The door burst open. Edward observed the room and what now stood in its centre; a great beast of a man, a colossal figure of over seven feet tall in heavy black clothes melted with mediaeval metal armour, and a horrendous skull for a face. Instead of hair, black fumes danced above his head and extended itself out across the beast’s entire body. Its body and clothes merged as if the being embodied smoke and non-existence itself, although Edward could feel its presence as he stared down at this embodiment of hate, emitting the very essence of darkness and despair. 

“Oh dear,” the man said as he panted for air. The beast fell forward, clearly weak, and shrunk to resemble his wards shape once more. The boy’s body was normal again, but it tattered his uniform to pieces, revealing lacerated wounds that covered his skin. 

“No, Victor!” cried out Edward’s voice. “Everything shall be fine, sir.” Kneeling, he held Victor’s head and placed it on his lap. The ward struggled to say his name. The boy continued to fall in and out of consciousness. 

Edward’s voice mumbled words that resembled English in mantra but could not be deciphered by any man, let alone a boy. The language was entirely foreign to this world. Edward held him in his bloody arms, and as he chanted, Victor’s wounds slowly closed on their own accord. As lucidity slowly stumbled back to his ward, Edward heard the clinking of glass. The image of a tall, dark-haired woman with a long cloak and large black grimoire emerged at the door frame. The woman looked taken aback by Edward’s presence at the scene and coldly stared at the situation. 

“I must take this boy to Eden. A presence like this cannot be allowed to remain in the world unattended.” 

“Wolflight,” Edward acknowledged. “It is up to the boy’s parents to make that choice.” 

“I’m sure Holmes wouldn’t mind a last-minute visit.” 

Amidst his regrets and the blood of his ward upon his arms, Edward remembered things of his past; rage, power, blood, and fire. It felt as though he was back on the battlefield once more, and the frail hand of justice stood unwavering and stubborn in the fray, strong in its purpose, and a solid reminder of the promise he was to keep.