Chapter Thirty-Two


    Ambrose was surrounded by a darkness that was so all-encompassing he thought for a moment that he was in the void. It didn’t feel like he was blind or had entered a particularly dark cave. Instead, it was as if he could actually see the darkness itself as if it were a physical thing.


    “You’ve come back to me.”


    Ambrose stopped. A flutter went through him, and his face went slack as he went white as fresh snow on a moonlit night.


    “Alice.”


    His voice was a whisper of a hope. Yet the back of his mind was screaming at him even now. He needed to stay on the path. This was a trick designed to get him to stray. He knew it.


    But.


    “I’ve been here so long. I don’t know how I got here, but I knew. I knew you’d find me, my tarnished knight.”


    His eye closed, his fingers dug into his palms, and he felt his shoulder tremble as his heart beat like a furious chorus. Almost against his will, he turned towards the sound.


    Noelle screeched at him, a tiger roar in his mind. He stopped, taking a breath.


    Which is when Alice appeared before him. She floated there, a ghost-given flesh once again.


    Just as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her.


    Their relationship had never been very traditional, but as he looked at her, he recalled a conversation he had had with her on one of their early dates.


    A conversation about flowers.


    They were walking through the Kampong, a botanical garden in Miami, Florida. His hand was clasped in hers. Sunlight played in her blue eyes, making them look like an ocean of glittering blue. She wasn’t pregnant yet, but even despite that, to Ambrose, she glowed.


    “Flowers, eh? I bet you take me to see some roses. Just like every man.”


    Her voice was wry, her lips curving as she shifted her eyes to look at him, not turning her head.


    Well, that had been my plan.


    “No, of course not. I just thought we’d enjoy the walk. I’m still thinking about what flower encapsulates you.”


    Her brow moved upward,


    “Oh, really. Any ideas?”


    No, in fact, he had none.


    “I’m not spoiling the surprise. A complicated woman like you means you deserve a complicated flower.”


    “I’m complicated now, am I?” Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    She had a slight edge in her voice, but she was still amused.


    “Hey, there’s a squirrel,” Ambrose pointed.


    Alice laughed, playfully bumping his shoulder with her own.


    “Nice save, mister.”


    That day, he looked up a bunch of flowers, trying to find something that fit her. He learned way more about them than he ever wanted to know. Even so, he found one that especially fit her, he felt. He bought it, and when it was delivered a few days later, he called Alice in.


    “What’s up?” She said, running a comb through her dark tresses.


    Ambrose gestured to the Before The Storm black irises he had bought for her. These irises were as dark as painted midnight, with just a slight subtle hint of purple within them. Even he found the flowers to be mesmerizingly beautiful.


    “I present to you your flower!”


    Alice walked forward, reaching out. She picked up one and brought it to her nose, caressing the petals. Her eyes closed, her face softening, a small smile playing across her lips. A moment later her eyes opened,


    “What are they called?”


    He grinned,


    “Before the storm irises. Supposedly, these represent power, mystery, and beauty. All traits I think fit you perfectly well.”


    She placed the flower down and took his head in her hands, placing a soft kiss on his lips.


    “You’re sweet. Thank you.”


    Ambrose cupped her chin, running a thumb along her lips gently.


    “The perfect flower for my perfect princess,” he grinned as she shook her head.


    As quickly as it had come, the memory faded, and Ambrose found himself reaching out to his dead wife before him, looking as real as that day.


    Not all that glitters is gold, hatchling. Some burn with false fire. If you touch that thing, you will die as surely as if I had eaten you back in the dungeon.


    Ambrose ripped his hand away. A hurt expression crossed the Alice he knew was fake.


    “Why do you reject me?”


    Hand opening and closing, Ambrose forced himself to walk straight. This is too far, System. He raged inside his mind. It was never simple; there was always a challenge. Usually, it was monsters or a puzzle, but this time, the System was making it personal.


    Or maybe it was a creature? Ambrose activated his true sight, but he saw nothing but the same physical darkness. No monster out there, no illusions to pierce. Or, if there were, it was beyond his item’s ability to undo.


    “Daddy? You came for us, Daddy!”


    Something tightened in his throat, a ball of moisture that he tried to swallow.


    “No. Not that,” he said.


    He closed his eye, not daring to turn around.


    The child’s voice, small, vulnerable, spoke as if directly into his ears.


    “Where are you going, Daddy? Don’t you miss us? Don’t you want us, Daddy?”


    He kept walking. Noelle sent him waves of concern, trying to wrap her thoughts around his as a layer of protection. The voice didn’t care.


    “I’ve missed you so much, Daddy! Don’t go! I want you to play with me!”


    With a fist, he knocked himself in the jaw. Not too hard, but hard enough that he felt the lance of pain shoot through his face. She isn’t real, it’s a distraction, an illusion to make you wander off the path. He repeated this over and over.


    “I named her Jennifer, just like we talked about. Little Jenny, remember?”


    Oh, light. I do.


    He swallowed again. The damnable lump wouldn’t go away. He turned to techniques his father had taught him long ago. Within his mind, he constructed a flame, a bonfire that he fed everything to his emotions, his distracting thoughts, and the memories playing through his mind like an unwanted ghost.


    All of it went to the fire he formed in the center of his mind.


    He did this until all that remained was the goal—one foot in front of the other until he could make it to the end. Stay on the path. Go straight, do not deviate. With his battle focus came clarity. In the moments before the flame, he had been Ambrose, the grieving father.


    The father who would have done anything to have his family back.


    But now? Now, he was Ambrose, the killer. He was the cold SOB that people used to call in to fix their problems. He was the one who got it done, and he would not be deterred.


    It was easy, now, to ignore the plights of the voices and the images that flashed before his eyes. Even when his “daughter” started sobbing his name, Alice began to plead and belittle him. He walked on.


    Finally, the darkness around him broke, and he emerged into dusty light. Before he was a throne, and all around him was a treasure and ancient hieroglyphs. On the throne was a small golden lamp.


    A feeling settled over him then.


    A feeling that this was the dungeon’s end.