It was well known that Rene Adahad employed servants to dress him—not from opulent laziness, but from something closer to terror. The servants did not speak of it, but their careful hands and averted eyes betrayed their pity. One glance at his reflection explained why. In his youth the thing had been distant, a mere speck drifting in the clouds mirrored by a calm river, or hovering beyond the tall windows of his childhood bedroom. As the years passed, it drew closer.

It began as a shadow slipping behind trees and furniture, always shifting position with uncanny awareness that it could be seen. Perhaps in an attempt to hide its existence, yet Rene was certain it wanted to be seen.

The day he swore never to look at his reflection again was the day he glimpsed its face. It was his own—twisted in a silent, wailing moan, eyes bulging from their sockets, tears streaking the cheeks. He could almost hear the cry it made.

"Sir?" A footman's voice snapped him from the memory.

Rene blinked, then forced his hands to steady the stack of papers. Official reports on top, the esoteric ones—Wild Anima, Undoing Pacts—tucked discreetly beneath. "Yes, lad—What is it?"

"A summons has arrived for you, sir. The High Pillars request an audience."

"The temple?" Rene paused. "Now what on earth could they want from a provincial like me?"

The footman shifted his weight. "I cannot say, sir. Only that the messenger mentioned—" He faltered. "—your condition. They have offered to help."

Rene's jaws tightened at the mention. The papers on his desk stilled, half-visible titles of his own years of research peeked from beaneath the pile. "Very well," he said, the words clipped. "Thank you for the message, lad." He attempted a reassuring smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I suppose one does not decline a summons from the High Pillars. Prepare the carriage... and send someone to help me get ready."

WIP