‘We do not have to oppose one another,’ says the man with the enamel mask.

With a single thought, he tugs on the heavy chains that bind him to Kali, and the goddess steps back to take position behind him, both protective and ready to strike. Her knives gleam with a red, spectral light. With a simple psychic impulse, Maw in turn orders me to take a few steps back, to cover him in case of an attack. My limbs move of their own accord, and the puppet that I am places itself in front of the Chimera like a shield.

‘Do they not say that the enemy of our enemies is our friend?,’ he goes on, never taking his intense gaze off me.

My lips move on their own.

‘Solitude has always been my ally.’

He snickers.

‘Nonsense.’

My hands clench, and Shiva suddenly manifests his many arms in a display of defiance and power. The masked mage does not seem impressed.

‘You do not carry Wanjiru’s followers in your heart, and they already have you in their sights,’ he simply says. ‘Fortunately, they do not yet know what you are. Not yet, at least. They will reveal themselves soon enough. And together, we will be able to bring them down.’

Maw keeps me from blinking, and Milk beads on my cheeks.

‘I salute your caution. Truly. But the time has come to leave your burrow, Worm.’

My Chimera makes her rings vibrate in a threatening warning, like an ultimatum.

‘I have been watching you for some time now. I know which tomes you consult, the pages of the grimoires on which your spectral eyes linger…’

With every tilt of his head, his ivory mask seems to warp, like a cloud of milk diffusing through tea. Smoke and mirrors…

‘The Sixth Sphere. You are trying to learn whether others have preserved this power. The answer is yes. Even though it has been banished, some still have access to it, and they possess the power to trigger a second Confluence.’

Maw freezes. Deep inside, I feel the hook has been set, without knowing whether this is a good or a bad thing.

‘We both know that you diligently hunt those who could rain a new devastation upon the world. Your nature compels you to do so, like an inescapable obsession. But if you have not acted yet, it is because you are waiting for something, isn’t it?’

His Irises gleam in the dark sockets of his mask, and Maw seals himself behind more barriers than I have ever seen him conjure around us.

‘Who are you?’

The words are thick in my mouth, hissing and somber. A red glint crosses his faceted face like a grin, and I feel as though the ground is opening beneath my feet.

‘I am the one Afanas, for lack of a better name, calls the Chrysanthemum Cloaked Warlock, though I have been given many sobriquets over the ages and generations. But contrary to what Wanjiru believes, I am not an enemy of Asgartha. Quite the opposite.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Asgartha has a destiny, and I make sure that it comes to pass, nothing more. Such is my role, just as yours is to ensure that nothing disrupts the age-old order that exists between the real and the imaginary.’

My eyes widen as I feel Maw’s control falter for an instant. He knows. He knows what his function is. Did he perceive it at a glance? Did he merely guess?

‘I also know that under other circumstances, you would’ve already carried out your duty. Which means you are not yet able to do so. You are waiting, because you have not yet reached your full potential. You are still in a larval state, in gestation. You feed on this host, while waiting for the next…’

What does he mean by that?

‘The next?,’ I say of my own accord, seizing an unexpected opening.

The mask twists, as if in anger.

‘It is not to you that I am speaking. The shell interests me very little. You are nothing more than a husk from which the Worm will shed itself when the time for molting comes. Assimilation has already begun. When your psyche is digested, it will seek a new host to colonize, in order to continue to grow…’

No, no, no, no, no, no, no…

‘Perhaps you will continue to exist somewhere inside it… but you will be nothing more than the remnant of an identity. A stray thought at best.’

No. I refuse that.

I pull on the chains that bind my will as I straighten. I think of my mother, so proud to see me join the ranks of the Yzmir. I think of the red mesas and the desert wind, warm against my face. I know who I am. I am not a simple puppet. Shiva makes his arms dance. On his brow, his third eye is opening.

The mage armors himself in protective shields, suddenly aware of the danger. With a single look, the Eidolon could vitrify him. With a single glance, he would be nothing but ash…

I grit my teeth, focusing all my will on forcing his eyelids open. I pull with all my strength to pry them apart. But the eye remains stubbornly shut. A wail rises in my throat when I realize that Maw has taken back control.

Stay in your place, I hear him whisper. He and I both know that my role is essential. He and I are here to pierce illusions. And to dispel them. Return to the limbo.