had been the epicenter of all his torments, the playground of his personal curse. Although Hadrian remained unaware, it was that very past that had prompted him, centuries ago, to come to his aid and recognize in the reflections of his affliction, his own mistakes. Ouray had seen in the tumult of the latter the reflection of his own struggles, and in the assistance he could provide, a path to his own redemption in the face of guilt that had gnawed at him, since he had allowed the irreparable to occur.

His once confident fingers trembled slightly as he held the ancestral concoction, a fragile connection to the realm of the dead.

The cup in his hands, filled with the mystical mixture, bore witness to the internal struggle raging within him. Drops of sweat beaded on his forehead. Each step echoed like the regular beat of an anxious heart, underscoring the magnitude of this decision.

Ouray's thoughts went to Fleur, her courage resonating in the silence of the room. Memories of the risks she took to confront her own past swirled in the atmosphere, infusing him with courage.

Ouray brought the concoction to his lips, the magical liquid sliding down his throat with overwhelming intensity. The ancestral potion triggered an almost instantaneous reaction. The walls of the corridor began to metamorphose, dancing before his eyes like shifting shadows. An insidious warmth seized his being, causing uncontrollable shivers that besieged his body.

The walls of the manor dissipated around Ouray, plunging him into the village of his ancestors, a place saturated with happy memories and poignant sadness.

The first rays of the sun, timid yet piercing, penetrated the dense canopy of the forest, casting a soft light on the Powhatan village. The gentle murmur of the river accompanied his first steps, inviting him to rediscover the heart of this once-thriving community.

At the outskirts of the village, circular bark huts gracefully rose, skillfully woven with flexible branches and adorned with geometric patterns in vibrant colors. Each dwellings exhaling a tranquil smoke, a sign of the early morning activities.

In the central square, a sacred ritual unfolded before his awestruck eyes, reviving a myriad of lost memories. Tribe members, adorned in garments richly decorated with beads and shells, danced in harmony around a fire. Their graceful movements merging with the surrounding nature, while the beat of the drums created a hypnotic cadence, the vital pulse of this unique place.

Powhatan women, whose mere sight tightened his heart with nostalgia, were dressed in skirts made of plant fibers, skillfully crafting intricate baskets with a fascinating expertise. Their agile hands transforming simple branches into works of art. A tear welled in his eye, while a smile formed on his lips. Nothing compared to the feeling of coming home, as he had confided in Hadrian. His heart tightened in his chest, an undeniable weight of what he had lost.

Near the river, men prepared for the day's fishing. Armed with woven nets and wooden spears, heading towards the waters, ready to take advantage of the wealth surrounding them. Strolling through the village, Ouray avoided children running around without paying him any attention, joining other little ones immersed in games he still fondly remembered. Their laughter and shouts filled the air under the benevolent gaze of the elders, some proudly wearing feathered headdresses, living symbols of their deep connection with the spirit of animals.

On the other side of the village, shamans gathered around medicinal plants, preparing remedies to heal both the physical and spiritual ailments of the tribe. Their wisdom and knowledge reminded him of the hours of learning he had taken so much pleasure in acquiring.

As his visit extended, the sense of unity and harmony emanating from every corner overwhelmed him. Every element of the Powhatan village seemed to blend seamlessly with the surrounding nature, a unity he had destroyed with his own hands.

The echo of a familiar voice assaulted his ears; he so desperately wanted to follow it, but he had no right. This journey was not for him, he reminded himself. He moved towards the hut nestled deeper in the village, his eyes now fixed on his steps, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze, shame engulfing him.

He lifted the animal hide at the entrance of the dwelling to enter. Everything was the same. Ouray crossed the threshold of the hut, plunging into the dim light filtering through the interstices of the branches. The soft glow illuminated a space where Medicinal herbs hung from the ceiling, filling the air with a soothing fragrance. By the light of the sacred fire, an old shaman, draped in animal skins and bead necklaces, sat, reciting ancient prayers. His chants creating a spiritual symphony that vibrated throughout the hut. Each symbolic artefact around them seemed to be a portal, inviting spirits to respond. Ouray settled cross-legged in front of the old man, a tangible apprehension knotting his stomach at the thought of what was to come.

It was the first time he was in direct contact with his people, and he still didn't know how they would react to this intrusion. The old shaman interrupted his chants, the vibrations of his drum resonating in the peaceful air of the hut. He slowly opened his eyes, looking at Ouray with an intensity that surpassed mere human gaze. No emotion betrayed his face, as if years of wisdom had made him imperturbable.

