* * *


    As they both returned to El’s room, the man quietly closed the door behind him.


    "Stay close with me boy," he said solemnly to El while putting the candle back on the table.


    "Ok…" El replied briefly, sensing the tension emanating from him.


    Afterward, the man turned the wooden cork of the vial and pulled it open. Pouring a few drops of that unrecognizable fluid into one of his palms, he clenched that hand tightly while swiftly giving the vial and the cork to El who was currently at the side of his legs.


    "Close it tightly, boy!" the man said, with El quickly heeds his instruction and handling it with care.


    The man then brought his hands together, cupping them. Closing his eyes, he subsequently brought his palms close to his mouth, creating a hole between his thumbs. The man uttered something into his hands, which El could not understand, even though it still was the same familiar language. It was as if the meaning behind the words somehow inexplicably eluded itself from El''s mind, slipping through his ability to comprehend – like water slithering through his fingers.


    Then in a voice barely above a whisper, the man began to speak. And at one and the same time, a chill raced down El''s spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck, as if the very air around him had thickened with an unseen presence.


    In the books El once read in the village, Witches usually performed incantations to activate their spells. He wondered if what the man did was the same as what he had read at that time.


    <i>"Mortis umbrae, guide my hand,</i>


    <i>Conceal mine actions, as grains of sand.</i>


    <i>In this space, let none perceive,</i>


    <i>What I do, let them not believe."</i>


    As the man kept chanting the incantation, the longer it went, the more El indistinctly could feel the ambiance in the room turn to a shade even darker, as if there was a color that was even more black than the night itself.


    <i>"As thou dost speak, so shall it be,</i>


    <i>Hidden from sight, eternally free.</i>


    <i>By the power of darkness, I beseech thee,</i>


    <i>Let my deeds be lost, like whispers at sea."</i>


    A gentle wind blew aimlessly in the room, originating from an unknown dimension, caressing El''s skin with its cold, harrowing touch.


    El swore to himself that he could feel a pair of eyes observing him quietly from the very darkness, or perhaps from the shadows themselves. They seemed to come from many directions, yet he was certain they belonged to the same gaze. He felt a chill of death in those stares, as if something unknown, representing the end of Fate itself, desired to claim his breath – much like the times he had teetered between life and death during the drought that plagued the village. With nothing to drink, he had ended up only unconscious from it. That experience was carved deeply into his memory.


    And now, El''s back was once again drenched in sweat while he shivered in place. On the other hand, the man''s clasped hands abruptly released an inky black smoke between his fingers. It drifted upward through the air, forming a spiral in its path.


    At last, the man said, <i>"A blood to thee, O lord. For a veil is all I entreat."</i>


    <b><i>{Veil of Shadows}</i> </b>


    After he uttered those final sentences, everything went still. The inky black smoke in the air formed a straight line that receded back to the man''s hand until there was nothing left. For those who couldn''t see in the darkness, there was nothing else left to it. However, El, who could see in the darkness, noticed that the shadows in the room seemed to change into something else, as if they were alive and sentient, wiggling abnormally in their place.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Alright, all''s done and well executed. It''s been a long time since the last time I used it. Not really sure if it was going to be a success. But it is I who have done the deed. So, everything of course will be fine…" After delivering those pieces of sentences in a swanking and nonchalant manner, while gazing at El with a delighted smile, the latter could only return the look in a daze.


    ''You mean you''ve done all those thingy things making me shiver here, without knowing if you''ll succeed or not?'' El thought, feeling weird and uneasy about what the man did, as he couldn''t really fathom what he felt right now, whether he wanted to say it was cool and fascinating – or downright eerie and unsettling. So, this time around, he decided to keep his mouth shut lest the man try another thing that seemed to be dangerous.


    As El gave him the earlier vial that had already been sealed back, the man raised it to his eyes and then carelessly and vigorously shook it a few times. Afterward, he shoved it into El''s hand.


    "I''ll teach you later how to use it when I''m back. And be careful with it…"


    "Alright."


    ‘You are the one who’s not careful with it…’ El added inside his mind.


    "So, let''s go with the secret code this time. You need to ask first when someone knocks on the front door, or maybe they already arrived at your door."


    "Ok. What do I ask?"


    "You ask, – Chicken???"


    "Chicken? Why chicken??"


    "No reason. Just feel like it."


    "… ok then. I ask, – Chicken???"


    "Yes. Then I answered, – It wasn''t your time to crow yet, mister," the man said with a smirk under the candle lamp.


    "… ok. So that''s the answer then," El said flatly.


    "… … you are no fun at all, kid," the man replied with obvious dissatisfaction.


    "Is that supposed to be funny?" El asked, genuinely curious.


    "No. Ok, back to the secret code. You ask again at the door, – Is there any sauce for the chicken, sir? and my answer is, – It’s velouté sauce, sir. Made of butter, flour, and chicken stock. And it''ll be even better if you add a splash of dry white wine. The consistency needs to be right, and don''t forget about the black pepper," the man stated with so much passion that El couldn''t hold back a question arising from the back of his throat.


    "So, what is this all about with chicken and the sauce?"


    "Ah, I''ve just craving it for some time now. I didn''t order it at the restaurant before because I already ate it last week. Anyway, when I''m back, we''re going there again, alright? I will show and explain to you about the restaurant itself. There is a reason why that restaurant is the most famous here, yet only the locals know about it. It was an epic tale, kid, I tell you…" the man mentioned with a smile hanging on his lips.


    "Okay then. I''ll wait for you here."


    "Do you remember the last code though? If it was different, don''t open the door. We need to stick to the intricacy and the finesse, kid. Should I write it down?"


    "No, I remember it. Don''t worry."


    "Ah, you are right? You are smart after all…" said the man, as if he was sure about what he was saying, making El curious about the memories that he had actually lost before.


    "Sir, I want to ask. How long do you think I have lost my memories? We had calendars at the village, but they were way outdated. I don''t know my birthday either, so how old do you think I am???" El asked with a glimmer in his eyes. There was a hint of a well-hidden pain behind his question.


    He did not even know his name, his date of birth, or whether he had any family at all. He did not know if his parents had abandoned him there by choice or if they had been lost to the cruel hands of Fate before leaving him behind. Or perhaps, more optimistically, they were still looking for him, desperately searching and hoping to reunite with him.


    But he would never know and would keep being oblivious to all of it. The ache of not knowing was a heavy burden he carried to this day. Yet deep down, he hoped his parents cared about him and still cared even now. For a reason, he had been left there, in the barren land where death was a shadow that attached itself closely to everyone''s head. He imagined them scouring – traversing the desolate terrain, their hearts filled with determination, never giving up on finding the child they lost.


    But he knew part of the truth about it. The last children, other than him, who had died at the end of it – had parents who were killed in the attack by the invaders. Everyone in that village had a history. Records could be traced in a dusty library, where birth certificates were hidden in a concealed compartment.


    But not him. No record whatsoever. He was an enigma, a ghost without a past. It was as if he had materialized from thin air, a baby left on the doorstep of a weary and starved kind couple he called uncle and aunt, growing up under their care, only for them to die trying to keep him alive. Until he was taken by the two elders, an evil grandfather and a cruel grandmother known to everyone in the village as people who fancied human meat. He had overheard their hushed tones speaking purposely at his side, perhaps out of pity.


    So now he had come to this point. At the very least, he wished to know through the man how old he was at that moment.


    ‘That is not much of a wish, is it?’


    * * *