The entire process of letting Naymond go had been very simple. Alfa had a key, with it she opened the [Sage]'s cell. Naymond had given a great big stretch as if being unshackled from a bed after years in confinement.

As great and big a stretch as it was, it felt subdued.

Melmarc had expected Naymond to do more. Maybe a great big yawn as well. Maybe even do a little jig just because.

Naymond did none of these. He gave his stretch and that was all of it. His eyes, however, held no mirth. His barely concealed joviality was gone. Naymond Hitchcock looked as serious as the average man.

When he stepped out of the cell, he moved—to almost everyone's surprise—to stand beside Melmarc. Melmarc raised a brow at that but said nothing.

His mother, on the other hand, folded her arms over her chest. She had looked angry and terrifying only a moment ago. While she had seemingly calmed down, she still looked as if she wanted to hit someone.

"David Swan," she said, summarizing her question of where the man was with the repetition of his name.

Dantani looked from Naymond to Melmarc's mother with a face filled with confusion.

"David Swan," he began, eyes moving from one person to the other, "is a suspect in a string of crimes that is currently under investigation. He is the business of the…"

He trailed off in deeper confusion when Naymond pinched him on the arm.

Looking at Naymond, his confusion slipped into annoyance. Melmarc knew the feeling. It was a difficult thing when you were supposed to keep quiet and play the role of a meek guest when you had no idea what was going on in your own house.

The precinct was arguably Detective Dantani's house in this situation.

"Detective Dantani is currently investigating a string of murders," Alfa said quickly, addressing Melmarc's mother. "It is believed that he may be related to it somehow since the victims are a part of a group of people he has been known to hang with."

Melmarc's mother didn't as much as acknowledge her response with a sound or a glance. Instead, she walked quietly over to Naymond who was still standing beside Melmarc.

"My son can save you," she said simply. "But he will not."

Naymond gulped visibly. "I did not intend to take advantage of him. I simply chose to stand here because I now answer to him."

His voice was shaking.

Melmarc's mother nodded calmly. "David Swan."

"I know him."

"I'm aware of that, [Sage]. Do you know where he is?"

Naymond shook his head.

"Words," Melmarc's mother commanded. "Use your words."

"No, ma'am," Naymond answered quickly. "I don't know where he is."

Turning her head, she looked at Melmarc. The look in her eyes told Melmarc everything he needed to know.

He nodded once, confirming that Naymond wasn't lying. At least there was no dissonance in his answer.

His mother returned his nod with a loving smile that met her eyes before returning hardened eyes to Naymond.

"Do you know where he could possibly be?" she asked, her visage returning to one of a no-nonsense commander, the likes of which Melmarc only saw in books or movies.

Naymond nodded. "He has four safe houses he likes to use in the event that he needs to lay low… very low."

Melmarc's mother nodded once. "You will take me to all of them. You will do it today."

Naymond hesitated. "Yes, ma'am."

"After that, we will talk about your new designation and your contract with my son."

"You signed a contract with a kid?" Dantani blurted, unable to retain his silence.

Naymond shook his head at the man. "Not now, Dan."

Dantani opened his mouth, clearly attempting to say more, but stopped. Something in Naymond's eyes stopped him.

Looking at the both of them, Melmarc saw what Dantani was seeing in the [Sage]'s eyes. Caution.

It was an interesting thing to see. With all the trembling voices and the complete obedience, Naymond was being cautious around his mother.

Cautious not afraid.

Most people often mistook the difference. When you are cautious, you are aware of the things that could get you in trouble and you do your best not to fall into any of them. You made sure that you did the right things at the right time. When you are afraid, you have no idea what will keep you safe so you do anything you believe might keep you safe.

Melmarc's mind returned very briefly and quickly to his time in the portal.

Naymond had been afraid, down right terrified of his father. With his mother, Naymond was cautious.

It was an interesting thing to notice.

Melmarc's mother looked at Melmarc and Melmarc nodded. There was no dissonance in Naymond's claim of knowing where David Swan could be.

"That's good." Melmarc's mother nodded once. "You will take me to him."

"Us," Dantani interjected. "I have questions for him."

