I don't like this any more, Dad

The entity seemed amused by his forced restraint, but even more enthused when Alastor attempted to make conversation with it. He wondered if paranormal entities cared for things like small talk, but he didn't suppose anyone else would think to ask a cryptid's name, so this was probably the most normal conversation the entity had ever had. The entity confirmed that he did remember Alastor and knew about him. He didn't receive a direct answer from the firefly entity, though it did say it had been called many things. Then it asked what Alastor would call and name him before it disappeared in a cloud of luminescent fireflies.

Alastor blinked his eyes and found himself back in the cave with Avacyn. His daughter had fallen into a steady sleep, her little chest rising and falling while she clutched two tiny bottles in her paws. The dark brute glanced down at the glittering bath bomb in his own paws, realizing his daughter had also met the entity properly now rather than just through a reflection. How interesting... Alastor considered the entity's words, listening to them echo in his brain. "What shall you call me? And what would you name us?" The brute ran his tongue over his dry lips, rolling the bomb in between his paws while he pondered that simple yet profound question.

Alastor thought about the entity. It had appeared to him once before, when he'd stumbled into its lair. It had harmed him, cursed him, damned him for his past and his actions. Yet it had also given him the chance to meet his wife, the life he lived now, and the "curse" had become his children's gifts—the same gift that had spared the life of his son. The entity had given him and his daughter gifts, sought them out when they were alone, and despite everything going on, Alastor believed the entity when it said it wasn't responsible. The firefly cryptid was a being between worlds, appearing whenever the realms of the living and the dead seemed to converge. It was neither benevolent nor malevolent. It was somewhere in between light and dark, existing on the fringes of light and shadow. It wasn't good nor evil—it simply was. What did one call something that lived in the space in between?

A little smirk touched Alastor's lips as he murmured a single word, one that fit the entity perfectly in his mind.

"Penumbra."

"Alastor Mendacium"