Capítulo 11: A New Burden

Alastor regained consciousness after a few hours, his eyes blinking away sleepiness as he noticed the yellow hue of the moon bathing his surroundings.

It transformed the scenery into a blurry dream, where fireflies glided gently over the water.

He was still leaning against his own blackened branches, caught by his own thorn.

Now that he had rested for a while, Alastor felt the weariness of his last journey all over his body. The cuts and bruises still ached, and his empty stomach grumbled.

Yet none of it was as painful as the wound left in his heart.

Exhausted, Alastor retracted the branches back into his body, leaving only the holes where they had sprouted.

A flaring pain burned in his chest as the words Anabelle had spoken repeated in his mind over and over again. He walked back to his small apartment unit, each step heavy with weariness.

How long has it been? Alastor thought, ignoring the curious glances from others.

All that time he had been speaking to Jameson, did Jameson realize what he was doing?

Did Jameson look into his eyes while they spoke and think him a pitiful fool?

Alastor cringed, then entered the Opt private grounds.

The familiar garden lights illuminated the way, casting a soft glow over the neatly lined rows of apartment buildings.

The large HQ stood at the end of the path, its old brick walls well-kept and strangely inviting.

He ignored the other Opts, who stood in small groups of three, speaking to one another. Their faces were covered by wooden masks, but he could feel their gazes following him.

"Where have you been? Did you get left behind?" Fifty-six asked.

"I sure did. Passed out a bit on the way," Alastor answered without stopping.

"That's too bad, buddy," Twenty-six replied behind his back.

Alastor continued on.

No one could see how torn he looked behind his own wooden mask, which sported the permanent expression of a bored white ghost. At least, that was what the masks always looked like to him.

He pushed the handle of the double glass doors silently, eyeing the dimly lit infirmary where soldiers lay wounded in the shadows.

Near the entrance, separated by tall wooden shelves storing medicine, sat Miss Julia Everest. Her thick black bun was neatly secured by a single decorative hairpiece.

The usual white uniform of the healer was replaced by a soft baby-blue evening gown. Her hands held a book open in the middle, her eyes scanning its pages. Silent, Alastor approached her.

"Ah, Twenty-three," Julia said, recognizing him immediately. "I was wondering where you were. When your teammates walked in without you, I thought you'd finally died," she added with a smirk.

"Most likely explanation," Alastor admitted, sighing. "But no. I need to know— is Mr Bernard still in his office?" He glanced at the phone sitting on her desk.

"Actually, he is, but he told me he doesn't want to be disturbed."

"That's really too bad," Alastor replied, leaving the infirmary and heading straight to Bernard's office on the roof, atop the library.

A massive greenhouse, built for research purposes, occupied the space, and it was there that the herbalist and head doctor conducted his studies.

The Opt HQ library was the second-largest library after Silvanveil, which boasted the largest collection of historical texts and gathered artifacts.

The polished oak floors stretched across the entirety of the library, and labyrinth-like bookshelves housed hundreds of thousands of self-defense books.

None for entertainment, which Alastor thought was a pity.

He made his way up the twisting staircase to the top, where he was greeted by what looked like a jungle of exotic plants hidden in shadow.

A single hanging yellow lamp illuminated the scene, casting a warm glow over a research area cradled by semi-circular shelves.

From where he stood, Alastor noticed the figure of Dr Bernard Bato in his casual evening attire. Bernard was studying a leaf, turning it under the light to examine its pattern.

Whatever he saw must not have been what he was looking for, as he put the leaf down with a frown.

Alastor removed his mask and knocked on one of the shelves, startling Bernard.

The doctor glanced over his shoulder, one hand on his chest. "Goodness! I told that woman I don't want visitors!" Bernard exclaimed, though he still motioned for Alastor to come in.

"Twenty-three, what brings you all the way here?" Bernard asked while writing a few lines in his book. A beautifully shaded sketch of the leaf in green, red, and brown adorned the page.

Alastor hesitated, his mind racing with a million thoughts. Finally, he decided to speak about what bothered him the most.