Naymond frowned uncomfortably. "Detective Dantani, I don't think this is the—"

"The detective can come," Melmarc's mother said, cutting Naymond off. "David Swan is an important part of his investigation. He will ask the questions he wishes to ask, get his answers, then be on his way."

With that, she turned and headed back for the exit, stopping only when she was at the door.

"Mr. Hitchcock," she said, turning to look back at them. "Please put on something more presentable. Looking so unkempt does not suit you."

Naymond bowed his head fast enough that it looked like a nod. "Yes, ma'am."

Once he had given his answer, Melmarc's mother opened the door and walked out.

To Melmarc's surprise, Alfa and Naymond let out individual sighs as if they had been holding their breaths for too long.

He looked from one to the other, slightly confused.

"Your mom is intense," Alfa said matter-of-factly. "How do you cope with her?"

Melmarc shrugged. "She's always lovely."

"I can only imagine," Naymond muttered. "At least be happy you're dealing with his mom. His dad is a different kind of intense."

Melmarc watched a whisper of fear cross Naymond's eyes at the mention of his father.

There was a very brief moment of silence before Alfa stepped up to Melmarc. So close to him, she had to tilt her head back to see his face.

She gave him a small smile.

"I'm happy you came out alive," she said. "I'm really sorry you had to go through that. You had no reason to, and it was a lack of competence on my part."

Melmarc paused, unsure of how to react to it. There had been a part of him that had said it was Alfa's fault that he'd found himself in a portal, but most of him knew the truth.

Seeing the sincere look in her eyes and the absence of dissonance in her words, he shrugged. It was all he could do.

"It's really all Naymond's fault, if we're pointing fingers," he said. "He had one job."

Naymond choked beside him. "Please tell me that's not what you told your mother."

"I told my mother what I told my mother," Melmarc said simply. "Whatever happens next, happens."

A small smile touched Alfa's lips. "You got taller."

Melmarc looked down at her. She looked shorter.

"Your hair's also longer," she said. "You should cut it."

Melmarc touched an absent hand to his hair, specifically the lock that should be white. He had dyed it before coming here so it was as black as the rest of his hair.

"I'm not sure what I want to do with it yet," he said in response. "But you're right. I should cut it."

He took his hand from his hair and let it fall to his side.

Detective Dantani was the only one who hadn't let out a sigh in relief. He was also the only one who currently wasn't in a reminiscing mood.

"What the hell just happened?" he asked, annoyed and confused.

"Melmarc's a good kid that did his internship with us and ended up inside a portal," Alfa said simply. "He's a good kid and his mom is a really heavy hitter even in the police department so afford her all the respect you can muster."

"Treat her like the president," Naymond added with a wry grin. "I'm sure you can handle that. Now, to the bathroom."

The exit door opened once more and Melmarc's mother stuck her head inside.

"Mel dear, is everything alright?" she asked.

Naymond froze in his steps. For some reason, it was hilarious to see.

"Fine, mom," Melmarc called back. "Just saying my hellos."

"Alright, love."

The door closed back and Naymond let out a breath.

"She scares me," Naymond muttered. "Most of them do."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Melmarc could only guess that by 'most of them' Naymond was talking about the Oaths as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Pulling it out he saw that it was a notification. On the face of his phone was a single name: Pelumi.

The message was hidden but revealed itself the moment his face lock activated. The message was simple.

Hiiiii, it read. Have you had breakfast yet?

…

Dorthna sat cross legged. He knew a lot of monks who used to do the same. [Mage]s too. He was in the room the Lockwood family had set aside for him, a room he barely if not never used.

In front of him, rested on the same bed that he was currently sitting on, was a strand of pure white hair. It stared at him and it stared right back.

After countless years, here he was, in the presence of the most potent source of power. He'd had it for a few days now, but all he had been able to do was stare at it and wonder. He was anxious.

He had already seen its power and his ability to harness its power in what he had used it to do for Madness. But it was one thing to help someone out and another to help yourself out. There had been no anxiety when he had been helping Madness, no fear.

What had been the worst thing that could've happened? Death?

