Gunmage-Chapter 208: Echoes that carve

"Continue?"

Continue what?

Only one thing came to Aveline’s mind that he could possibly want to continue, but... looking at his strange state... was that really okay? She turned to Selaphiel, a hidden worry in her eyes.

The elf simply nodded at her.

Okay then.

She turned back to Lugh.

"From what you explained earlier... someone can appear narrow-minded to one person and open-minded to another."

Lugh didn’t respond, but the faint movements of his body suggested he was listening.

She continued, her voice bolder.

"What then would we do in a case where a person appears as both narrow-minded and open-minded to the same individual? Depressed yet happy, brave and at the same time cowardly, lazy yet hardworking.

These contradictions aren’t supposed to really exist in one person. I want to believe in some rare cases they do, but... probably not as frequently or seamlessly as they do in your case."

"My own case."

Lugh repeated the words silently to no one but himself.

"Yes,"

Aveline said, eager to share the things she’d been noticing, the theories she’d been building.

"Sometimes you talk differently. Other times it’s your gait—uh, the way you walk. Sometimes it’s graceful, other times crude. It’s like... it’s like—"

She fumbled, searching for the right words.

"It’s like you’re a different person? No... more like different people sharing the same mind, the same body. I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to put it into words, but..."

Her subsequent words faded into a blur in Lugh’s mind. Though her lips were still moving, he couldn’t hear anything at all.

Not her voice, not the wheels of the carriage, not the chirping of birds or the soft neighing of horses that pulled them.

Everything had fallen silent.

The migraine that had been gnawing at him grew sharper. His skull pounded—like something inside was hammering its way out.

Then came the voices. Thousands of them.

They flooded his head, tangled in a frenzy of sound, making it impossible to pick out a single sentence, a single thought. None of the lives flashing before his eyes were his.

He shouted, his voice breaking through the quiet, as he desperately struggled to keep it down.

"Lugh?"

"Arghh..."

"Lugh!"

Both ladies jolted in alarm.

Carve the flesh.

Carve the flesh.

At some point, those words had risen above the others, the only coherent phrase he could hear. Repeating over and over again.

He yanked up his sleeves, eyes wild and feral, and began dragging his fingernails across his skin—trying to draw something. A design. A rune. Blood spilled messily from the lines.

"Grandma! Stop him!"

The carriages skidded to a halt. The coachmen tried to urge the horses forward, but it was no use. The animals were terrified—neighing violently, stomping, rearing, kicking up clouds of dust.

Ignoring the chaos outside, unsure what to do or how to help, Aveline turned to Selaphiel.

The elf didn’t need to be told. She had already stepped forward to intervene—but froze.

Lugh’s bloody fingers had started outlining a faintly glowing pattern.

Her eyes widened.

"What are you doing?"

Aveline asked anxiously.

Selaphiel answered with a single word.

"Wait."

Lugh, still trapped in the trance, didn’t feel any pain. His fingers moved instinctively, continuing the design. As the rune took shape, the atmosphere began to darken.

The temperature dropped. Shadows crawled unnaturally along the floorboards. Even the birdsong had ceased entirely, like the entire world was holding its breath.

Jahira had already leapt out of her carriage, ready for an attack—even as the oppressive aura of dread tightened around them.

"What is happening?"

Back in the carriage, the rune on Lugh’s hand had taken on a rudimentary structure. Selaphiel wanted—desperately—to see it completed, but her instincts screamed that something terrible would happen if it was.

She might survive. But the others? The future of the Von Heim family was in this procession.

With a lion’s effort, she pushed back her curiosity and stepped forward, placing a hand on Lugh’s head.

He didn’t even notice her approach.

"Sleep,"

She whispered.

A wave of drowsiness slammed into him. His eyelids, suddenly heavier than iron, drooped—and moments later, he slumped unconscious into the seat.

The darkened sky cleared. The horses began to calm.

Deep within Cross Manor, Xhi lifted her head from a fluffy pillow, her eyes gazing westward.

Noticing her strange behavior, Lyra—who had just stepped out of the bath and was brushing her long hair (a process that took no less than an hour)—asked,

"What is it?"

After a pause, she asked again.

"Is it Lugh?"

The priestess nodded, her brow furrowed—an unusual crack in her otherwise tranquil expression.

"There’s never a moment of rest with that boy."

Receiving confirmation, Lyra immediately asked,

"Is it serious? Do we need to help?"

Xhi was silent for a moment before answering.

"No, not really. The issue’s been taken care of."

"Alright then."

Lyra turned back toward the large glass mirror, which reflected both herself and Xhi as she flopped lazily back into the folds of the bed.

"Aren’t you going to prepare?"

"For my duel?"

Xhi responded drowsily.

"Good point,"

Lyra muttered. Then, thoughtfully,

"But you should still get up. It’s already morning."

As a soldier, waking up early was second nature to her. Although lately, she’d let herself slack off—treating this stay as a vacation and indulging in sleep. Still, she always awoke between 7 and 8.

Xhi replied with a soft yawn,

"Don’t bother me. I’ll be up by noon."

And with that, she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of her bed, tucking herself further beneath the quilt as if the world outside could wait.

Lyra shook her head and focused her attention back on her hair. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn’t let itself be cut. The least she could do was keep it clean.

The process was impossibly long—and as a non-recognized member of the Cross family, she wasn’t allowed maids or servants.

But all of that would end today.

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