Shadow slave: In The Eye of The Beholder

High above, from the vantage point of the castle spires, a pair of eyes watched Silas's small figure weave through the wheat. The endless fields swayed to the wind's content. The figure's gaze was sharp; after all, he was not the kind and compassionate figure he presented. Of course, such a thing was truly just acting for every aspirant that assumed his nephew's body.

"He's coming," a feminine voice spoke beside him. He looked towards the woman sitting atop the stone walls of the castle with her legs crossed. She had Lucious beige locks that fell down to her legs, a bright smile, and deep orange eyes. He scoffed at the sight.

'I find it still hard to believe that woman is a terror. Well, I guess the monster had intelligence to begin with, but such sanity is still surprising,' he thought back to the many years before. All his life had been waking up, finding his nephew, and then being consumed by the terror. in a loop that repeated itself for centuries.

The very same horror being right beside him.

He looked back up to the great blue sky, the golden faint image of the Beholder above, always watching. That thing had somehow changed the terror back to her form before the corruption—a simple farm girl who had seen secrets destined for only the divine, though with the power of her monstrous form still in her grasp.

"Should we really be letting him come that easily? He just killed one of the cows. So what? Send the other two, and maybe he'll be deserving of an explanation," he heard his other companion argue behind him—the sapphire-haired young ruler of the castle they were at.

 Thats who he was before that thing came along. Like everyone here, he also grew out of his role, yet it seemed that he still held some semblance of his origin, still donning the haughty clothes of a noble.

Of course, he tried, as well as the terror to convince him to wear something else, yet the young ascended declined every time.

'Well, he could be wearing it to keep his sense of self. After all, it's just us three now. All the others lost their minds long, long ago,' he thought sombrely. Hell, he didn't even remember his own name; now it was just 'uncle.'

"Surely not? We have never told the many otherworlders who came to this nightmare," the terror said, sighing in explanation. "He's the only one so far to survive this long. It's just going to be harder for us if you try to kill him again."

The ascended gave her a look of annoyance but complied, crossing his arms and looking into the distant fields, his dazzling blue hair shifting in the wind. The echoes of the birds filled the empty noise of midday.

The three stood there still and silent as ever and waited.

The sun went down, the moon came up, and the stars showed themselves in time, retreating as morning came once again.

As the day shifted to the new, the trio never spoke, nor did they even move—still as statues in their patience for the aspirant.

It wasn't much for them, after all.

Such a time was not even a second in their eyes.

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Silas gazed upon the stone pillars; the monoliths seemed to pierce a sky of mundane perfection.

Yet more importantly, they were closer than ever.

His breath quickened, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety filling his chest. He had been walking for more than a day to reach the place and receive some answers from the terror. The possibility of it being a trap was always on the back of his mind, yet he decided to go anyway.

This entire nightmare was absurd. The delicate fields seemed the complete opposite of the hells the young holders of the Spell had described. The appearance of a kind figure that guided him through the area, as well as giving protection, and an appearance of a terror? Nightmares would normally give challenges that the aspirant could hope to achieve.

Not to mention, that thing—the Beholder.

Silas looked up to the vast skies, its presence absent of the all-seeing deity. Yet he continued to stare into the depths of the blue. He knew without [Beholder of Strings] he couldn't see it, yet for some reason, he expected it to show once again—the abyssal pupil once staring into his very soul, seeing through it and to the very mechanics of the universe that held his being together.

He finally managed to pull his eyes away from the spot, glancing at the stone pillars once again.

'They better give me an explanation, and if not, I'll make them,' Silas observed the dull white sword in his hands, the edge gleaming against the sun's rays.

The awakened weapon was truly a treasure. 'With this, I could kill the terror and maybe even my 'uncle.' His grip tightened around the handle. 'Bastard was a facade the entire time. I knew it was fake, yet I just decided to believe him. That's not like me.'

Silas thought back to the head pats and grumbled.

The trickery that his uncle had in his possession was truly something else.

His gaze shifted back to the stone spires, now looming closer than ever, their shadows stretching across the field as if reaching out to him. The pillars seemed even taller up close, their surfaces etched with markings of unknown battles.

The wind picked up, rustling the wheat around him as he approached the base of the spire. The structure towered above, its cold stone surface a stark contrast to the warmth of the sun. Silas paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself, and shortening the [Mad Cow's Canine] into a small dagger that he stuffed in his leather pocket, ready for the dangers ahead.

A familiar voice whispered into his head.

"Glad you've made it. Though you're at the spire, we have decided to talk inside the castle for convenience. The gates are open, so just head in and find the banquet table. It should be on the top floor. I'll be waiting~" The alluring voice cut off before he could even reply.

"Damn woman—wait, terror. Honestly, I should be on alert for this witch," Silas decided, using [Beholder of Strings]. The ethereal weaves came to light as colour burst into his irises.

Light blue strings appeared on the horizon, as well as all around him. The strings stretched from the ground all the way up to the sky, with no end in sight—a multitude of strings looking like they were anchored to the distant pale moon above.

Silas looked in confusion before taking a breath and marching his way to the front door.

If it truly was a trap, he would be prepared and ready, with everything he had.