"Calm the turmoil swirling within you, Ouray. This is not the place to lose yourself in the shadows of the past. Your destiny is tied to something greater. What brings you among us, what do you seek ?" He murmured in a hoarse voice, his ancestral wisdom evident in every word.

Ouray nodded slightly, captivated by the old shaman's words before responding :

"Zain. Since his arrival, he has altered magic itself. We need to understand if he is connected to Fleur's nightmare and what they portend for the looming threat..."

The old shaman nodded slowly, as if perceiving deeper secrets than those spoken aloud.

"The Decipherer Prince is the catalyst, the epicenter of conflicts foreign to our world. His role, his power, are not our enemies, but the enemy, he will seek to seize them to bury everything... It is YOUR role, Ouray, that must be determined. The sacrifice… You must remember it to reclaim your place." He declared, mysterious shadows dancing in the fire that illuminated the hut.

"The Decipherer Prince? What does that mean? What sacrifice?" He asked, anxious.

The old shaman gave him one last look, as Ouray awoke in the mansion's living room, his body drenched in sweat.

The old man's mysterious words swirled in Ouray's mind, like prophetic echoes. The transition from the oneiric world to the tangible reality of the mansion plunged the Native American's thoughts into an ethereal fog, preventing him from grasping what had just happened to him.

He rushed to grab a pen and a sheet of paper, placed on a small table, quickly writing the words :"Decipherer Prince" and "Sacrifice," fearing he might forget the revelations he had just received.

Ouray settled into the chair near the fire, overwhelmed by the immersion into his past. Unable to restrain his emotions, he bursted into sobs, his tears flowing with a devastating force. It was a raw and uncontrollable reaction, marking the profound impact that this journey had left on him.

He was like an open wound, paralyzed by pain, sadness and regret.

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In the back of the Jeep, the pile of bags from various stores, plundered by Zain, had reached its breaking point. The scene resembled a successful raid, a heterogeneous accumulation of treasures unearthed. The two men were driving back, their eyes filled with reminiscences, the experience had nonetheless succeeded in releasing some of the pressure weighing on their shoulders.

"You're really good at this," confessed Hadrian, impressed by the daring choices of the boy who had just arrived in their dimension.

"Splurging your money?" joked Zain, sporting a smirk, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint.

Hadrian returned his smile. It was the first time since his episode that he had found some semblance of normalcy, and he couldn't help but think that Zain had something to do with it. Their initial encounter had been marked by the magical wave emanating from the boy, clarifying Hadrian's confused thoughts. When Tucker had trapped him, it was Zain's blood that had given him the strength to escape, and when Hadrian had lost all control, it was Zain who had managed to stop him. An undeniable and mysterious connection bound them, manifesting yet again that morning…

"I'm glad to see that you seem to be doing better..." Zain uttered, treading carefully, unsure of how to broach the subject with him.

"I needed time to assimilate what happened, but i do appreciate you checking on me like you did..." Hadrian sighed, his gaze lost in the passing landscape.

"Hadrian, I know that loosing control must make you blame yourself, but we're also aware that without your intervention, those men would have killed us all," Zain tried to comfort Hadrian, expressing deep gratitude.

"That doesn't justify what I did... When I lose control, I can't see anything... I have to prevent it from happening again, at all costs. I don't want my own friends to be afraid of me." Hadrian's forehead wrinkled with a determined yet sorrowful expression.

"Your friends aren't afraid of you, Hadrian; they're afraid for you." Zain placed a reassuring hand on Hadrian's shoulder, his eyes revealing sincere empathy.

"I know I scare you. You don't need to hide it. If I were in your shoes, I'd be scared too." Hadrian lowered his gaze.

"What makes you say that?" Zain sought Hadrian's eyes.

"Your nightmare this morning, we shared it," the immortal confessed, uncertain.

Zain's gaze lifted, a mixture of surprise and concern showing on his face.

"What? You were in my dream?!" Zain exclaimed, mortified at the thought that Hadrian might have witnessed the semi-erotic, semi-horrific episode where he played the lead role. His cheeks flushed violently, a sign of his growing embarrassment.

Hadrian flashed a slight smile, sensing Zain's discomfort.

"I don't know how it happened, but I was there... And I think that's what allowed me to break out of my isolation this morning."

"Oh my god! Everyone has weird dreams that absolutely mean nothing ! The night before, I dreamed I was an elephant dancing in a sequin dress, and I don't even like sequins!" Zain justified, completely disoriented and embarrassed.

His cheeks reddened, he began to sweat, wanting desperately to extricate himself from the situation by any means. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

"What worries me the most is the part where you see me as a monster, not the other one..." Hadrian lowered his eyes, expressing a vulnerability he wasn't accustomed to showing. Zain, although still very embarrassed, couldn't help but understand the feeling of the latter.

