Burn the Beast: Eldritch God rehabilitated to a beast tamer

ALDRIC PARKER

Aldric stood at the edge of the hall, his shadow long against the pale light of the sconces. Henry knelt beside the bed, his shoulders trembling, weeping, his head bowed as he clutched his wife's limp hand. Her bruised and battered form lay motionless, half-consumed by the heavy folds of the quilt. Each shallow rise and fall of her chest seemed a small defiance against death itself.

The maids lingered near the walls, their faces etched with grief, their hands folded tightly before them. The butler stood apart, his usually stoic face stricken with worry. The mistress of the house was beloved, and to see her brought so low was a wound shared among them all.

Henry rose at last, his movements slow and deliberate, as though carrying the weight of his grief in every step. He left the room without a word, giving only a glance to the butler. "See to her every need," he instructed, his voice hoarse. "Whatever is required, she must have it."

The butler bowed low. "Yes, my lord."

Henry gestured toward Aldric, who stood silently. "Walk with me," he said, his voice quiet but firm. Aldric followed without hesitation.

They moved through the hall in silence, the echoes of their footfalls the only sound. Henry spoke first, his words breaking the stillness like the crack of a distant branch.

"I apologize for showing such a state of mine—"

"Not at all," Aldric interrupted before he could continue. "I would be more surprised if you were firm-faced, straight-clothed, speaking to me in your office as though this were a simple matter of trade. We all have families to bear, Henry." His tone softened, trying to empathize, as he added, "One does what one can."

Henry nodded faintly. "Indeed," was all he said, his reply carrying the weight of his sorrow.

The two men entered the office, where Henry sank into a high-backed chair draped in regal blue velvet. The room was richly appointed, every surface gleaming with polish, but there was no warmth in it today. Aldric remained standing before the desk, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited.

Henry reached into a drawer and produced a sheaf of parchment. "I had these prepared for you." He slid the documents across the desk, their edges crisp and unmarred. "They pertain to trade matters in the central capital. Rumor has it that the Anvil's business has seen a decline this winter."

Aldric bent slightly, accepting the documents with a small nod. A faint soft-smile touched his lips. "I will not forget the importance of such a gift."

Henry's reply came swiftly, his voice brittle. "I do not require you to remember it."

Aldric straightened at once, his brow furrowing at the words. The act of confusion on his face did not go unnoticed by Henry.

Henry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his hands clenched together tightly. "I am a grief-stricken husband, Aldric," he began, his voice faltering. "I have no honeyed words to ply you with, no promises of riches or alliances to sweeten the deal. All I have is my desperation." He paused, his breath catching. "I ask you this not only for my sake but...maybe, in the name of Adeline."

Aldric's expression changed at the mention of her name. His eyes flickered, Henry noticing and his voice came low and steady. "I am all ears."

Henry's voice hardened. "I need you to find them—the ones who did this."

"To find out who—" Aldric began, but Henry cut him off, his voice sharp. "Yes."

Aldric sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Henry, I understand your pain. I truly do. But now, of all times, to go hunting for the guilty is reckless. Your house needs you—"

The crack of Henry's fists slamming against the desk shattered the calm. Aldric made an act to flinch, his surprise unfeigned. Blood welled from Henry's knuckles, but he paid it no mind. His voice roared like a storm.

"Do you think I lack clarity, Aldric? Do you believe me blind to my own grief?" He straightened, towering over the desk, his eyes burning with fury. "My wife!" he bellowed, his voice cracking under the strain. "She has been in that state for a week. A week! And you would have me sit idle while the one who did this walks free?"

Aldric met his gaze but said nothing.

Henry's voice lowered, though his anger still simmered beneath the surface. "I do not need your advice, Aldric. I do not care if the person who did this act is a Hunter, a Conjurer. I need you to do what you are known for." He stepped closer, his presence looming. "To hunt."

From a corner of the room, Henry retrieved a wooden box, its surface scuffed and worn. He placed it carefully on the desk, his hands trembling as he pushed it toward Aldric. When he spoke again, his voice cracked.

"Inside are her belongings from that day. Everything. Untouched. Aldric... I plead with you."