Madness would've died and that would've been the end of it. It was really that simple. For him, however, if what he was about to do didn't work, his hope was what would die.

And for anyone who had lived long enough, they would know that it was a better thing to die knowing you had lived than to live without hope.

Especially when it was just handed back to me.

A frown played on his lips.

But the boy had gotten the title, he thought. It meant that there was actually hope here.

But that, too, was the problem with hope. Hope and false hope were the same thing until something came out of it.

It was the beauty and ugliness of hope.

What would he do if he lost hope once more. The only other person who could give him hope on such a matter was Jabari. But he knew Jabari well enough.

Jabari wasn't one to give hope. And if Jabari ever gave hope, it was hope that one had to be worried about because the man's motives were his to understand and his alone.

Dorthna touched one end of the strand with his index finger, moving it ever so slightly. He felt the power present in the strand of hair from the single action. A strand of pure mana. It was all that it was. It wasn't tapping the pure mana from a source neither was it something that had been imbued with pure mana.

It was pure mana made manifest.

He hadn't seen a source of pure mana in years. He knew where he could find pure mana if he truly wanted to get some, but most of them were in places that fell within the domain of people who would be more than happy to find him weakened.

If they found him weakened, they would like to find him dead.

For all they could try, Dorthna knew for a fact that they would not be able to kill him. It was just one of those things that came with being him. Pain was lost, death kept malice with him and refused to embrace him.

His hand moved gently to his side. Some days ago an enraged boy had punched him there and he had felt it. At least a whisper of it. The sensation was gone now, though. But Dorthna still remembered it.

The other day he had asked Ark to punch him in the gut as hard as the boy could muster. Being who he was, Ark had been more than happy to give it his best shot. Sadly, Dorthna had felt nothing.

So he knew that those who had clawed their way to the peak of existence would also not be able to kill him or inflict pain on him. After all, if the annoying race of angels had been unable to accomplish the feat, there was none who would be able to come close. No species existed more resourceful than angels, after all.

Not even their demon counterparts.

Dorthna smiled down at the strand of hair. The room was suddenly tense with emotions. In truth, it was only one emotion. Anxiety.

I guess you really are human, after all, Dorthna thought, scoffing at himself.

Countless years doing things those in Existence could only dream of, and here he was, worried about a strand of hair.

Let's just get it over with.

He picked up the strand of hair and held it up in front of him. It was a simple white. It did not glow yet it felt so bright.

It was a done deal now. He would negotiate with the Lockwoods—with Melmarc while his parents were present. But he knew what he wanted, knew what he was going to settle for.

If this worked, then a strand of hair a month would be all the payment he needed. For an extra strand a month, there was much he would be willing to do. So much more that it would shock the boy and his parents if they ever found out.

The question is if his production of pure mana strands is infinite or limited to the number he currently has.

This strand, after all, was already weakened to a certain extent. It was the price of saving the Oath of Madness.

Dorthna shook himself free from his thoughts. He was stalling and he knew it.

Before he did what he wanted to do there was a knock on his door.

"Leave," he said simply, knowing that most people would.

The door opened instead, and Madness walked into the room. He closed the door behind him and turned the lock.

He looked at Dorthna.

Dorthna took a moment to study him before coming to a conclusion. The madness was still in his eyes. It was there in the calmness, in the seemingly absence of emotions.

"I see you are up," Dorthna commented. "How long have you been up?"

Madness looked to the side, taking in the room.

The room was a simple thing.

Dorthna sat on the king-size bed that had been pushed against the wall. There was a simple red ottoman on the opposite end of the room, courtesy of Aurora Lockwood, that he never used. The walls were beige—a choice of coloring that Dorthna still did not understand the reason for.

The floor was covered in a red carpet that Dorthna didn't like but never said anything about. There was a vanity mirror for those who were vain enough to enjoy the sight of themselves on any occasion they had the chance to.

Madness's expression twitched as he saw himself in the mirror.

"Your wife was diligent in making sure you were always clean," Dorthna said simply. "She loves you, that one. Not that you don't already know. I don't think it's possible for anyone to be mad enough to not notice it."

He stared off into space for a moment. "Love," he muttered. "A strange thing, no matter how old you get."