"I don't see you as a monster... I just realize there's a part of you I understand nothing about, and that's what scares me, not understanding..." Zain tried to reassure Hadrian.

Hadrian turned to Zain, his eyes filled with a glimmer of sadness.

"Would you help me?" the immortal asked.

"Of course, how?"

"Your powers clearly have an effect on the curse. No known magic had the ability to alter its nature, at least not until you arrived... I believe you can help me tame my affliction."

Hadrian's words echoed in the air. Touched that he turned to him for such a task, Zain responded immediately :

"I will do everything I can."

Hadrian replied with a smile, adding :

"With you, I feel an ease i haven't felt in a long time... Just now, our conversation, it's not usual for me to open up like this..."

Zain, astonished to hear him speak these words, was deeply moved by the declaration.

"...It has to be your powers." Hadrian added to conclude his sentence.

Zain's heart tightened in his chest, taken aback by this assertion.

"Do you really believe that my powers are the reason you feel comfortable talking to me?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

"Zain, that's not what I meant..." Hadrian tried to recover, the truth being that he himself didn't know how to navigate through his unfamiliar feelings for the young man.

"it's quite clear, actually," Zain replied, a knot forming in his stomach.

"Zain, you've just arrived in this world, you're still in shock from everything that happened, from your amnesia... You're just starting a new life here... Believe me, the last thing you'd want to burden yourself with, is me," Hadrian explained awkwardly, as if trying to convince himself of this reality.

The two men looked at each other, a palpable tension hanging between them. Hadrian seemed determined to protect Zain from his own troubles, but in the eyes of the boy, an understanding tinged with melancholy appeared. Zain felt a sense of inexplicable frustration and disappointment ; he had genuinely felt that he and Hadrian were building sincere connections...

"You know, despite what you might think, the most disappointing part about what you said... is that I truly believed that, confusion aside, we were starting to become friends." Zain expressed, visibly vexed.

Hadrian wanted to backtrack on his words, be more articulate, but how could he, when he was so unsure of what he felt? His only certainty was that he had never intended to hurt Zain, and he had failed miserably.

The boy eagerly anticipated their imminent arrival. He wished he could open the door while the car was still moving and just get out, his leg starting to fidget in small anxious movements.

Finally, Hadrian stopped the Jeep in front of the mansion gate. Zain immediately exited the vehicle, eager to distance himself from Hadrian, heading toward the home without looking back.

"Zain, wait, you're forgetting your bags!" called the immortal, but the boy was already gone.

 

Zain entered the hall, the atmosphere seeming to absorb his clouded energy. Meanwhile, Ouray descended the stairs with a palpable haste, his footsteps echoing with an urgent rhythm. The weary glow on his saddened face was a subtle canvas, a canvas that eluded Zain's perception, consumed by the storm of his own inner turmoil.

"Ouray, I need your help!" exclaimed Zain, launching a desperate plea. However, the shaman, lost in thought, continued on his path, murmuring absentmindedly :

"Later, I have an urgent matter to attend to."

Zain desperately seeked a glimmer of friendly understanding in Ouray's eyes, but only found the shadows of concealed concerns.

Unheeding of the distress in Zain's voice, Ouray quickened his pace, determined to fulfill his personal quest.

"Please, it will only take a minute!" insisted Zain, his voice resonating in the hall like a cry for help.

Ouray, reaching the door, turned back, confronting the persistence of the young man.

"I need a spell to prevent Hadrian from entering my dreams! I would have asked Fleur, but she's didn't land yet" pleaded Zain.

Ouray looked at Zain, a mix of curiosity and a desire to end this conversation to get going showing on his face.

"Enter your dreams?" he asked, intrigued by the unusual request.

"I had a nightmare last night, and Hadrian told me that he was also in there, as if he witnessed it. I want to make sure it doesn't happen again." Zain shared anxious and embarrassed, hoping Ouray wouldn't delve further into the details of his dream.

"Zain, just like with the subconscious, one cannot connect and wander into others' dreams so easily. The only instance where two people can seemingly share a dream without the intervention of a spell would be if they both dream of the same thing at the same time... which is very rare, almost impossible."

Zain froze, absorbing this revelation that shook his convictions,

"I really must go; I'll see you later. You can explain everything better then."

Ouray said before exiting, leaving Zain alone, the shaman's words echoing in his troubled mind.

