Aiden settled as best he could on a rickety chair, placing his candle on the table next to the grimoire. The flickering flame cast dancing shadows on the yellowed pages, giving the impression that the words were moving by themselves.
He delicately turned the first page, and immediately, his new ability to perceive magical auras activated. The book pulsed with a dark energy, almost alive, as if it contained a part of its author's soul.
Journal of Master Corvus, Artisan of Lost Souls and Creator of Wonders
Year 847 of the Imperial Calendar
First day of my installation in Greyhollow
Finally, I have found the perfect place for my experiments. This small isolated village, far from the prying eyes of the capital, will be the theater of my greatest work. The inhabitants look at me with curiosity, but without suspicion. They cannot know what I really am, what I have lived through.
I must write my story, if only to remind myself why I do all this. Why the world must change.
Aiden frowned. There was something in the tone of this writing that didn't match the image of the sadistic monster he had formed of the Puppeteer Scourge. This first entry sounded almost... melancholic.
He turned the page, and his breath caught. A detailed illustration spread across the double page: the portrait of a little girl about ten years old, with big innocent eyes and curly hair carefully braided. She held in her arms a porcelain doll that resembled her perfectly.
My little Élara. My beloved daughter. If you knew how much I miss you...
I think constantly of that cursed day when everything changed. You were so happy playing with your dolls in the garden. You invented stories for them, you gave them voices, you made them dance under the sun's rays. "Papa, look! They're alive when you love them enough!" you said, laughing.
And then those soldiers arrived. This stupid war between our two kingdoms, this thirst for conquest that drives men to destroy everything beautiful and innocent. They burned our house, pillaged our village. They found you in the garden, still playing with your dolls.
You didn't even have time to be afraid. One sword blow, and my little light was extinguished forever.
The words became increasingly difficult to read, as if the ink had been diluted by tears. Aiden felt his throat tighten. He had read thousands of stories, but this one had something different. It was true, imbued with such authentic pain that it seemed to seep from the pages.
I buried your little body next to your broken dolls. And it was there, kneeling on your grave, that I made the oath that still guides my life: never again will an innocent child suffer in this world. Never again will anyone know the pain of losing what they hold most dear.
It was that night that my Vital Flame awakened. Not in joy or hope, as it's supposed to happen, but in rage and despair. A black flame, cold as death, which showed me the truth: this world is rotten, Élara. People suffer, they hurt each other, they die in atrocious agony. But there is a way to save them from all this.
Aiden turned the page, his heart beating faster and faster. The writing changed, became more frantic, more obsessional.
Fifth day - First successful transformation
I began with Jeanne, the baker. A kind woman, but tired by life. She constantly complained about her back pain, her money troubles, her loneliness since her husband's death. "I just want to stop hurting," she told me one evening.
So I granted her wish.
The process is complex, but so much more beautiful than I hoped. First, I must establish a link with their Vital Flame - that energy that makes them suffer, that gnaws at them from within with its emotions, fears, regrets. Then, delicately, like a surgeon of the soul, I extract it.
And oh, Élara! You should have seen the peace on her face when her Flame was extinguished! No more pain, no more anguish, no more fear of the future. Just... serenity.
Of course, the human body cannot survive without its Vital Flame. But that's where my genius lies. I have learned to create replacement bodies, perfect puppets, incapable of suffering, guided by a pure and benevolent will. Mine.
Aiden had to stop reading, overcome by nausea. He was beginning to understand the horrible logic of this monster. In his deranged mind, transforming people into puppets was an act of compassion.
Tenth day - The essence of the Vital Flame
My experiments progress beyond my expectations. Each Flame I absorb makes me stronger, wiser, more capable of carrying out my mission. For you see, my dear, each Vital Flame contains the entire essence of the one who carried it: their memories, emotions, talents, dreams.
By absorbing them, I become a little bit them. I feel their past pain, I understand their suffering. And this only reinforces my conviction: they are better now, freed from this burden that is conscious existence.
The blacksmith's Flame gave me an instinctive understanding of metal and fire. That of the Henrot family brought me their memories of family love, so beautiful, but so painful too. How horrible it must have been for them to know they could lose this love at any moment!
Now, they are together for eternity. Parents and children united in my creations, incapable of hurting each other, protected from all suffering.
The writing became increasingly rambling, punctuated by small drawings representing puppets in various poses. Some were crude, others of troubling realism.
Fifteenth day - A revelation
I understood today why my mission was so important. By observing the last untransformed inhabitants, I saw their fear, their anguish, their despair in the face of what they consider a "terrible fate". These poor souls don't understand that I'm offering them the most beautiful of blessings!
They prefer to cling to their miserable existence, to their destructive emotions, to their fragile bodies that age and decompose. They don't see that my puppets are eternal, perfect, freed from all the evils that afflict humanity.
But I don't blame them. How could they understand? They haven't lived what I have lived. They haven't seen their beloved child die in violence and pain. They haven't felt that agony that tears your soul apart and makes you wish you had never existed.
That's why I must persevere, even if they resist. For their good, for the good of all those who will come after them.
Aiden brutally closed the grimoire, unable to read any more. His hands were trembling, and he felt bile rising in his throat. The horror of what he had just discovered exceeded everything he could have imagined.
This wasn't just a simple villain thirsting for power. This was a father broken by pain, whose love for his dead daughter had been perverted into a monstrous obsession. In his sick mind, transforming people into puppets was an act of love, a way to "save" them from the suffering inherent to existence.
And the Vital Flames he absorbs... Aiden instinctively brought his hand to his chest, where he felt his own pulsing gently. He doesn't just steal their energy. He literally steals who they are. Their memories, their personalities, their entire souls.
