As Oracles are Wont to Do
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"Are you sure that Mom isn't dead? I'm pretty sure she's dead."
Serranos crossed his arms in defiance while staring across the room at his father. He lifted one of his hands, giving it a shake to break free of the loose-fitting sweater that he wore. He lifted one of his knobby fingers up to the bridge of his glasses to push them higher on his face.
"For the last time. Your mother isn't dead. I already told you this."
Thraya stood at the other end of her father's working area, nearby the window, taking in the conversation between Serranos and their father. Her brother wasn't listening and her father had pulled away from his desk — still sitting in his chair — almost pleading with Serranos to drop his insistance on this subject.
"I know what I saw. Mom even told me; ghulgs are the shades of those that have died."
"I don't know what we saw that night, but it wasn't a shade or a revenant. I got a letter from your mother this morning. She says she's fine and she's going to look into what happened."
"I don't believe you."
Thraya's father lifted a crumpled set of parchments from his desk and offered them to Serranos. His eyebrows lifted up while his eyes went from the set of documents to his son. He shook the pages a moment before Serranos finally snatched them up greedily.
"She says it might have been a dream we all shared. Or some kind of psychic omen. I don't know all of this oracle mumbo-jumbo. Thraya, do you know the name of it? When people can subconsciously manifest entities from their dreams..."
Her father turned to look at her, he leaned on the back of his wooden chair. Serranos had already made his way across the room, finding a comfortable section of floor to sit on and sift through the letters from his mother. He adjusted his glasses several times and exaggerated his scholarliness at dissecting the words before him.
"Nethengheist." Thraya blurted out absent-mindedly. "I don't think it's that, though. Usually, that's a projection of a single person's powers of Haeth. It can manifest as a trickster entity, a demon-like entity, or just a whirlwind of energy. It usually only happens to young people who haven't yet realized their potential for magickal energy. Those people who can't adequately tap the aethyr."
Thraya took a few steps further into the room, walking to her father in a sort of haze. She detoured sharply to make her way over to her brother. She had decided that his time with the papers was up. She wanted to read what her mother had said. She gave Serranos a hard kick with the toe of her left foot to his thigh.
Serranos belted out a whine and glared beneath his glasses at his older sister. He lifted up the papers and held them against his chest. His tongue came out in yet another act of defiance.
"Stop it, you two. I think it might be a 'whatever-geist.'"
"Thank you, but mind your elders, Thraya. Like you said, it's caused by untapped powers of Haeth. The gods old and young, your mother gave all of you that kind of capability." Thraya's father mused and turned back to his desk for a moment. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the large wooden desk. "Who knows what all four of you are capable of. All it took was one of you to blow out the side of the damned house."
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