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Dreamer – Part 03

It was a quiet underground chamber.

This space seemed to have once served as a warehouse of sorts. The room was rectangular, with a long ceiling that stretched wide. Walls revealed bare wooden beams, with not even cheap wallpapers to be seen. Scratches marked the cold, carpetless floor.

Various magical contraptions and curiosities lined the walls—a cabinet with hidden mirrors, a mysterious box projecting an image of outer space when opened, oversized playing cards, and even a large barrel for water torture.

Four hours before Marquis de Blois captured them within the confines of the Soleil Noir and subjected them to a harsh interrogation.

A faint sound emanated from somewhere within the seemingly deserted underground room. A man emerged from an impossibly small drawer within the long cabinet, as though space had been warped by some sinister magic. His figure appeared hazy, as if shrouded in smoke. His fiery red hair blazed like an evening torch, and his emerald eyes flickered with anger and intensity. Tall and slender, his body briefly wavered like a small tornado, before stabilizing.

Letting out a sigh, he cracked his neck from side to side, then walked over to a large, Rococo-style table, luxurious but quite old, placed at the room’s center. Crossing his long legs, he began examining a set of blueprints on the table, appearing quite vexed.

Then, came another sound, and the drawer next to the same cabinet opened silently even though no one was nearby. From it, another man, initially appearing as flat as a sheet of paper, emerged. He seemed like an ethereal illusion at first, but after a while, he slowly gained substance and weight. He cracked his neck with a sigh.

The second man had an identical appearance to the first one. It wasn’t merely a resemblance; their facial features, body build, and expressions were exactly the same, as if one was the reflection of the other.

The first Brian Roscoe raised his head sluggishly. “You’re awake.”

“I am. You too.”

“I am.”

Both spoke in precisely the same tone.

Then, they turned their heads in unison, directing their gaze toward an antiquated automaton, the upper body of a man in a turban attached to a square-shaped cabinet—a Mechanical Turk.

The Mechanical Turk quivered briefly, as if affected by the men’s intense gazes. Its eyes moved. The two Brians continued to watch attentively.

The door of the lower cabinet opened, and a petite girl—no, a woman—nimbly tumbled out, rolling about four times before relaxing her limbs and sprawling on the floor. Her flowing, resplendent golden hair fanned out like a disheveled turban, framing Cordelia Gallo’s small body entirely.

The thick and long, golden lashes on her closed eyelids quivered. Suddenly, her eyes shot open. Unlike her daughter Victorique de Blois, her eyes gleamed with a dark light, a combination of violent rage and the years of patience that had come from suppressing it. For a while, she just stared at the old chandelier swinging from the ceiling.

“So it begins, Brian.”

“…”

“…”

“Brian?” Hearing no response, Cordelia slowly rose.

She wore a dress as vibrant blue as the sea at daybreak, adorned with three velvet roses on the neckline. Her delicate, shiny high heels and the small headpiece that covered her head were of a deep burgundy hue. The gleam of her dark eyes complemented the contrasting shades of the dress perfectly.

The Brians at the table remained silent, exchanging glances. Then, they simultaneously turned their eyes on Cordelia as she lay on the floor like a dark flower in full bloom.

“What’s the matter, Brian?”

“We…”

“…don’t agree with this.”

“You mean so much to us.”

“Risking your life for that cub…

“…is unthinkable.”

“The wheels of destiny were set in motion long ago, Brian. Not this year, but long before the second storm began. On that fateful night sixteen years ago.”

Cordelia rolled on the floor once more, executing three spins before slowly rising to her feet. Her tousled golden hair and the hem of her blue dress billowed softly.

Cordelia’s expression was a mixture of kindness, vulnerability, and a quiet radiance that enveloped others with affection. The two Brians emitted a mournful growl, baring their fangs at the corners of their mouths.

Cordelia approached them and seated herself on the ornate Rococo-style table. She looked like a small and intricate doll, resembling a masterpiece by the renowned dollmaker Grafenstein, who was rumored to have been possessed by an evil spirit.

The two Brians remained silent, fixated on Cordelia.

“I admit the three of us shared a bond in the past. If nothing happened, we might have lived happily ever after. But the moment I was taken away in that black carriage sixteen years ago, our destinies diverged.”

“A little more…”

“And we would’ve made it.”

“Back then…”

“I reached out…”

“And barely touched you…”

“If only we’d brought you back…”

“You would not have been hurt.”

“And you would not have given birth…”

“…to that abominable cub.”

Brian spoke with fervor. One of them pounded the table, while the other stamped his foot on the floor. Cordelia rocked lightly from side to side. Her head and long golden hair looked as if they would roll off the table at any moment.

“We’d rather die together…”

“…than lose you.”

“Please…”

“We’re begging you.”

Cordelia fixed her icy gaze on the wall.

On the large table lay a blueprint of the Black Sun, one that had never been publicly disclosed, let alone proven to exist. It was a hypothetical map created by piecing together various anecdotes from legends and history books dating back to the Middle Ages. The three of them had devoted a substantial amount of time to constructing what they believed to be the most accurate representation of the building’s real layout.

Despite perusing through historical accounts, they had not found any tales of a prisoner who had successfully escaped from the colossal gray prison. However, there was an anecdote of a young wife who had devised a plan to infiltrate the facility to visit her incarcerated husband. When discovered, she was sent to the guillotine alongside her spouse.

The two Brians looked into the secret route alluded to in that tale, and found it.

However, they were aware that even if they broke in and rescued the girl, once it was discovered that she had vanished from the prison, pursuers would be hot on their heels. Escaping from the capital of Saubreme, and then further beyond the borders of Sauville, where the mighty influence of Marquis Albert de Blois no longer extended, would be a daunting task.

Cordelia was planning to act as Victorique’s stand-in within the prison, delaying the pursuers as long as possible. The plan aroused fear and anger on both Brians. They couldn’t fathom the notion of their Cordelia forfeiting her life for the sake of that insignificant little cub.

“I want one of you to escape,” Cordelia said softly.

Her expression remained stoic, but her voice quivered with anguish. The two Brians stared at her as though she had betrayed them, growling softly.

“That child won’t be able to get far on her own. She needs someone to guide her to the ship, to the new world.”

“One of us stays with you.”

“And one with Victorique.”

“Meaning one dies.”

“And the other one lives.”

“Would you really…”

“…give us such a cruel order?”

“Brian, please. This is my first and final selfish request. I’m begging you.”

“We’ve never been apart.”

“We are two as one. We are no ordinary twins.”

The two Brians stood up and embraced Cordelia, sandwiching her between them. One of them remained by Cordelia’s side, who was trembling like a critter, pale as a ghost. The other silently took a step back.

A silent yet deafening sound rent the air. An invisible fissure appeared between the two Brians and silently expanded.

The Brian who stayed with Cordelia seemed to wear a faint smile as he observed the fracture.

The face of the Brian who stepped back contorted hideously. He groaned, raised his head with both hands on the floor, and let out a wolf-like howl, his entire body quivering with sorrow.

Cordelia and the Brian embracing her were a stark contrast, frozen like a beautiful medieval painting.

The roar of a red wolf resounded in the underground chamber.