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The air at Creeks was saturated with a deceptive tranquility on that evening, where the apparent calm concealed the muted echoes of the recent tragedy. The death of the sheriff and his friends had cast a dark shadow over the community, a shock that compelled residents to retreat into their families, seeking refuge in the warmth of their homes. In the aftermath of the catastrophe, Redwaters had sunk into a resigned silence, the streets emptying of the usual bustle that characterized this small town.

A country melody, tinged with nostalgia, wafted through the air, emanating from the tired speakers of the bar. The notes intertwined with hushed murmurs of conversations. In the background, the television, casting a bluish glow on the patrons' faces, relentlessly repeated the details of the case, creating an almost palpable tension.

Lost in his thoughts, Elliott sat at the bar, his fingers mechanically circling the neck of his fourth beer. Shadows danced on his face, reflecting the mystery that had haunted him since the discovery of the files. He couldn't bring himself to go home, choosing instead to drown his turmoil in the hazy atmosphere of Creeks.

The files, stolen and now in his hands, revealed unsettling truths. The red pages accused Fleur, his fiancée, of witchcraft, just like her mother and grandmother before her. Initially, the idea seemed extravagant to Elliott, almost comical, but delving into Hadrian's file revealed the contours of a larger puzzle.

Photographs of Fleur's best friend, captured at various times, seemed extracted from a fantasy tale. Hadrian, frozen in time, hadn't aged a day. Images from the '70s and the '40s coexisted with documents bearing his name, stretching back centuries. Elliot, scrutinizing the pages, found himself faced with a confounding mystery, heightened by the sheriff's annotation on Hadrian's file: "Unknown."

Doubt had insinuated itself into Elliott's mind like a subtle poison, and his skepticism toward the supernatural seemed to be put to the test. These files, containing the secrets of the individuals the sheriff appeared to have been monitoring, seemed to be a gateway to the unknown. But what was even more challenging for Elliott to accept was the idea that Fleur might be concealing such an extraordinary reality from him. He believed they could tell each other everything, that their connection was indestructible, and the notion that his fiancée could lead a double life, concealing unsuspected powers, left him completely overwhelmed.

It would have been easier for him to accept a file accusing his own mother of witchcraft than to contemplate Fleur in such a predicament. Every shared moment with her played before his eyes—moments where she mysteriously vanished, convoluted excuses to explain her absence, or even strange accidents she fell victim to. The previous week, when Fleur and Hadrian had been knocked unconscious by a falling chandelier, it was precisely the day of the sheriff's disappearance. An insidious thought emerged in Elliott's mind: what if Fleur and Hadrian had something to do with the sheriff's death?

The shiver that had coursed through Elliott's body lingered, leaving a chilling imprint on his being. He felt engulfed in a whirlwind of suspicion, trapped in a web of uncertainty where the truth seemed elusive. The thought that Fleur, the love of his life, could be connected to such a dark tragedy was an almost unbearable burden. Internally, he fought to push away these thoughts, convincing himself that he was losing his sanity, that such ideas had no place in the reality of the woman he cherished so much.

Turning to the bartender, Joe, Elliott gestured wearily for another beer. He knew that alcohol wasn't an ally in moments of doubt, but the bitter warmth of the golden liquid seemed to be the only constant in a suddenly uncertain world. His phone, placed next to him, began to vibrate, displaying Fleur's name on the bright screen. An instant of apprehension seized him.

His heart tightened in his chest.The call that must mean that she had arrived safely, that she was okay. But Elliott couldn't bring himself to answer, not in this state of confusion and torment. The doubts, the questions, the growing shadows in his mind seemed to paralyze him.

The phone continued to vibrate, but Elliott stared at it, frozen. The light from the screen illuminated his face, revealing his hesitant expression. Fleur must be wondering why he wasn't answering, why her call remained unanswered. But Elliott felt trapped between the reality of what he was discovering and the love he held for that woman that he might not even truly know. The phone finally stopped vibrating, and silence fell like a veil.

The dark silhouette of Marsha took a seat on the empty stool next to Elliott, dressed in a black dress that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.

Crossing her legs on the seat, she seemed like a shadow emerging straight from a dark corner of the bar. The witch observed Elliott in silence for a few seconds, her piercing eyes scanning his soul, before breaking the silence with her raspy voice that rose, pulling the young man from his internal turmoil:

"I believe I am able to answer the questions you might have about Fleur, Elliott Samuels."

Elliott turned his incredulous gaze toward her as Marsha, a sinister smile hovering on the edge of her lips, seemed to relish in advance at the idea of further complicating Fleur's existence.

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Zain paced back and forth in his room, a feverish restlessness consuming him. Ouray's revelations had planted seeds of doubt in his mind, and he couldn't bring himself to leave things as they were with Hadrian. If the immortal had truly not only witnessed, but shared his dream...Zain needed to be certain. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing a reminder of the uncertainty looming over him.

