Chapter 16: Waking up
Oswin awoke to suffocating darkness.
The air was thick, damp, and carried a sharp metallic scent that clung to his throat. His body felt weightless yet submerged, a strange sensation creeping over his skin. He shifted, the liquid around him resisting like syrup, clinging to his bare flesh. It was shallow—he was sitting, and it barely reached his chest—but it was not water. Too thick. Too warm.
Panic set in.
His breath quickened as he ran his hands over his body, feeling the slick substance coat his skin. He was naked. The realization sent a shudder down his spine. Where was he? What was this place?
Swallowing down the rising fear, he called out, his voice cracking.
"Aria… Are you there?"
For a moment, only silence answered. Then, from the darkness, a voice emerged.
Smooth. Pleasant. Too pleasant. It seeped into the air like honey, unnaturally soothing, laced with something that made his skin crawl.
"Assuming Aria is the girl who was with you," the voice mused, "then yes, she is fine. She's right beside you… but still unconscious."
Oswin's breathing remained uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow gasps. His fingers dug into the thick liquid beneath him as if searching for stability. He was still disoriented, still grasping at fragments of memory, and the presence of that voice did little to calm him.
"W-Who… who are you?" he stammered, his words trembling as they left his lips. "Why are you here?"
The voice did not answer.
Instead, it posed a question of its own, its tone carrying an eerie curiosity.
"That body… it isn't truly yours, is it?"
Oswin stiffened. A cold sensation spread through his limbs, though the pool's warmth never wavered.
"You wield it with ease and efficiency," the voice continued, "but your control… it is not natural. Not entirely. You were forced into that body, weren't you?"
Oswin's pulse thundered in his ears. His mouth went dry. The voice spoke with certainty, not speculation. As if it already knew the answer.
Oswin's hands clenched into fists beneath the thick liquid, his heart pounding against his ribs. His body still trembled with panic, but he forced himself to speak, his voice unsteady yet firm.
"I can't trust you with answers—not when I don't even know who you are or what your intentions are. I can't even see you."
The voice hummed, soft and melodic, almost playful. "Can't see me? If you could, would that make you more willing to answer?"
Before Oswin could respond, the humming shifted into a slow, lilting tune. At first, it seemed harmless—just a sound drifting through the oppressive darkness. But then, an unbearable itch bloomed in Oswin's eyes. It wasn't just on the surface—it was inside, deep within. He gasped, his fingers instinctively rubbing at them, but no relief came. The sensation burned and crawled, as if something was shifting within the very structure of his vision.
Oswin clenched his eyelids shut, his breath ragged. When he finally opened them again, the world was no longer pitch black.
The darkness remained, but now he could see through it. Everything was cast in shades of muted gray, shapes emerging with eerie clarity. The cavern stretched before him, vast and lined with jagged stalagmites that jutted from the ground like the teeth of some great beast.
And in front of him in the pool sat a woman.
She was naked, her pale skin untouched by blemish, her long hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid silk. Her features were delicate to the point of unnatural perfection—high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that carried an unsettling depth. She was beautiful, but there was something off about her. Something too precise, too symmetrical.
Oswin did not fluster. If anything, the sight of her only made his panic worse. He knew what had just happened wasn't natural.
"You sang something," he rasped. "What did you do to me?"
"I simply multiplied the rod cells in your eyes," the woman replied smoothly. "Now you can see in the dark. A gift, if you will."
Oswin's stomach twisted. He didn't know what was worse—the casual way she explained it, or the fact that she had manipulated his body so effortlessly.
His breath steadied, if only slightly. "Fine. I'll answer you," he said, his voice regaining a sliver of control. "But you have to answer my questions, too."
The woman tilted her head, considering. Then, she smiled.
"Child, you are in no position to demand anything." Her voice was laced with amusement, but after a brief pause, she nodded. "But very well. I am interested in your story."
Oswin exhaled sharply, his mind racing. As he listened, his gaze flicked around the cavern. Just as she had said—Aria was there. A few meters away, unconscious, her back resting against a stalagmite.
She was alive.
But that only left more questions.
Where were they? And more importantly—what was this woman?
Oswin exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening into fists beneath the thick, metallic-smelling liquid. He didn't trust the woman—how could he? But what choice did he have? He was naked, disoriented, and at her mercy in an unfamiliar place. If she had wanted to harm him, she could have done so already.
Gritting his teeth, he began to speak.
He told her everything—how he was not of this world, how he had become Fray Nightshade, inhabiting a body that was not his own. He spoke of the strange, unfolding story he had been thrust into: the eerie hymns that seemed to hold unnatural power, the violin that had once belonged to Fray's father, the hymn book dedicated to the water spirit, and the cursed night that had left the city in flames.
He left out the details of his previous world. That was something he couldn't afford to share. Not yet.
Throughout his retelling, the woman listened in silence. She did not interrupt, did not ask questions. She simply stood there, her uncanny features betraying no reaction. It was only when he finally finished that she spoke, her voice as smooth and unwavering as ever.
"Fascinating."
Oswin tensed.
The way she said it—it wasn't surprise, nor disbelief.
"Tell me about your previous world," the woman demanded, her voice carrying an eerie calm.
Oswin narrowed his eyes. "Not until you answer my questions first."
The woman remained silent for a moment, then gave a small, indifferent nod. "Fair enough. Ask."
Without hesitation, Oswin spoke. "Who are you?"
She met his gaze, unbothered by his wary tone. "You may already know me," she said, her voice unnervingly composed. "Though I suspect you'll find the answer… unsettling." She paused, as if allowing him a moment to brace himself. Then, in that same detached tone, she said—
"I am Caro Incorruptibilis."
Oswin's spine ran cold. He knew that name all too well—it was the last thing he remembered before slipping into unconsciousness. Caro Incorruptibilis. The grotesque, unholy powers, the writhing mass of flesh, the abomination that defied reason. His mind recoiled at the thought, refusing to accept that the beautiful woman before him was the same nightmarish entity. But deep down, he knew. A creature with such power—one capable of twisting flesh into impossible forms—could easily assume any shape it desired.
Cold sweat dripped down his back. His breath grew shallow, his body trembling despite his attempts to remain composed. This was not something he could fight. Not something he could reason with.
Swallowing his fear, Oswin lowered his head, his voice unsteady yet laced with forced respect.
"Strong one… I am nothing more than an insect before your vast power. Please forgive my rudeness." His hands clenched into fists beneath the thick liquid as he forced himself to continue. "I will answer all your questions… and follow all your commands. Just—please—don't harm me or my sister."
"I normally despise flatterers," the woman mused, her voice carrying an edge of amusement. "But I like that you can assess the situation and know your place. I will respect you for that." Her unsettlingly perfect face remained expressionless, yet there was a weight behind her words—one that sent a shiver down Oswin's spine. Then, without hesitation, she commanded, "Now, tell me about your previous world."
Oswin hesitated for only a moment before complying. He had no leverage here, no room for defiance. And so, with careful recollection, he laid bare everything he knew. He spoke of the vast nations that had shaped his world, their political systems, the endless struggle for power, the wars fought over greed and ideology. He described its geography—the sprawling cities of steel and glass, the lands carved by rivers older than civilization itself, the mountains that had stood as silent witnesses to history.
He spoke of the social structures, of the chasms between the wealthy and the poor, of the technological wonders that had redefined existence, and the contradictions of a world that advanced yet remained shackled by its own prejudices. He told her everything—everything he could remember, everything he understood—with as much detail as his mind allowed.
As he spoke, he couldn't help but wonder what a creature like her sought in such knowledge.