He had been loved once. More than once actually. It had been a beautiful thing to be loved. He had been sorry for the woman because he had not loved her back. He knew the beauty of being loved, but not the beauty of loving.

Dorthna had cared and been cared for. But while he had been loved, he had never loved.

He could not boast an understanding of the beauty of loving someone.

Shaking his head, he cast the thought aside.

"She went off to Brooklyn with Mel," he said. "They shouldn't be gone too long. Just a handful of days."

Madness nodded once as his eyes moved from the vanity mirror to the ottoman. He wanted to sit down. Dorthna knew this as clearly as he knew that he was sitting on a bed.

"Please," he said politely. "Sit down."

As if he had been waiting for the invitation all along, Madness plopped down on the floor where he stood and put his back against the door.

Dorthna shrugged before placing the strand of pure mana back on the bed.

"Use your words, Madness," he said simply. "I'm the only one here and you know it."

Silence settled between them for a while. It was only for a handful of seconds, maybe not even up to five seconds. With Madness, it felt like minutes.

"What," Madness said in the end, "happened?"

"You took on the requirements for another Oath and almost became two Oaths." With Madness, there was no point in using so many words to explain anything. "Simple as that."

Madness' eyes twitched. "Sanity."

"No," Dorthna corrected. "Pain. Or do you mean you have some form of sanity?"

Madness' eyes moved to the only wardrobe in the room. The room did not have a walk in closet. Madness returned his eyes to the bed. He peered at the strand of pure mana.

Dorthna looked down at it then back at him. "Hope," he explained. "From the third child the woman that chose you birthed."

Madness nodded as if he understood. Dorthna was certain that he understood. The Oaths of Madness communicated very poorly but understood very deeply.

"Ark?"

"Out with some girl," Dorthna answered simply. "No idea who she is, but I know that she's safe and he's safe. Next."

Madness folded his arms over his chest and took in a deep breath. When he let it out, Dorthna knew that he was about to use a lot of words.

"We met the priest," Madness said, voice deep but devoid of emotion.

Dorthna smiled. Aurora had told him about her experience on the matter. She had not been surprised because he had told the both of them about the existence of the Oath of Life on their world. The Oath had done his best to keep himself a secret but very few secrets could be kept from Dorthna.

Leaning forward, he asked, "What was he like?"

Madness shook his head like a sane man would. "Dissonant."

"Very dissonant, right?"

Madness nodded.

"Self-dissonant," he confirmed. "He is and isn't."

Dorthna nodded. "That is because he is and isn't."

"It feels very wrong," Madness muttered. "He felt very wrong. Nothing like the priest you spoke of."

Dorthna wanted to laugh at that. He had only ever spoken of Melchizedek once. And when he had spoken of the priest, it had been in passing, alluding to the man's absence of a genealogy. As for the Oath of Life, he had spoken of him as the Oath of Life.

"You're catholic," Dorthna said. "Tell me, what do you know of the Priest of Old?"

"He is a king and a priest," Madness answered. "The first sighting was next to a corpse. He lives forever, undying."

Dorthna snorted. "Only because I haven't found a way to kill him." He paused. "My apologies, continue."

"The type of catholic priests many humans know are, in a manner…" Madness paused, frowned.

"Modeled after him," Dorthna completed for him. "Also true."

"I did not think that I would meet Melchizedek," Madness said. "Or someone from the bible."

If only the man knew how many versions of the bible were in circulation in the wider cosmos. Dorthna respected the bible for being similar in all versions even if they were not the same. Then again, he could not blame the book. Even here, on one world, there were different versions of the bible.

"Would you like to know why the most powerful priest on your planet felt very dissonant, Madness?" he asked. "Would you like to know why you could not understand him?"

Madness said nothing, but Dorthna could see the curiosity behind the madness in his eyes. He could taste it if he tried.

In the end, Madness nodded.

"Then I will tell you." Dorthna sat up straight and folded his arms over his chest. "The reason is because while he is Melchizedek, he also isn't."

"Dissonant."

Dorthna couldn't help but chuckle at the response. "Alright, I'll make it easier. The priest you met, the Oath of Life. He is Melchizedek. But he is not the Priest of Old. He is not the priest forever."