Aldric took the box, his expression unreadable. He gave no reply, no assurances, and no platitudes. Without a word, he turned and left the room.

__________________

Aldric had placed the wooden box in his room back at Ad's house, letting it sit untouched on the corner of his desk, for now. Now, he sat with Adeline in the warmth of the main room, the fire crackling low as they exchanged words.

"How... is Henry?" she asked, her voice tentative, almost reluctant to disturb the silence.

"Pitiful," Aldric replied flatly. He barely glanced at her, but when her brows furrowed, her discontent plain, he sighed and relented. "He's going through... too much. More than I can explain."

"Wouldn't it have been better to—"

"To spend more time with him?" Aldric interrupted, finishing her thought. "You, of all people, should understand. A man sickened with grief does not spit out the poison he drinks for just anyone. Let him be. I'll visit him once or twice a week. That will suffice."

"You really are a hard man to socialize with." She scoffed, leaning back in her chair. "Well, at least you're improving."

"I apologize, your highness." Aldric rolled his eyes. "I did not realize that in your company, I would require such gravity of intellectual linguistic prowess and flawless mannerisms to—"

Ad's fist slammed into his chest mid-sentence, the air rushing from him with an audible gasp. "Enough," she said, standing abruptly. She grabbed her coat, shaking it out before draping it over her shoulders.

"Wait—" Aldric began, but she cut him off.

"I've heard enough! I'm leaving."

"Where are you—?"

"To Daphne's store," she snapped, already at the door. The biting wind swept in as she opened it, stealing the warmth from the room in a single gust. "Do. Not. Follow."

"Wait! Were you just looking for an excuse to buy new clothes—"

But she was gone, slamming the door behind her before he could finish. Again.

Aldric sighed heavily and sank back onto the sofa, his hands rubbing at his face. "How much longer do I have to act?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

The familiar tapping came then—a light, rhythmic beat against the window. He turned his head, and there it was: the crow. It cocked its head at him, its beady eyes gleaming in the firelight. Aldric rose reluctantly and opened the window, letting the bird hop inside before closing it again against the cold.

"Bloody cold outside," the crow croaked, snapping its beak in agitation.

"That it is," Aldric replied, collapsing back onto the sofa.

"Misses on a cloth scavenger hunt again?" the crow asked, hopping closer. Aldric waved a hand, confirming with a lazy nod.

"Well, that explains why she was so lively. By the way, did you bring the documents—"

Before the bird could finish, Aldric tossed the bundle of parchment toward it. The crow flapped its wings, jumping back in shock. "What the hell's gotten into you?" it squawked, snapping its beak again.

Aldric's voice was low and tired as he answered, "I'm tired of lying, Greg."

That was perhaps, the one true statement he had said, throughout all this time.

"I don't want to lie to Ad anymore. Even though it makes sense why I have to put up with this... this fake world conjured from a [Sanctuary], I can't stand it. Talking to these people—it's like speaking to ghosts. Thoughts and memories of things that never existed in the first place." His voice grew quieter. "I despise it."

Greg tilted it's head, it's dark eyes fixed on Aldric. "You can whine all you like, Aldric," the crow said, it's tone sharp. "But that won't get you anywhere. If we want to break free from this, you need to find the anchor. A [Sanctuary] this specific—where even words tied to your kind, to the very essence of what makes you or what makes the whole of Anvil, are forbidden—there's no doubt it's bound by strict conditions. There must be rules. And when someone real enters the picture..."

The crow's voice trailed off, its meaning clear. "You have to piece it together, Aldric. Make it make sense. And now that you have the parchment, you can head to the central capital and dig deeper."

Greg turned toward the window, it's beak tapping against the glass. "My time's up here. I have to go. Farewell, friend."

Aldric opened the window again, the chill sweeping in once more as Greg took flight into the night.

He closed the window and stood there for a long moment, staring into the darkness beyond. He knew the crow was right—but it didn't know what Aldric was, truly.

Did the crow know about the real lie? Did it know what Aldric had done to obtain the documents? Did it understand the depth of his plans, the secrets he harbored? 

No. Aldric thought not. At least, not yet.

And that was a small comfort.

Because if everything is a surreal dream, he needed to act and isn't that what he has been doing and what he did today? Act.