Chapter 3 – Lord Conifer
The first thing Emryr saw upon entering the room was a large, beautifully decorated oak table, surrounded by eighteen chairs, eight on each side and one at each end.
The room seemed harmlessly elegant. Classic, tidy, clean.
The kind of place where diplomatic treaties were signed. Or where someone might be devoured politely with fine porcelain and linen napkins.
It was spacious and brightly lit by a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, complemented by four large windows stretching from floor to ceiling. An old clock ticked steadily in the background.
At the far end of the table, the small girl stood. She waved at him gently.
Emryr paused for a moment.
Just one moment.
Something about her felt wrong.
The perfectly arranged room now seemed too still. The clock's ticking rang louder than before. The air was dry, like brittle parchment. As if the room itself was holding its breath.
And still, she smiled. Silent. Unmoving.
Against his instincts, Emryr stepped forward, slowly, until he was only an arm's length away.
Suddenly, a deafening buzz filled his mind, and his vision flooded with countless magical formulas, endlessly writing and rewriting themselves in ancient language.
The girl's delicate, pale arms distorted grotesquely, stretching as black feathers burst from her skin. Her legs underwent the same twisted transformation, her torso expanding with sounds of flesh shifting and bones cracking. Her ribs opened outward without a drop of blood. Her head twisted, reshaping itself into the empty skull of an animal.
She grew, soon towering over Emryr.
Before him stood a two-and-a-half-meter humanoid figure, covered by a long cloak of black feathers. Its head was the skull of a stag, roses and thorns sprouting between its large antlers. Similar adornments decorated its shoulders.
Emryr closed his eyes briefly.
When he reopened them, a gentle hand approached, softly resting atop his head.
—"Welcome, little one," said a gentle, fatherly voice. —"I've prepared tea in advance. I knew it would rain."
Lord Doe removed his hand and walked toward a teapot resting on the table.
—"With all due respect, Professor… was that dramatic entrance really necessary?"
Despite seeing that transformation dozens of times, it always left an unsettling feeling. Still, this creature was the closest thing Emryr ever had to a father.
—"Ha ha! I understand your discomfort at this old aberration's appearance," Doe laughed softly, the sound echoing around the room. —"But isn't the charm of an entrance its impact? I made sure to rush here just to surprise you."
As he spoke, Lord Doe poured two cups of tea.
Emryr smiled, sitting at the table, taking the cup while gazing out the window.
—"It's been a while since we last saw each other, a year, I believe. I figured you'd be late, it's just like you," Doe said warmly, amused by the situation.
Inside Doe's skull was pure shadow, impossible to see into. Only two small blue lights shone faintly, giving life to where eyes should be.
—"It happens," Emryr shrugged. "The airship was delayed, the streets were crowded... you could've booked me an earlier flight..."
—"Besides, I'm quite... forgetful," he added, his smile twisting slightly on the last word.
Doe tilted his head gently.
—"As sarcastic as ever... yet still unable to answer my simple question," he replied, turning to watch the rain through the window.
—"I'll answer it one day, Professor. But don't worry, I won't abandon you once you give my precious identity back."
There was humor in Emryr's voice, but sincerity too.
—"Perhaps, little one." Lord Doe stood and summoned a servant. —"The day I return your memories will be special. Unique and eternal."
He turned to the butler who had just entered.
—"Olden, guide him to his room and see that his belongings are arranged. We'll speak more later."
Emryr greeted Olden with a respectful nod, then gave Lord Doe one last smile before following the butler out.
Olden was a middle-aged man with a gentle, serene face, dressed in the classic uniform of noble servants. His steps were measured, precise, as if he'd spent decades perfecting the craft.
—"Lord Doe speaks highly of you," Olden said with a small smile. "In thousands of years, he has only ever taken one apprentice. I wonder what kind of mage you are."
—"A terrible one," Emryr answered, smiling softly. "Lord Doe simply grew fond of me as a child."
Olden smiled, politely ignoring the self-deprecating comment.
Reaching the bedroom door, he stopped and bowed slightly.
—"If you need anything, please ring the bell beside the bed. Good evening."
—"Good evening."
Emryr returned the smile, nodded in thanks, and closed the door behind him.