Her blood-red hair reflected the light of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling as the Crimson Witch barged into his room. Her red lips curled up as her crimson gaze locked on him. “Now I see it,” her voice rang like a bell. “He didn’t have nearly as much hair back then. And he was all red in the face.”

  The Empress was pale as a sheet of paper as her gaze leapt from Circe to Midhir. “I’m-“

  “Circe,” he coldly spoke. He could see Arwen with the corner of his eye – the glimmer of hope in her eyes, mixed with fear. He had guessed it correctly. They knew each other. “I take it you’re the person who helped my mother heal me after the Disaster?” Being in the same room, her eyes were identical to those of the veiled woman in his memories.

  Both Arwen and the Empress looked at him like he’d insulted the King of Calador. “How do you know her?!” Arwen exclaimed, while his mother’s sharp gaze snapped to the Crimson Witch.

  Circe waved her hand towards the both of them dismissively. “I didn’t heal you,” she clicked her tongue as she stepped closer. “You’re not damaged – there is nothing to heal.” Her lips curled down with a mix of disgust and displeasure. “I simply hid this…” she paused, seeking the correct word. A moment passed in silence before she spoke again. “This curse that’s been put upon you.” She glanced at his mother.

  “Don’t.” The Empress sharply warned her.

  “I told you back then. I’m telling you again. This child is wrong. You should have ended his misery fifteen years ago.”

  Midhir gritted his teeth. “Can do you what you did back then?” He hissed with a tight jaw.

  Circe let out a sigh before turning her gaze back to him. “Why?” She asked, raising a single eyebrow. “For what purpose? I may not be able to see it, but I can sense it. Your eye,” she pointed at his left eye. “It’s wrong.” She folded her arms. “No amount of hiding the otherworld will make that right.”

  “You will help him.” His mother’s sharp voice rang. Her fiery gaze fixed on Circe, and her crown’s jewels began to glow faintly. “You will heal him.”

  Circe glanced at her in disbelief. “Really now? Will I?” She mocked the empress. She was as relaxed as always, not even reaching for an augment in self-defence. “On whose authority?”

  “Stop!” Arwen’s scream startled all three of them. Both women had ignored her from the very start, they had likely even forgotten about her as soon as their notice shifted elsewhere. Now, all three gazes turned on her. “Your Majesty, please don’t attack. And Elder,” her gaze turned to Circe. “That was a cruel thing to say to a mother. Don’t toy with them.” Her sharp voice cut through the silence like a knife.

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  “I wasn’t toying with anyone, girl.” Circe finally spoke. “This is the result of an accursed bloodline – an experiment gone awry, by a witch who dabbled in powers beyond her understanding, and tried to grasp at authority she couldn’t even comprehend.” She pointed at Midhir. “He is whole, but his whole is wrong. No one can see the beyond, glimpse at the Great Ones, and retain their sanity.”

  Arwen’s pale face suddenly twisted with a smile. “Are you sure?” She asked, raising her chin with pride as she stepped between Circe and Midhir. “Elder, he is communion with one of the Old Gods. He has seen it and was even granted visions. Does he look like madness has taken him yet? Does he not look sane to you?” She paused for a moment as Circe’s eyebrow twitched. “Is there truly nothing of value in him?”

  The witch tried to not show her surprise. Her lips parted for a split second, and her eyes narrowed. Her gaze leapt from Arwen to Midhir as she pressed her lips together. her hands remained hidden under her crimson cloak.

  The few seconds she stood still felt like hours. It took every bit of his willpower not to blurt out the first thing that came to mind. He bit his own tongue and met her gaze with defiance. If she didn’t help him, he would find someone who could. Before madness took him.

  “That is for me to decide.” Circe’s voice rang. She pushed Arwen aside and placed her hand against his chest. “Elsewhere.”

  The world slipped from underneath his feet as he felt – no, he saw her power weave a pattern around them. It was beautiful and complex, but completely different than how he was used to using his spiritual power.

  His room vanished, and for a moment he was falling. Then, his feet landed on dead grass and ashes. Mountains that reached for the heavens rose on either side of him, and a desert with golden sands stretched before him as far as the eye could see. The air above the sands was so hot, it distorted his vision.

  The sands were there on the other side as well. The mountains, however, weren’t covered in ashes – they bloomed with fields of crimson flowers and the occasional willow-like tree. Hundreds, if not thousands of spirits dotted the field of flowers. Some looked human – the souls of the dead. Others, however struck fear into his heart.

  They were mere shadows, his gaze just slid over them like they weren’t even there. Like his mind tried to ignore them. He felt something warm flow down the left side of his face. But still, he caught glimpses – glimpses of them. Some looked like a human’s upper body had been attached to the body of a horse or a bison, while others towered above the dead’s spirits, with arms and legs as thick as tree trunks.

  They were everywhere.

  “Tell me what you saw.” Circe’s voice rang in his mind as it forced him to pry his eyes off of the spirits. She stood in front of him, with a raven perched on her shoulder, and a wooden walking stick in her hand. Her eyes almost glowed as she met his frightened gaze. “Tell me about the Old God you saw.”