Amelia had been annoyingly right. Ipahn was much different from the rest of the developed world. The socioeconomic classes all blurred into one. Mikhail had indeed spotted poor and rich alike, yet the rich did not ride in crested carriages nor were they accompanied by entourages. And the poor did not beg in the streets. Their clothes perhaps a little more worn and worked, yet arms full of ingredients for dinner and homes they owned to return to.
Mikhail would notice a consistent culture of people who practiced compassion and valued hard work throughout all of the cities and villages they traveled through. That was until they arrived in Imore.
It had been like the rest of Ipahn, smoothened plaster buildings with tiled roofs, dense with trees and peppered in grassy knolls. It was smaller, less populated than most, but not the tiniest village he'd visited in the country. At first glance it was on theme, and unremarkable Mikhail though. His aunt, however, treated every place as if it were some picturesque and coquette resort.
At this point Ipahn had made Mikhail realize that he and the demon within him both had an inborn need to be thrilled and entertained. The lands were too peaceful, too stable, the drama of life just too shallow, arguments and minor scuffles, so easily resolved. Even the places he did find something that should be of thrill; potion peddlers, addicts, loons alike, it was all somehow soft, somehow unserious. Iphan's out of sight, out of mind' way of life miraculously kept the peace. It was boring.
So when gossipy little slaps of words hit his cheeks and condensating whispers lapped at his ears, the demon shuttered, and Mikhail quickly realized something was different in Imore. Sharp tongues, curses, accusations fed the conversations around him. The people cussed, blabbered, yapped, and moaned. Shit talked and spewed from the foulest to prettiest mouths Imore had to offer. The people sat on edge, quick to disagree, easy to lend themselves to verbal confrontation. A nervous and aggravated energy coated everything and everyone, and yet, no one seemed to notice. No one would stop and point out how agitated they all seemed. Mikhail would be even more surprised that his aunt would barely notice, only making a single comment about a gloomy vibe before seamlessly assimilating, as she had done in all of the villages prior.
It wasn't behavior that was too noticeably different than those in the rougher regions of Tellan, and as his first week there progressed, it had begun to slip his notice as well. It was only repeated words, from too many mouths to count, about a woman on the mountain, that had him remembering that people of Imore had vicious tongues. Nobody would shut up about her. Every new person he met would eventually talk about the little girl on the mountain, the only child born in Imore in decades, who had been taken by the entities of the forest. Returned cursed and ruined.
In one version, the girl had been found in a slumber and when she awoke she was not the same, but a possessed husk. In another, the curse she carried was an ill omen to the fate of the people. In some she was a monster wearing the face of the girl and in others, an evil witch. There were those that speculated that she was a harbinger of end times while others just found her weird and off putting.
So Mikhail made his way up the mountain. Towards the very edges of inhabitation, where in a little bakery he found the woman. At first he just barely caught glimpses of her through doorways that led back into the kitchen. Inky hair and boyishly clothed. He could tell she was of average height but that was the extent of his initial observation. For the most part she remained out of sight and soon Mikhail had purchased his bread and he had no reason to linger.
Yet there was something that urged him to stay. His curiosity at a peak, the demon flapping and fluttering inside, closer to the skin that it'd ever felt. A job at a bakery seemed so mundane for a harbinger, a theoretical entity of the forest. An individual who clearly sat at the forefront of the minds of the sharp tongued people of Imore for such outdated and illogical reasons.
So he stayed. Sat in the trees till dusk fell. Those who lived just below the bridge had retired while it seemed the few who lived higher up, more remote, lingered around. Taking their time traveling up the hill. Probably stopping in at the tavern for a nightcap before bed. Just as the last man stumbled from sight, out came the woman, features obscured by shadows and splotches of running clouds.
Mikhail moved through the trees, careful to keep the darkness around him.
She traveled across the small portion of yard, cutting behind a disorganized pile of chopped wood before disappearing into the brush. She moved swiftly and with such uncanny confidence that it took Mikhail a moment to comprehend that she had just walked off into the dark forest.
He quickly followed. Moving behind the logs, freshly cut, permeating pinene, and entered the trees. His eyes adjusted quickly and he found a small deer path before him. He could see her just slightly ahead, climbing with ease up the mountain. She moved with a grace that he had not expected from the woman who- compared to the hyper feminine ladies of his own culture- looked a bit brutish.
They both continued on, him behind her just out of sight. Once she reached the tavern, she paused in her journey, letting a few passersby disappear. After a moment she was off again, quickly passing through a strip of light. It was strange the way she seemed invisible in plain sight. Almost as if it were magic, the way she hid in the tiniest bit of shadow. He found it similar to his own abilities to meld with the darkness, yet, impressively, she used no magic.
