Circe had fallen into an unnerving silence once Midhir finished speaking. He hadn’t hidden things from her – he couldn’t. Her voice compelled him to speak the truth, and the part of his mind that tried to resist simply couldn’t.

  Now he understood why Arwen called herself weak. The strength of her charm was nothing compared to the power resonating behind Circe’s words. He couldn’t even imagine just how powerful the Crimson Witch was.

  “I don’t understand.” Her words startled him. With narrowed eyes and a sharp gaze, she turned away from the burning sands and faced him. “The Old Gods care not for small trifles of mortals, nor do they care about the delusions of a maddened witch. You are nothing to them – so why did one choose you to show visions?”

  If only he knew… “Maybe the ritual I interrupted stirred it awake?” He suggested with a shrug, while trying to ignore the lump forming in his chest. If even the Crimson Witch didn’t know, then how would he ever turn things back to normal? Was that even a possibility?

  Circe pursed her lips. “Perhaps…” She muttered quietly, though from her tone it was clear she didn’t really give that much possibility. “How clearly do you see the spirits?” She waved away from the desert broadly. “Of humans,” she clarified.

  He glanced at them. “Almost as clearly as I see you.” He could see their faces, though their clothes remained blurry and ever-changing.

  Circe furrowed her brows. “Do you see anything else?”

  “A field of crimson flowers, some trees, floating lights…” He counted as he looked around, ignoring the blood flowing from his left eye. His gaze lingered on one of the half-bull, half-human beings. “Creatures,” he added with a lower voice. His gaze turned to another one – she almost seemed human, except her goat-like legs and the horns on her head. “What are they?”

  “I don’t know,” Circe snapped her fingers, drawing his gaze back to herself. “Alright, stop looking.” She ordered him. “My dear friend Celyn desperately wants you to be alright.” She scowled. “Even back then, fifteen years ago, she begged me to save you.”

  He wiped the blood off his face, hoping the bleeding would stop already. “I remember you vaguely. I remember her too. She was worried.”

  Circe chuckled. “Of course she was.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Celyn has a big heart. For an empress, of course. But still, she tries. She couldn’t leave an orphaned child to die a gruesome death. I suppose it would have been fine to let you live after I hid the otherworld from you. Alas, she didn’t heed my warning.” She walked past him, her gaze lingering on the tall mountains behind and on either side of them. “You should have lived a simple life, far away from An’Larion, and far away from any disturbance in the Veil.” Her voice grew sharper as she spoke. “Crowning you as prince and sending you to Solus of all places…” she clicked her tongue as she shook her head in a mix of disappointment and anger.

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  Midhir scowled. “She knew this could happen?” he asked in disbelief. She had never warned him – not of the consequences. He had only been told the same as everybody else; madness lies in the mist.

  “She knew this would happen.” Circe corrected him. “It wasn’t a question of whether it would or not – it was a question of when.” She scoffed. “And she hid this from me – so imagine my surprise when you appear beneath that damned hallow city and show me the imperial sigil ring!”

  Mother knew. She knew this could – no, this would happen, and yet she let him enrol at Solus Military Academy and go to these field missions. He turned away from the Witch and sat down. His head was spinning. He didn’t understand why she would do that.

  “Why did she let me into the thirteenth district?”

  He didn’t realise he asked that aloud until Circe replied. “That is an answer I would like to hear as well.”

  It made no sense. Unless…

  “Shall we see how I can try and save your sanity for a little while longer?” Circe’s words pulled his attention as she circled around him and crouched in front of him. “Or would you rather face reality as it truly is?”

  He shut his eyes. Arwen had a soft, gentle golden glow around her that he could see. Circe almost seemed aflame with golden and dark crimson fires dancing around her.

  “I doubt the latter is an option right now.”

  She chuckled. “I must agree. Now,” she let out a sigh. “Let me see your eye again.”

  With a grunt, he reluctantly opened his eyes. “You’re much more powerful than Arwen, aren’t you?” He glanced at the crimson and golden flames around her.

  She raised her eyebrows. “I am. Why?” She absentmindedly asked as she gently touched his left cheek, then pulled his lower eyelid down, prompting a thin stream of blood to flow down.

  “Because looking at you hurts.” He grimaced. “Who is she to you?”

  “One of my apprentices.” She then pulled his upper eyelid up, carefully inspecting his eye. “The Coven raises the young witches. She was tasked with seeing the world and experiencing life in Eldoria.” She let go of his face and let out a sigh. “Alas the times we live in did not allow her a peaceful time.” She stood up, gesturing him to do the same.

  “What happens now?” He couldn’t help but feel tense. She seemed displeased with what she saw.

  “You said the Old God struck your left eye, and it has been bleeding like this ever since.” She folded her arms. “I don’t know why you see both worlds at once. It’s wrong. I suspected the Old God replaced your eye with its own, but that’s not the case. You have no memories of before your mother – your birth mother – used you in that ritual. I suspect something was done to you then. The ritual you interrupted in Bareon that supposedly awakened the Old God probably only hastened what was always going to happen.” She gestured at him. “So,” she sighed, “I can mask the otherworld from you, but it won’t last. Your left eye doesn’t belong, I could pluck it out, but I doubt the Old God would be very pleased about that.”

  Midhir visibly flinched, causing her to chuckle. “Don’t worry, child. I would rather not anger Leviathan.”

  “How long will it last?”

  Circe’s smile faded. “A year, if you’re lucky.” She finally said. “That’s the most I can do while the presence of the Old God still lingers.”