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When I opened the lid, my gaze fell on all the lab objects strewn around inside it. The flasks, curly tubes, and everything else I had seen now made so much sense. Moving away from those, I searched in the area where Kingston had found the journal. At first, only ancient books could be found, but then as I nearly emptied that side, I noticed a large package enveloped with cloth and twine.
Pulling it out, I unwrapped it and glanced at the contents in shock. Modern books stared back at me. Biology, Anatomy, Medicine… If it had to do with the body and how it functioned, or how it could be treated, there was a book for it. The sight confirmed my guess that he had travelled through the portal long before we lived in the Mirror World.
I placed the textbooks on the floor and glanced inside the trunk to see something else wrapped in cloth and twine. It was a smaller package with no defined form. When I pulled the twine off, I noticed a tiny pouch with gold coins inside, and a wallet that still had a couple of twenty-dollar bills in it. He’d sold the gold for human currency so he could do what he needed.
The question remained, what exactly had he needed to do?
A much-needed breath slowly entered my lungs, and I placed the books plus everything else from that side back in the trunk. Once my attention shifted to the other end of it, I reached for the broken vials, noticing for the first time that they had some kind of labels on them. Unfortunately, the liquid had distorted the writing when it spilled, preserving their secrets. I brought one up to my nose, taking a quick whiff, and instantly regretted it. It smelled putrid.
Gagging, I threw them out, and sniffed the bunches of dried herbs—they still smelled of chamomile, lavender, valerian, and passionflower. I recognized the perfumes from the teas he used to prepare for Mom’s anxiety. After I set them on the other side, my fingers wrapped around the mortar and pestle, pausing for a moment to appreciate them. The small wooden box I had seen that day reappeared.
I dragged a finger along the symbol on the top. The head of a Dragon with its body curved like an “O”. There was something special about it. Something that made it seem almost regal. The obvious sign was the fact that it wasn’t only carved into the wood, but it had a gold inlay that made it pop out at you. Reaching for the leather handle, I pulled it out and set it on my thighs.
A clicking sound came when I turned the lock on the front, and I slowly pushed the lid open. The breath stilled in my lungs when my gaze fell on the syringe. It was an antiquity—clunky, made of steel and glass, with a thick needle attached. The exact replica of his drawing. Then there was a rectangular leather case, and inside it, I found a modern glass syringe, its needle as thick as the other, with a rubber tourniquet for the arm.
Potion vials were also in the box, so I proceeded to inspect those, finding labels on them. The first one I grabbed was empty, but my pulse jumped when I realized it had my father’s name on it. The next one? Empty as well, except for the stains with the remnants of its contents. When I lifted it to the light coming from the window, I frowned. It was dried blood.
Slowly turning the bottle, I finally read its label, and froze. “Tharion…” Swallowing, I placed it back in, and took the next one. “Ardor.” Another one read “Nocte,” and as I continued to inspect the remaining ones, I found both “Storm” and “Knight” among them too.
New speculations rushed through my mind, but I wasn’t sure of any of it. I set the box beside me, closing the trunk and pushing it back in place. Gripping the box’s leather handle firmly, I turned around to leave, until something else caught my attention. A painting rested against the wall behind a chair, but the sheet that covered it had slipped down one of the corners, partially revealing the face of the man immortalized on the canvas.
Curiosity captured me momentarily, and I moved the chair away, tugging the sheet off the painting. The image of my dad was revealed. A tear ran through the canvas, but as I smoothed it out, I was able to see him fully.
He was way younger than I remembered him. No wrinkles sat in the corners of his eyes, becoming prominent when he laughed, and no graying hair was visible along his temples. It made him look more like me than himself, and the sight made my gut tighten.
The image only showed him from the torso up, but he was depicted in an imposing way. Determination and courage shone through his eyes as he stared straight at me, and he was super buff. Definitely not the nerdy Dad I remembered. An armor similar to that of the Elevated Warriors was strapped to his arm—gauntlet, neck guard, and all. Except, it was far more striking, made of a black steel and gold.
As I appreciated him like that, new questions arose in my mind, and a part of me feared that I might already have some of the answers, I just hadn’t put the pieces together yet.
Walking out of theHall of the Forgotten, I mounted Luhc again and returned to the castle, my father’s box in hand.
I forced my mind to remain still while I climbed the endless stairs to the honeycombs. I didn’t want to wonder, question, or fashion crazy scenarios that would only make me more anxious for the truth. Well, one of them at least. It seemed like I was in part of a web of lies, and although I wanted to untangle myself from them, I wasn’t exactly sure I should.
When I reached Tharion’s lair, I found he lay all the way back, in the darkness. He loved it there. Silent, I walked a few steps farther, and instantly saw him step out, probably sensing the turmoil within me. A rumbling sound escaped him, vibrating through his chest the closer he got to me, and his aching coursed through my being.
“I’m fine… I think,” I answered his silent question, seeing him finally stop before me.
My Dragon lowered his head for me to place my hand on him, and the blue light of my ring intensified as I touched him. An image of me laughing briefly entered my mind, and I glanced up at him when he leaned away, amazed at his new form of communication.
Slowly, I shook my head. “Not right now, Tharion. I can’t be happy right now, I have too much going on.”
His hand lifted to his chest, and he rubbed it like Vyper used to do, to signal he sensed I was hurting or sad. Tharion’s gaze suddenly caught the box in my grasp, and he leaned close again, inspecting it.
“Do you know it?” I inquired, lifting it to show him the gold symbol on the top. “Do you remember seeing my dad with it?”
Tharion perked up with the mention of my father, and a new image floated into my consciousness. He showed me my dad entering his lair, somewhere other than here. My father smiled at him, caressing him in greeting, before placing the box on the floor between them.
Once the vision left me, I did the same. My Dragon lay on the floor, crossing his arms in front of him while he watched me. It felt like he was waiting for me to open it, so I did, but he didn’t move another inch. There was still something I was supposed to do. I considered it for a moment, and then removed the vial that had his name, placing it on the floor.
He still waited.
Reaching for the case with the modern syringe, I took it out while Tharion’s keen gaze followed every single one of my movements. When I gripped the syringe as though to use it, he slid one hand closer, and used a claw from the other to lift one of his scales, revealing the unprotected skin. Stunned, I stepped closer, and my fingers gently touched the area he’d shown me, right under the scale.
The shadow of small puncture wounds that were now closed could be seen. Blinking, I glanced at the inside of my right elbow, where similar shadows sat, left from a lifetime of treatment. Another rumble escaped Tharion’s chest, urging me to take his blood. Wanting to see it through, I carefully inserted the needle into him, taking only a bit of blood, and swiftly pulled away.
Letting go of the scale, my Dragon watched me, wondering why I had stopped. His finger pushed the syringe towards my other arm. He wanted me to inject it into myself.
Sensing my hesitation, Tharion sent me another one of his memories. It showed Dad injecting the blood he’d taken from him into his own veins, and stroking Tharion’s jaw appreciatively.