Once past the tavern and into the wilderness, where no humans could be heard, Mikhail pushed a little closer. Now he was only a few meters behind, catching hints of her scent, green and warmblooded, heartbeat nearly in sync with the crickets singing in the night. He was starting to think nothing was out of the ordinary about the woman.
Perhaps she was a little weird in her actions and shy in her demeanor, but nothing so noticeable that it'd cause a whole village to gossip about the poor woman. It was notably strange, something to keep an eye on. He was just about to turn to go home, when a stray stick broke beneath an ill placed foot and she halted in place. Dark hair rippled as her head snapped in his direction.
He was close now, hidden in the darkness, still, but her gaze laid directly upon where he should be. The clouds parted and he got a brief look at her eyes; large, downturned, tired, blanched pale yellow irises flashing in the sliver of moonlight. Then the illumination was gone and her face was once more construed in shadows.
Her eyes had been mesmerizing. And he stood stunned, holding his breath, hoping she didn't investigate the noise. She took a small step closer, head tilted, listening for what had made the bump in the night. Another small step and Mikhail was biting his lip, an odd and uncomfortable feeling drawing close. Brushing against his skin at her nearness, the demon slid forward. Took a sip of her aura.
It was all it took and the demon was laving inside of him. Dripping saliva onto his soul. She tasted like falling. Like terror and adrenaline and a heaving sinking feeling pulled at his gut. Attempted to drag him under its steady current. The demon was dancing and Mikhail held his breath, held his demeanor together long enough for her to decide that there was nothing in the dark and keep going.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Mikhail quietly hissed, slapping the demon viciously.
The demon screeched, roiled again. Ignoring the blow and continuing its dance, flipping in his stomach wildly. Mikhail rolled his eyes, looked back to the woman, about to disappear above a ridge.
"What was that?" He mindlessly asked the demon who responded with more flips and little trills.
"Found. Found. Yes. Yes." Came confirmation from the demon in a parrot cadence. "The wheel. Wheel."
"We don't know that yet."
"Lies." It snickered, not once ceasing its celebration. "The wheel. The wheel."
Mikahil watched her disappear, no longer followed.
He didn't want to admit it then. Nor would he fully admit it until weeks later, after he'd met Korin formally. Begged Etan for a job in an attempt to get closer to her. Saw mysterious magic flashing through her unblinking gaze, heard the hollow rasp of hidden sorrow in the dead of night, drenched in blood both her own and that of men. Even then he'd do his best to ride out his skepticism.
Years worth of searching complete. It felt unreal. Not validating. Thousands of miles, several countries, hundreds of cities later and all this time he'd been searching for this awkward woman. Hidden on a mountain in the middle of nowhere on the edge of ruins and waste.
No, he'd finally admit it to himself, sitting in the shadows with Korin. Showing her gifts he'd gotten her. Watching her inspect the wheel of fortune, dread knotting in his solar plexus. The final test he told himself. If she drew the card he'd know for sure.
And she did and it wasn't a relief.
He found himself not wanting her involved. His mother believed his search had been to find a key to combating the spread of the Eenoans. He had been happy to believe that too but now that she was within reach, there was some twitching anxiety driving him to move her as far away from the religious zealots as possible..
Perhaps it had been the subtle familiarity of the oracle's visions. They'd come in so many flavors, like dreams both sensual and demonic, bland, salty, bitter, and sweet. Some visions had come as animals, sometimes lost, sometimes begging, sometimes wounded and vicious. A rabid biting at the world, a bird with oiled wings, a deer bleating in the foggy dawn with gnarled antlers and sharp hooves. Others manifested as simple concepts, arrows arching through a white sky, a rusted sword, an empty and crumbling well, tiny white flowers peppering dense grass. But what stuck most were the visions that came as people. Men and women captured in instances of great emotions. Fights and arguments, confessions both pleasant and painful, hate, envy, fear, connection, anger, isolation, joy, love in words and actions. It was a myriad of visions that he had used to preconstruct some idea of what Korin would be like and what she would mean to him. As he'd followed her about, he'd slowly found aspects of all the fortunes in her. And soon she was unintentionally fitting so well within every vision.
Even now as he recalled them; with his head full of Solstice, sinking into a too sentient demon, he found her there, replacing ambiguous figures. He'd connected these divinations too intimately with himself. It was why some part of him wanted to hide Korin away.
It was why he still hadn't informed anyone he had found her.