732 Present Purpose, Part I wanted to laugh.
As loud as I can, as hard as I can.
The simple notion of my Father bundling the ring up with a pretty red bow to send to me, wearing goo-goo gaa-gaa eyes thinking of wedding chimes and white doves was enough to send me wheezing till my face turned blue.
But for his sake, for his feelings, I swallowed the down the urge, and just asked instead. đrđ˛eweđđ§đvel.đđm
âDad, are you trying to tell me something?â
âLike what?â He asked blankly.
âShit, you really just handed me an engagement ring and youâre gonna ask me âlike whatâ?â
He took a few secondsâ silence to think. A few secondâs silence very subtly pestered by whispered laughter.
âOh,â He finally caught on. âNo. I donât mean it like that.â
.....
As if seeing his stoic face right in front me, I gave him a dubious frown.
âSo what do you mean by it, then?â
âI saw your mother preparing to send a present to you. I wanted to give you one too. So I did. What you decide to do with after is entirely up to you.â
A few secondsâ silence again, and thenâŚ
âAnd perhaps your mother might have influenced my choice of gift ever so slightly.â
âI knew it.â
Yep. That sounds more like it. Now it was making more sense. Leave it to Mom to just entirely hijack someone elseâs present like that.
âBut I didnât want to give you that ring for that,â He said earnestly. âI just thought maybe youâd find it⌠cool. I thought it was cool.â
And now that sounds more like the dear olâ dad, alright. A little confused, but heâs got the spirit.
âYeah, alright, thanks Dad,â I said, picking the silver ring up, feeling a new peculiar sense of grandeur at the touch, and perching it beside the bed. âVery cool.â
Mystical engagement ring aside, the story behind it sounded vaguely relevant to present time.
Imbuing magic in an object, an object given to someone else out of love. Donât I already have something similar to that with me right now?
Hanging loose and swinging free around my neckâŚ
âThe story behind the ring,â I mused. âHow well-known is it?â
âItâs not, actually. In fact, most knowledge pertaining to the Divines has never been properly chronicled. As a result, a vast majority of their deeds and histories are left up to interpretation.â
And there goes my theory of Irene being a sly copycat. I suppose Amanda wouldnât be any the wiser either⌠otherwise such a romantic sentiment wouldnât go amiss to my ears upon receiving her gift.
Kinda begs the question though, doesnât it?
âSo how do you know?â I asked.
âAn interesting question for another time,â He replied. âYou havenât opened your motherâs present yet.â
Well, if that wasnât just the most clumsiest attempt at changing the subject⌠still, I suppose if he didnât stop me here now, I wouldnât stop later.
âMomâs presentâŚâ I whispered under an apprehensive breath, setting my sights back toward the flat, festive square lying on the bed. âItâs safe to at least rip it open, right?â
âDepends,â He grunted. âWould you consider yourself to be in a bad mood now?â
âUm, no?â
âThen yes, itâs completely safe to rip it open.â
Yeah, I donât think I really wanna open it up anymore after hearing him say that. Would rather hand it to some super secret agencies for careful study first.
Oh well, what the hell.
Like the most volatile orange in existence, I carefully began to peel away the wrapper with the drag of a finger. Little by little, I was seeing black, my guesses changing the more I peeled away.
Partway through, I thought it was a black towel. Halfway, it looked more like a black scarf. Then, with torn pieces of paper strewn across my floor, I found myself holding out the blackness in its entirety, softer than silk, lighter than air, swaying in my grip from a breeze non-existing, and Mr. Black, who had up to this point, been contently curled atop a pillow, broke into a shrill, ferocious hiss before hurriedly slinking away beneath the bed.
The first thing I thought of? Sera.
The longer the look, the more it looked like a cloak. Like Seraâs except blacker, bigger, and for some strange reason, within my hands⌠I could almost feel as if my fingertips were being submerged in its darkness, like a gaping hole in reality⌠given form.
âYouâre very quiet,â Dad said, breaking silence and snapping me back to attention.
âIâm very confused,â I muttered, turning the cloak over at its sides, and feeling a tingling in my grip from just how weightless and intangible it felt despite the glaring presence it exuded from its pitch blackness. âWhat am I holding right now?â
âA precaution,â He cryptically responded. âUse it.â
âWhat, wear it?â
âUse it,â He said again. âFocus, determination, and intent.â
Ah, magic. Of courseâŚ
I fell silent, focused, feeling the distinct, unmistakable buzzing inside me coursing throughout my body. Not a second later, whatever was supposed to happenâit happened. The blackness in my hands took hold of me.