This revelation made him understand something essential. His own Vital Flame - this warmth he felt growing in him with each progression - wasn't just a source of energy. It was him. His essence, his personality, everything that made him Aiden Norask.
And someone like the Puppeteer Scourge could steal it from him.
But what exactly is it for? he wondered. The system mentioned it, the villagers seem to have one too, even unawakened. What is it, really? And why does mine strengthen when I progress in the story?
His reflections were interrupted by a noise outside. Slow, mechanical steps approaching the inn. Several pairs of steps.
The puppets must have detected his presence.
Aiden blew out his candle and slipped under an overturned table, clutching the grimoire to his chest. His heart was beating so hard he was sure it could be heard for miles.
The inn's door creaked as it opened completely. Dark silhouettes stood out in the doorway, three puppets with porcelain masks gleaming faintly in the darkness. They entered slowly, their heads pivoting left and right with jerky movements, like automatons searching for something.
Don't move, Aiden pleaded mentally. Don't find me. Please.
His resistance to fear helped him maintain some control, but he still felt sweat running down his back. The puppets were so close he could hear the creaking of their joints, the friction of their wooden feet against the debris-strewn floor.
One of them stopped right next to his table. Aiden could see its legs - assemblages of polished wood and fabric, held together by almost invisible threads. They didn't move naturally, but rather as if they were manipulated by an invisible puppeteer.
Which they are, he realized with horror. They're still controlled by Corvus. These people aren't really dead, they're prisoners in these puppet bodies, forced to obey his will.
The puppet remained motionless for long minutes, as if it were listening to something Aiden couldn't hear. Then, abruptly, it started moving again, joining the other two near the door.
They left as silently as they had entered, their steps gradually fading into the misty night.
Aiden waited several more minutes before daring to move. When he was sure they were gone, he relit his candle with a trembling hand and reopened the grimoire.
He had to know more. Understand exactly how Corvus went about it, discover if there was a way to reverse the process, to free the transformed villagers.
And above all, he thought, touching his chest again, I need to understand what this Vital Flame really is. Because I have the feeling it's the key to everything.
He turned the pages until he found a passage that seemed promising:
Twentieth day - Perfection of the Ritual
The transformation process is now perfected. Here is how to proceed to free a soul from its suffering mortal envelope:
First step: Establish physical contact with the subject. Skin against skin is ideal, but simple contact through clothing can suffice with training.
Second step: Locate their Vital Flame. In most people, it slumbers at the center of their being, barely perceptible. In certain exceptional individuals, it can be more active, more defensive. These cases require more finesse.
Third step: Create a connection. My own Flame, nourished by so many others, extends like tentacles toward theirs. I must be gentle - too brutal an approach can damage the essence I seek to preserve.
Fourth step: Extraction. This is the most delicate part. I must literally "suck" their Flame into mine, while maintaining the integrity of their memories and personality. If I proceed too quickly, they become only an empty shell. Too slowly, and they can resist.
Fifth step: Physical transformation. Once their Flame is absorbed, their mortal body begins to decompose. That's where I intervene with my arts, replacing flesh with wood, bones with metal frameworks, skin with enchanted fabrics. The result is a perfect creature, incapable of aging, falling ill, or suffering.
Aiden felt his stomach turn. The process was described with the clinical coldness of a medical manual, but it was nothing more or less than instructions for committing murder and violating the victim's soul.
But at least, now I know how he proceeds, he thought. And maybe if I understand the process, I can find a way to counter it.
He continued reading, looking for clues about Corvus's potential weaknesses or a way to undo the transformations. The following pages were filled with technical diagrams, alchemical formulas, and long ramblings about the "beauty of puppeteer perfection".
But it was in the last entries of the journal that he found what he was looking for:
Twenty-third day - An unexpected obstacle
There remain a few recalcitrant villagers who still escape me. They hide in places my puppets have trouble locating, probably cellars or tunnels. No matter. I will have them all, it's just a matter of time.
What intrigues me more is this recurring dream I've been having for several nights. I see a young man with green eyes, with a Vital Flame... different. Brighter than the others, as if it contained something I've never seen before.
In this dream, he stands facing me in my workshop, and his Flame pulses with a golden light that makes my puppets tremble. As if it had the power to... wake them up? To break my bonds?
Absurd, of course. No ordinary Vital Flame can undo my work. My creations are perfect, eternal. But this dream troubles me. There's something in this young man's eyes that reminds me of...
No. Impossible. Élara is dead. My little girl will never come back.
But what if... what if this dream was a sign? If the universe was sending me someone to challenge me, to test the solidity of my conviction?
In that case, I will wait for him. And I will show him the beauty of what I have created. Perhaps he will understand. Perhaps he will voluntarily accept the transformation, thus becoming the first to join my creations of his own free will.
Or perhaps his Flame will be so exceptional that it will finally give me the power to bring back Élara. To recreate her as she was, innocent and joyful, but this time safe from all suffering.
Yes... that must be it. This young man from the dream, he's the missing ingredient. The key to perfecting my work.
Aiden closed the grimoire, his hands trembling. There was no doubt left possible - Corvus had seen him in a dream. Somehow, the Puppeteer Scourge knew he was there.
And worse still, he thought he could use Aiden's Vital Flame to resurrect his dead daughter.
A shiver ran down his spine. He was beginning to understand why the system had sent him here, to this specific story. It wasn't a coincidence. It was a test, a trial he had to overcome to progress.
I need to discover more clues, he decided. And understand my own abilities better. If this Corvus is right and my Flame can really "wake up" his puppets...
He slipped the grimoire under his jacket and headed for the exit. The night was far from over, and he still had much to discover before being ready to face the Puppeteer Scourge.