Despite the disappointment caused by Hadrian's words in the car, Zain was far from resigning himself. He felt an urgent need to comprehend, to unravel the complex threads of this strange circumstance.

Just like in his nightmare, he was already heading towards Hadrian's room, a fierce determination illuminating his eyes.

Each step brought him closer to the immortal's chamber, but his confidence wavered with every advance. What if Ouray was mistaken? What if everything was just a misunderstanding, an mislead interpretation? And, most importantly, what would happen if Hadrian simply refused to face what he had to say to him?

Now standing in front of the door, Zain was overwhelmed by doubt. His hands, hesitant, rose to knock, but they trembled slightly, as if sensing that this encounter could change the course of things irreversibly.

The suspended moments before Zain's knock seemed endless. Before he could act, the door opened, revealing Hadrian about to leave his room. Their eyes met, and a fleeting moment of hesitation crossed Zain's face, while Hadrian, looking relieved, seemed to welcome his unexpected presence.

"Zain! I'm glad to see you; I was coming to apologize for earlier. Come in!" Hadrian opened the door wide, inviting Zain into the space. Zain's heartbeats quickened, mixing apprehension with a strange excitement.

Zain crossed the threshold, instinctively scanning every corner as if expecting to find traces of a massacre, much like in his nightmare. A fleeting sigh of relief escaped him upon realizing that everything seemed normal, except for the pulsations of his heart resonating in his chest like the rumbling of an internal storm.

The tense silence was broken by Hadrian:

"I'm truly sorry, Zain. I didn't mean to imply that..."

The boy cut him off sharply, not wanting to lose the necessary momentum to express what was on his heart.

"You weren't entirely wrong. It's clear that my powers play a role in this strange connection that seems to bind us. I talked to Ouray about my nightmare..."

Hadrian's anxious gaze clung to every word, expressing his fear of the implications of this conversation.

"He explained that it was impossible for someone to be a spectator of another person's dream without the intervention of a spell. So, unless you deliberately set out to spy on me, we actually had the same dream at the same time."

Hadrian stared, a profound confusion piercing his eyes. He seemed to suddenly realize a truth he was reluctant to admit, while Zain continued with growing intensity:

"I don't think my powers could have caused what happened in that dream. I believe it was a reflection of what we were feeling at that moment, whether it was our fears manifesting or...everything else..."

Emotions swirled in the air between them, charging the atmosphere. Zain locked his eyes with Hadrian's, capturing an unusual restlessness in the immortal's look. The irises of the immortal danced, avoiding eye contact, a foreign expression on his otherwise immutable face.

"Zain, even if it were true, it absolutely changes nothing about the reality of what I already told you." Hadrian declared.

"I'm not sure what it means either. Actually, It doesn't have to mean anything. I'm well aware of the obstacles surrounding us. Trust me, I've become quite familiar with obstacles since my arrival..." The boy admitted, visibly worn out.

Zain felt the uncertainty hanging in the air, laden with the vastness of the questions surrounding them. Hadrian then continued with a calm voice, filled with genuine concerns:

"You're only nineteen, Zain. We don't even know if you're here for good or if you'll have to return to the dimension you came from. There are so many things about you that we need to uncover, things even you are unaware of..."

Zain, determined, interrupted Hadrian, waving his hand:

"And we could spend hours listing all the reasons why what I'm about to do would be a bad idea. Yet, Hadrian, for once, it's me who's going to ask you to stop talking." His assured voice echoed in the room, breaking the accumulated tension.

He advanced towards Hadrian with confidence, his face drawing closer to his. Hadrian's eyes now sparkled with a new light, tinged with anticipation and surprise. Zain looked at him for a brief moment, a last breath of courage urging him to act. So, without hesitation, he sealed the moment by kissing him.

Hadrian remained motionless for a few precious seconds, caught off guard by the spontaneous gesture. However, the gentle touch of Zain's lips on his seemed like a revelation, an undeniable truth that made him return the kiss with surprising intensity, unleashing a fire unlike anything he had experienced before. As their lips intertwined, the atmosphere around them seemed to transform. The beats of their hearts resonated in harmony, creating a silent symphony that transcended time and space. Hadrian could feel the sweetness and warmth of this unique moment, as if the entire world had slowed down to let them savor each instant. Zain's fingers slid into Hadrian's hair, intensifying the contact. The sensation was electrifying, like a shiver running down Hadrian's spine. Worries, doubts, everything seemed to fade away in their passionate kiss.

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