A startling warmth began slithering across my skinâthe cloak was shrinking, taking over meâbecoming me, more and more, my body was being coated in the darkness.
âUmm,â I managed to sound out, shuddering as it began spreading around my neck. âIs it supposed to be doing this?â
âItâs protecting you,â Dad stated in his usual dull voice. âYou donât recognize it? Go find a mirror, take a look.â
Still rippling and dribbling all around me, I awkwardly shambled my way to the mirror in my room propped against the wall, and had a good long look at myself as the blackness disappeared from my grip entirely and had consumed me completely.
âOhâŚâ I heard my voice trailing.
âYes,â I heard Dad speaking from afar. âYour mother thought it was best if you have it⌠you know, just in case.â
This blackness, darkness, ebbing, shifting, almost as if livingâit was Momâs gown. The same she had worn when she had helped cleanse Harry, the very same darkness that was a permanent fixture to her appearance in Riaâs memories when she was still heralded as the Vile Terestra.
Except⌠it wasnât even a gown anymore, but just as Iâve observed beforeâa cloak. From my ankles, all the way up to my neck I was coated in an outer layer of darkness that did not absorb any light. It was bizarre, surreal⌠I looked⌠weird.
âYouâd look silly in a dress, your mother said, so she altered it slightly to better suit you,â Dad said, answering questions unasked but nonetheless appreciated. âIâm inclined to agree. She fashioned it out of the cloak I used to wear too.â
âI seeâŚâ
âWith it, youâll find any type of magic far easier to wield and manage. It augments your skills, refines it without the hassle of exertion. Become adept enough, and you may find it acting upon your will without your input. A most capable individual would be nigh invincible wielding such a thing⌠such as it was the case with your mother.â
That was all well and good, but as I continued to peer at myself in the mirror, I only had one question in my mind that mattered above all else.
âWhy would she give me this?â I asked, turning, shuffling back to the glowing display of my phone, feeling the cloak flutter in turn to my every move. âHow did she give this? She told me, she said⌠this thing is her magic, a manifestation of it. She canât use magic, she says itâs risky, how did sheâŚ?â
âA leftover,â The tiny little speaker blared back at me. âA lingering remnant from the situation before.â
âOkay, how does that work?â I said, growing more confused than ever. âThe cloak is a literal manifestation of her magic, right? Youâre telling me she just ripped her magic off of her?â
âYes.â
I had to pause to make sure my brain didnât implode.
âA lesser, paler residue of her magic, that is. Like I said, what youâre wearing is nothing more than a leftover from before. Normally, sheâd get rid of it at an instant, or otherwise itâd gradually fade away into nonexistent overtime. But, instead, she found a better use for it.â
I scoffed, in spite of my own bafflement, I scoffed. âAs a Christmas present?â
âAs your Christmas present, yesâ Dad affirmed. âNow typically, magic separated from its host is harmless, inert, and unable to be used in any way. Thatâs why thereâs no risk to this, thatâs why sheâs able to give this remnant of her magic to you without any danger.â
âBut in that same vein, isnât it basically pointless giving it to me? Itâs as you said, if its separated from the host, I canât even use it.â
âAnd thatâs where you stand to the contrary,â He said. âYou inherited your motherâs talents, her powers. What is she able to do, so are you⌠potentially. You share in her nature. You and she are deeply entwined. So what is her magic⌠by proxy, now become yours.â
Silently, I looked myself in the mirror again. The ebb and flow of the blackness enveloping me entirely. The tingling warmth embracing me, it finally struck me why it felt weird, bizarre⌠and to a certain extent, comforting to the touch. My magic made manifest, holding me close⌠hers and mine.
âBear in mind, youâre still using a leftover, an inferior,â Dad said in a ringing voice. âFabricating one of your own would prove vastly superior to anything else, but for the time being, your motherâs gift would do for now.â
âFor what?â I asked him, too thoughtless, dumbfounded to realize the simple answer.
And Dad, knowing my stunned state was considerate enough to speak out the blatantly obvious.
âWhat else for?â He said nonchalantly. âIn case you ever might need it.â