Book One – Chapter 9

Yves leaned his head against the wall, activated his Timegiver, and closed his eyes. His body was too exhausted to shiver. It took a few deep breaths, then he completely slumped into himself. He listened to the rain.

Amidst the relentless downpour, he could not distinguish anything else. It was not just because of his exhaustion, the storm, or the looming Vicha presence; it was the stark absence of Midnight. Yves and Midnight were rarely apart, inseparable since his birth. Her absence left a void deeper than what the Vicha had consumed.

Midnight’s senses were more refined than his, and Yves had grown accustomed to perceiving the world through her. She possessed instincts and intuition that allowed her to recognise hazards in a way Yves could not, detecting disturbances and concealed presences in their surroundings faster and better than him. Through her, he understood danger with a precision unmatched by his second sight. Feeling her instincts was more than simply hearing, seeing, tasting, and smelling more; it was a complex fusion of all senses, creating the automatic understanding that was primal intuition.

Yves had intuition, too, marked by the ominous good feeling or a bad feeling, unexplained yet distinct sensations that something was either just right or very, very wrong. He knew that his body had somehow refined these feelings through Midnight, ever learning from the impressions she conveyed to him. However, Yves often reasoned these feelings into existence. He analysed what he perceived from his present surroundings by adding his knowledge of the world, his understanding of his circumstances, and his expectations from past experiences. He thought about how these present impressions and his reason fitted together, and from that, he concluded the most likely explanation.