The Red Soldier: The Crimson Prophecy

ISSUE #2

(Y/N) stood in his cellar, sipping from a mug of hot coffee as he waited for Agatha. It had been almost three weeks since he'd gotten home, since his world had turned to shit, and he'd turned to sleeping all day and drinking all night. It wasn't anything serious, and he'd promised himself to fulfil his agreement with Agatha Harkness, but he'd needed time to process what had happened. He needed time to mourn.

         He was still grieving, but he'd cut down his three bottles of wine a night to one and a half, and instead of waking up at four in the afternoon, he was now waking up at midday. Even still, he needed the coffee, that way he'd be awake, and ready to take on anything the witch had to throw at him.

         Agatha strolled down the stairs looking incredibly pleased with herself, 'finally pulled yourself out of bed then?' she asked rhetorically, 'didn't happen to bring me an apple did you, hun?'

         'Never did the apple thing in this country,' (Y/N) told her plainly, 'especially when I was younger; last time I was in a classroom my lecturer was telling us where to hide in case Nazis bombed our college.'

         'No need to get so deep so quickly,' Agatha Harkness chuckled, 'there'll be time for that. But right now, I want you to keep quiet, follow me, and only speak when you're spoken too.'

         'Follow you where?' he asked her, 'isn't it a bit early in the term for a field trip?'

         Agatha let out a small laugh, 'you're funny when you're not locking yourself in your room and crying with a bottle of Rioja.' (Y/N) went to say something snarky in return, but Harkness put a finger to her lips, shushing him. She faced the only part of the wall which wasn't covered in bookshelves and pointed her palm at it, 'aperi ianuam suam memoriam,' she whispered, and by magic, a glowing, crimson, door appeared in the wall. 'C'mon kiddo, let's see where it takes us.' She grabbed (Y/N)'s hand, pushed open the door, and led him into the darkness.

***

12/05/1940

'Mam!' (Y/N) (L/N) smiled as he left the lecture hall, seeing his mother waiting outside. He waved at her, accidentally dropping his anatomy and physiology textbook.

         'Here y'are, (Y/N),' Jim, his only real friend, said, handing him his book with a grin. He liked Jim. He wasn't like the other lads. He was kind, and he didn't shove his wealth and privilege down everyone's throat.

         (Y/N) smiled at him, 'thank you.'

         'Coming to the pub tonight?' Jim asked, 'heard O'Reily's are brewing their own now, so they aren't putting a limit on how much you can drink. Plus, they've bricked up their windows, so no black out.'

         'What time?' (Y/N) inquired. O'Reily's had been his favourite pub when he'd been in his final years of grammar school.

         'half-five,' grinned Jim, 'I'll have a pint of their 'special-cider' waiting for you.'

         'Thanks,' (Y/N) nodded, 'I'll see you there.' Jim patted his back as he approached his mother, letting her link her arm with his as they walked out of the city campus and onto the nearby moor. She'd been quiet most of the walk, simply nodding and smiling very faintly whenever he cracked a joke or explained what he'd been lectured on that day.

'Is everything alright mam?' he asked. She usually buckled at his jokes and questioned him about what he'd learnt in order to test him. 

         She stopped walking then and took back the arm which she'd linked with his. (Y/N) stopped walking and turned to face his mother. 'Mam?' he asked, feeling rather baffled. Mable (L/N) looked up at her son, tears welling up in her eyes. 'Mam?' he questioned, 'Mam, what's wrong? Why are you crying?'