As if affronted by some form of blasphemy against his religion, Madness finally showed a reaction.

His face contorted in the deepest most dangerous scowl, Dorthna had seen on the man's face in a while.

He uttered a single word, and it carried his emotions in it.

"How?"

Dorthna smiled. "Let me explain."

…

"I keep telling you that you eat what I put on the table," Theresa said, trying to keep any touch of annoyance from her voice.

When you complain to someone you love, it is always best to do it with love. Even in the event of seriousness.

Serving the last of the pasta from the pot, she filled a small bowl, frowning to herself.

He should eat more, she thought. It's not as if he's trying to lose weight.

Turning away from the burner, she carried the bowl of pasta over to the dining table. The lights were on but the curtains were drawn, always drawn. It was the way it was whenever he was around.

Theresa knew the type of life that he lived and understood why he always had the curtains drawn. It was for his safety, hers and her kids, too. But ultimately, it was for his safety.

She got to the dining room and placed the bowl of pasta on the table right in front of him. Swanda was a kind man, kind in his own way. He never raised his voice and he never raised his hand. Very much unlike the Gifted that worked the kinds of job he worked, he was a gentle man. A kind man.

Theresa always wished he would just stop doing dangerous jobs and decide to settle down with her. But there was a part of her that knew it would not happen. Swanda always told her that if she ever found a man, she should fall in love and keep him.

He loved her, but he did not love her enough. Every woman deserved a love that made the seas envious he liked to say. A man who would put down everything for his woman. A man who would watch the world burn to save or protect her. Not a man who disappeared for weeks only to turn up at odd hours and keep the curtains closed.

Theresa understood this, but she could not bring herself to fall for another man. Because the truth was simple, she didn't just love Swanda, she liked him, too. And finding a man you liked and loved at her age was harder than people thought. They could argue that you liked a man you loved, and she would not join in the argument. All she had to say on the matter was that when the day came when you looked at your man as a woman and realize that you don't love him, only then will you know if you ever even liked him.

"Eat," Theresa said in a firm voice as she turned away from the table and her thoughts of love.

Swanda looked down at the meal. He didn't really like pasta and he knew it. Pasta was what the children had eating and when he'd come back, he taken one look at it and said he wasn't hungry.

Theresa knew otherwise.

So, she offered to cook something else just for him. True to his nature, Swanda had refused, insisting that he wasn't hungry. It was a simple enough thing. He would never let her stress herself for him or go the extra mile, but she would also not allow him go hungry. So, they had to compromise.

Swanda had to eat the pasta.

Staring at the plate in front of him, he grumbled under his breath. "Have the kids eaten?"

"Yes," Theresa smiled as she moved the empty pot to the sink. "Made a mess of things, too."

She looked back at him only to find him studying the space in confusion.

The laughter that slipped from her lips was uncontrolled.

"What?" Swanda asked, confused.

"I'm so sorry," she said, chuckling. "You're just looking at the place with so much attention."

"You said the kids made a mess," Swanda explained.

Theresa nodded, her chuckle now a smile as she began cleaning the pot. "There's also this thing called cleaning. People do it."

"Why don't you just use the dishwasher?" Swanda said. "It's big enough to handle the pot and you know it."

Theresa knew it. The last dishwasher she had had only been able to handle dishes. Then Swanda had gone out and gotten one large enough to handle pots.

"I like washing the pots myself," she said, her hands going through the motion. "It's peaceful."

It was a half-truth. The complete truth was that washing the pot got her to spend more time around him while he ate. She liked the quiet lack of conversation that happened between them when they were alone.

If she wasn't doing something to keep her busy, she would find herself wanting to have a conversation. Wanting to have a conversation could often lead her to saying things that could end up being the wrong things to say.

"You amuse me some times," Swanda said in the end.

Then the air was filled with the sounds of cutleries being used as they scraped against the sides of a bowl. He was eating.

Theresa was still basking in her happiness from having Swanda around for almost a week now when the most surprising thing happened.

The doorbell rang and Swanda grew as stiff as a board.

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