"I've been haunted by an image of a woman," Alastor said.

"What does your sexual frustration have to do with me?" Bernard asked, crushing the leaf he had studied earlier and placing its remnants neatly into three separate flasks.

Alastor sighed, clearly annoyed. "It's nothing sexual. This girl comes to mind whenever this thing comes to life—whatever it is."

He pulled up his sleeve just as Bernard turned to look. The doctor's expression shifted to one of curiosity and excitement.

"My! I've never seen one quite like it," Bernard said, examining Alastor's arm as though it were a rare plant specimen.

Alastor stepped back as Bernard rummaged through a small wooden chest. When the older man beckoned him to follow, Alastor hesitated but complied.

"Can you at least let me know whether I'm cursed or not?"

"No. Well, depending on the woman," Bernard said, glancing over his shoulder with a cheeky wink.

Alastor frowned, uneasy. He assumed Bernard referred to the woman in his vision, but how she might be a curse, he dared not guess. In his experience, women and his line of work didn't mix well.

"Is there anything specific that I need to do, Doctor?" Alastor asked, trailing behind.

Bernard took out a key and unlocked the door to the forbidden section of the library, motioning for Alastor to enter despite the fact that Opts were not allowed there.

Once inside, Bernard switched on the lights, illuminating the hidden space. He seemed focused on something, clearly ignoring Alastor's question.

"Here it is—the Book of Bindings," Bernard said, taking a seat at a small table with four chairs.

Alastor sat beside him, watching silently as Bernard flipped through the pages.

Finally, they reached one dominated by illustrations of branches, vines, and thorns. At the center was a large black rose, drawn with black liquid bleeding from its petals.

"This is it," Bernard said.

"It's quite an accomplishment for a mage to create something like this. What's on your arm is an arcane binding spell—a very old, very powerful one. Historically, it was used to connect two kingdoms in marriage. To ensure the child was protected within the court of that kingdom, princesses were placed under this spell to prevent them from straying from their chosen prince. By default, it secured her place as queen."

Alastor frowned. "But why would anyone put something like this on me? It makes no sense. Is there someone I have that anyone would want? I don't think so."

"That's a good question," Bernard replied. "It's as much about securing someone for you as it is about securing you for them. Maybe the girl you see in your visions is in danger as we speak. Binding an Opt officer might increase her chances of survival."

Of course, it was all speculation, but it sounded plausible.

The image of the woman came to Alastor's mind again, as vivid as if she stood right in front of him. He sighed.

There were too many pressing matters here, too many boundaries he could not cross. Whoever and wherever she was, she would have to survive on her own.

"What is the nature of the binding spell? What makes it so powerful?" Alastor asked.

"I'm glad you asked," Bernard replied, sounding pleased. "The spell is called Vinculum Pactum. It's powerful because it connects the two individuals in ways that most, if not all, binding spells don't. Let's say you're in battle, and you're losing energy. There's only so much you can do before your body gives up. In that moment of desperation, your body can—and will—instinctively draw energy or power from the other party."

Alastor's eyes widened.

A flood of memories from a few days ago surged through his mind. It had been a sudden ambush by Sentients.

Their numbers were overwhelming, and Alastor's team had been exhausted. The battle had been a life-or-death struggle.

He remembered the moment vividly: his double blades slipping from his hands, his core drained of all magic, his body ready to give up.

Everything in that moment had convinced him it was the end.

But all of a sudden, he had managed to revive himself, gathering power from a source he was unfamiliar with.

At the time, he had thought it was just the desperation to stay alive—or perhaps catching his second wind.

Now he knew the truth.

"Does she know I took her energy?" Alastor asked.

"Oh yes, she does. The unfortunate downside to this spell is that when one party takes energy from the other, the one whose energy is taken will most likely lose consciousness," Bernard explained, his eyes scanning the text in silence.

Alastor waited, the weight of the consequences pressing down on him.

If she drew energy from him in the midst of battle, it could leave him suddenly immobile—helpless.

He could die.

His teammates would be in danger.

The mission could fail.

Alastor leaned back, the full weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders.