Chapter 12: Meeting Her
Ivar groaned as he woke up, the cold, damp ground beneath him sending a shiver up his spine. The air around him was heavy, filled with an eerie stillness that made his skin crawl. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his hands pressing against the strange soil, his muscles aching as if he had been asleep for centuries. He blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim, twilight-like hue that blanketed the place.
The world around him was unfamiliar. Jagged rocks jutted out from the barren land, and a thin mist curled at his feet. Shadows moved unnaturally in the corners of his eyes, making him glance nervously over his shoulder.
"Just like I remembered," a voice said, soft yet laced with bitter amusement.
Ivar froze. The voice was melodic but carried an undertone of malice that sent a chill down his spine. Slowly, he turned around, his sharp features twisting into an annoyed scowl as his gaze fell on the woman standing a few paces away.
Her dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders, her piercing eyes locked on him with an intensity that made him feel as though she could see through to his very soul. Her expression was both wistful and cold, a complicated mixture of emotions swirling behind her calm exterior.
"Qetsiyah," Ivar muttered, rolling his eyes. "First, it was Tatia—Amara's doppelgänger—and now it's you, the jealous fiancée of Silas." His tone was sharp, his frustration evident as he ran a hand through his hair.
But then her words sank in. "Just like I remembered," she had said. His annoyance gave way to confusion as he noticed something strange about himself. His brow furrowed as he reached up to grab a lock of his hair, and his eyes widened when he realized it was no longer his raven black but a deep, rich brown.
"What the…?" he muttered, spinning around to look for a reflective surface. His eyes darted around the desolate landscape, searching desperately for a pool of water or anything that could show him his reflection.
"Ivar," Qetsiyah interrupted, her voice cutting through his frantic thoughts. She smirked, folding her arms over her chest. "Your eyes are green. Green, just like the first."
Ivar stopped his search and turned to her, his shoulders stiffening. He narrowed his now-green eyes at her. "What am I doing here?" he asked, his tone laced with irritation. "Here, in the Other Side?"
Qetsiyah arched a brow, her expression shifting into one of mild intrigue. "So, you know about this plane," she said, her voice carrying a note of approval. She took a slow step closer, her movements graceful yet deliberate. "Which means you know how it came to be."
"Yes," Ivar said curtly, his patience waning. "Now answer me—what am I doing here?"
Qetsiyah sighed, a hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she regarded him with a mix of curiosity and weariness. "I wanted to talk to you," she said, her voice softening slightly. "The doppelgänger who bears an identical resemblance to Silas, my love."
Ivar's expression darkened, his lips pulling into a frown. "All doppelgängers," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "bear the same resemblance to the original. So what makes me any different?"
Qetsiyah waved a hand dismissively, conjuring a simple chair from the shadows and gesturing for him to sit. Her movements were fluid, almost hypnotic, but her sharp gaze never left him. "Everything," she said, her voice sharp and biting. "Everything about you screams Silas. The way you stand, the way you speak—it's infuriating." Her lips pressed into a thin line as she studied him, her eyes narrowing. "It makes me wonder if he managed to escape. But no… I witnessed your birth. I've kept watch over the prison I created for him. You're his doppelgänger, nothing more."
Ivar let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, relief flashing across his face for a brief moment. His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his eyes remained wary. "Since you already know that," he said, leaning against the back of the chair, his tone laced with exasperation, "why am I still here?"
Qetsiyah's lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with something akin to triumph. She tilted her head, the motion deliberate as though savoring the moment. "Like I said, I wanted to talk. And haven't you wondered why your hair and eye color are different?" Her voice was calm, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it—a subtle reminder that she held answers Ivar hadn't asked for yet.
Ivar crossed his arms, his expression shifting from irritation to suspicion. "Hearing you say that now makes me think it has something to do with you," he said, his voice laced with dry amusement, though his green eyes glinted with sharpness.
Qetsiyah chuckled softly, the sound low and mocking. "Yes," she said, taking a graceful step closer, her presence demanding attention. "Just a little emissary to do the job."
Ivar sighed deeply, his brow furrowing. "Ayanna," he muttered under his breath, his tone flat but heavy with frustration.
"Indeed, her," Qetsiyah confirmed, her expression softening into something that might have been smug satisfaction. "Though the changes to your hair and eyes? That was a rookie mistake on her part. She was only meant to seal your magic. I don't want another Silas walking around." Her gaze turned cold, her jaw tightening slightly. "But I suppose that was just me being cautious. You have to admit, though, my meddling saved you from being taken by your aunt. You're welcome, by the way."
Ivar's jaw clenched, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a sarcastic retort. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her. "Here I thought it was because of my third wish," he said, his tone dry. "I assumed that if I died, I'd go back to that entity and maybe get returned after striking some kind of deal with him." His green eyes glinted as he leaned slightly toward her. "But no—it was your doing. You're more powerful than I gave you credit for."
Qetsiyah's hearing that was confused at what he was saying.
"Well," Ivar continued, cutting through her confusion, "you have my thanks. But I need to get back." He straightened, his posture exuding purpose and determination. "I have a sister to return to and a family crisis to avert."
Qetsiyah's expression soured slightly, her mouth opening as though to protest. "I still have something to say—"
"Keep quiet," Ivar interrupted sharply, his voice firm, though there was a restrained edge to his irritation. His eyes burned with warning as he took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them. "I'm already doing you a favor by not getting angry at your interference in my life. So, we have nothing to talk about. Just send me back." His gaze was piercing, his voice low and commanding. "Or I'll change things for you in the next second."
Qetsiyah's eyes widened slightly, her confidence wavering for the first time. She opened her mouth to argue, but the air around Ivar began to shift. A faint, pulsating aura emanated from him, disrupting the eerie calm of the Other Side. Her expression hardened, and she raised a hand, as though to reinforce her hold over him. But as her fingers curled, she felt it—a strange weakening of her magic. The threads of energy tethering him here were unraveling, slipping through her grasp like sand.
Ivar smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet triumph as his form began to shimmer, the world around him blurring and breaking apart. "Looks like I'm leaving," he said, his tone laced with finality. "Better luck next time, Qetsiyah."
Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing in frustration as she took a step forward, her hand reaching out as though to stop him. But it was too late. The ground beneath her feet trembled, and the air grew thick as Ivar's form dissolved into nothingness, leaving her standing alone in the desolate plane.
For a moment, Qetsiyah stood still, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her gaze burned with a mixture of anger and grudging respect. "Infuriating," she muttered to herself, the word heavy with annoyance. "Just like the first."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone