I wrote in my book.

  The girls were sacrificed.

  Sacrificed, yes.

  A puzzling ritual left behind by some evil worshipers who must be unmasked and dealt with.

  A shadowy villain. A global conspiracy. An evil god.

  A mystery crafted by… well, me. But it sounded compelling.

  And I - young Caleb Lightbane, Father, and Cepheus, chosen as a prophet by the gods - made a promise on that page:

  I would not rest until all the victims of the enemy, Entropy, were restored.

  I would not give up until justice was done and the world was in order again.

  That’s what I wrote.

  Fuck, I hope this evil god and their servants' idea isn’t too close to the Cult of Diablos from Eminence in Shadow.

  I couldn’t change it now. It has already been written in the book.

  I couldn’t rip out the pages from the magic book that a god gave me, could I?

  …Better to leave it be.

  So, we have a hero that embarked on a righteous quest. That’s what I wrote.

  I store the book inside the trunk full of weird goo.

  It didn’t stain the pages, nor did it make them wet. Plus, the girls were preserved in it for an unknown amount of time, at least a few months. So, it seemed safe there.

  Like a vault or a safe. I just had a simple lock on it.

  If Geshich’s book were stolen, then I’d be lost. If I lost it, then I lose it too, so to say.

  Things kind of hinged on me writing in it. Maybe if there was a scenario like that I could ask Geshich for another? He wouldn’t be an unfair god to kill me because I literally couldn’t keep our bargain, would he?

  I looked at the girls, two little shadows huddled in the clearing. Winter was biting, and I realized - if I didn’t teach them something practical, they’d freeze, starve, or worse, wander into trouble while I was… well, busy.

  “You’ll need to know how to survive,” I said, voice firm but patient. “I won’t always be here.”

  They nodded, small movements, eyes wide, trusting. I didn’t quite deserve that trust, but the story demanded it.

  “Firewood,” I said, pointing toward the pile of sticks I’d gathered earlier. “We need firewood. You’ll need to chop it, carry it, and stack it. It’s… survival. Almost as important as faith.”

  At first, they simply collected sticks, running around like they had legs twice the speed of any normal child. Catherine and Juliet grabbed a fallen log, bigger than the two of them, and moved with… ease.

  This was not normal.

  “Careful,” I warned.

  They didn’t snap their wrists. They chopped. Quick. Precise. Strong. Every swing hit with the force of me wielding a three-word strength spell. Wood split clean.

  My mind wandered.

  They weren’t just fast. They weren’t just strong. They were… terrifying.

  How, I wondered? I watched Juliet lift another fallen-over log that would have nearly flattened me, swinging it like it was a feather. Catherine was moving circles around me, piling logs with an efficiency I didn’t know any person could possess.

  They didn’t tire. They didn’t slow down. Almost perpetual.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I scratched my head. I could stack this many logs with one decent three-word spell, but these two? No magic needed. Just… natural ability.

  Was it some latent talent? OR did they belong to another species? They looked human enough. I didn’t know.

  For the moment, I let them work, silently counting my blessings and my growing concern.

  It was time to test them, not cruelly, of course, but enough to gauge what I was working with.

  First, the trunk. The very same trunk that had taken me hours to pry open months ago and a three-word strength spell to lift properly. Now it served as an impromptu weight. I crouched beside it, pretending to measure its heft.

  “Try lifting this,” I instructed.

  Catherine and Juliet exchanged a glance.

  And Juliet was first. I braced myself to correct her, to guide their posture, expecting small, careful struggles. Instead, the trunk lifted smoothly, almost as if it were featherlight.

  “Very good,” I said, voice calm, noting the astonishment I tried to hide.

  She put it down, and then it was Catherine’s turn.

  And she did the very same, though she seemed to struggle just a little bit more. Not enough that it mattered, as the trunk was lifted easily, but it was good to know that Juliet seemed the stronger of the two.

  “Now… a short distance. Carry it ten paces. But be careful.”

  They moved almost too quickly, the trunk gliding between them like it weighed nothing at all. Ten paces, twenty paces… I had to step aside, feet barely keeping up, eyes covered. Their speed and their coordination left me blinking behind the cloth.

  “Stop,” I said. They froze instantly, trunk settled carefully on the ground. Precision. Focus. Strength and speed beyond what I would have expected for their supposed ages.

  They kind of scared me.

  I crouched by the fire I built, still blindfolded, letting the warmth seep into my frozen fingers. The pot hung precariously over the flames, its contents simmering softly.

  I could smell the aroma and see, as the blindfold I had on now was thinner, so I could see through it some.

  “Sit,” I said, gesturing toward the warmth. Catherine and Juliet shuffled closer, wary but obedient. I kept my hands busy, stirring the pot slowly, feeling the heat lick my palms. I had to keep up appearances. A prophet and savior who can’t feed someone is… not really someone people look up to. That would be unacceptable.

  “You’ll eat,” I said, voice calm, controlled. “But first… some questions. Nothing tricky. Nothing that matters too much. Just… to know you better.”

  They nodded, the linen shifting under their small bodies as they crouched near me.

  “How old… do you think you are?” I asked.

  Catherine tilted her head. “I… maybe ten?” she said softly, almost questioning herself.

  I hummed. “Interesting,” I murmured, pretending to note something in my mind. “And you?” I asked Juliet.

  “Ten also… I think,” she replied.

  I let it hang. “Not what matters, though. You will learn. You will grow. But knowing yourself, even in little ways, is important. Right now, I’m three, but that’s just in this body.

  I stirred the pot again, the spoon scraping gently against the sides. I listened to the water bubble and the small crackle of firewood.

  “What do you remember about before?” I asked, careful to sound gentle. Not probing too hard. Not letting them sense I had no idea what I was doing beyond pretending to be in charge.

  Both shook their heads.

  “Amnesia?” I thought. No wonder, if they were split apart like that, no wonder they couldn’t remember anything. I wasn’t even sure that they were entirely natural. They could be artificial.

  “I see,” I said. “Very well. And… your favorite… food, maybe? Anything you remember?”

  Juliet shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Catherine thought for a moment. “Candy, maybe? Sweets?”

  I hummed approvingly. “Candy. Sweets. Noted.” I tapped the rim of the pot with my spoon. “We will have candy soon. And more. You will not go hungry. Not while I am here.”

  I kept my hands in the pot, pretending to check the simmering contents, but my mind raced. Every small question, every little answer, gave me a sense of their minds, their history, and their resilience. It was subtle control. But necessary. They were fragile, yes. But I couldn’t let them feel my own uncertainty.

  “Tomorrow,” I said softly, “we will work on skills. Not just survival. But knowing the land, knowing fire, and knowing how to protect yourselves. Do you understand?”

  They nodded, small, careful movements.

  “Good,” I whispered. I dipped the spoon into the broth and brought a small portion to each of them. “Eat. Keep your strength. The world will demand it soon enough.”

  And as they ate, I leaned back slightly, still blindfolded, listening, planning. I was a prophet, blind maybe, but I must see everything.

  And when they slept, and I still worked on my story, having pretended to write in it blind as I still kept the blindfold on, it took it off.

  I looked at them sleeping on the makeshift beds. It was strange, kind of creepy too, but watching his children sleep was something a father sometimes did, right?

  I hoped so.

  Catherine - human by the looks of it, and the elder, if just barely - had a certain presence even while sleeping. But even though she was older, she didn’t seem as sturdy as Juliet was. Her hair, dark and glossy, fell across her face in soft locks.

  Juliet - an elf, most likely - was smaller, softer-featured, with blond hair and yellow eyes, arms curled slightly inward as if protecting herself in her dreams. Her hair was longer, and straighter.

  They almost seemed like sisters.

  Then my eyes drifted.

  And that’s when I saw it.

  Not a scar. Not something healed or faded.

  A seam at Catherine’s neck.

  A fine, pale line circling the throat, just a tiny piece.

  I leaned closer. The seam wasn’t random. It was clean. Precise.

  My fingertip hovered; the skin there was paler. Like it didn’t quite belong.

  Juliet had one too, but there the skin was just a shade darker.

  Thin, almost invisible at first glance.

  But impossible to ignore once seen.

  Had I put them together wrong?

  …Shit.