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Colorful lights flashed before Al's eyes as if he were on the inside of a kaleidoscope. The world dissolved into nothingness and it felt as if gravity switched directions every second, pulling his battered body this way, then that. All of this occurred in the span of a few seconds and then, happening so soon that it made Al wonder if anything had even had happened, he was standing atop an ancient mosaic tile floor depicting a dolphin. The floor, in surprisingly good condition in spite of its age, was the only thing in a ruined villa that still held its structure. Above him, a blue tarp tied in place of a ceiling flapped in the wind.
Unlike the Golden-Age ruins he had just escaped from, these ruins seemed to have fared much worse. Unstable looking concrete walls, large chunks either broken off or missing, with an assortment of stones peppering their insides like chocolate chips in a cookie were exposed to the elements. The other buildings, or what used to be buildings, seemed to have fared even worse, with only a difficult to see outline of what once was remaining.
In the room Al had appeared in, a wrought iron gate placed in the ancient doorway seemed fairly out of place. Albert limped towards it, hoping that it wasn't locked. As he neared the gate, flashes of memories of the battle he had just escaped from ran through his mind, not the least, the sight of Calandra and Kuzma, back-to-back in the center of a dozen Knights.
As he edged over the crest of one of the hills surrounding the valley, he saw the heavy blade of Damen the Hundred Handed spark against one of Kuzma's chains, diverted from its intended target, but it still slid down and dug into the flesh of his thighs. He saw no more as the crest of the hill rose up behind him and hid the battle from him as he made his escape.
Al Gritted his teeth and wiped a tear from his face, whether the tear was from the pain he was in, the memory of having to abandon the two or some combination of the two, he didn't know. Regardless, tears wouldn't help him now. For now, he had to get to Olympus before the Knights of Elysian sent someone after him.
Having reached the gate, Albert gripped the bars and shook the gate, cursing aloud when he saw a small padlock and chain looped around the hinges of the door holding it shut.
"Who locks up some ruins?" Albert thought, reaching through the gaps in the bars and yanking the padlock in a futile attempt to unlock it.
When the metal refused to budge, Albert stepped back and considered his options. The the remaining walls of the building he was in were short and crumbling, he doubted that his body could handle clambering over it at the moment; especially if it crumbled beneath him. His eyes traveled over the dark metal of the chain and padlock. It wasn't that thick, maybe he could break through it if he tried hard enough.
Deciding that breaking the lock was his best course of action, Albert drew his dagger from its sheath again and was about to attempt to break through the chain when a sonorus voice from somewhere nearby was carried on the wind. Albert froze, the blood in his veins chilling. With his back to the wall adjacent to the door, Albert gripped the blade at the ready, preparing to plunge it into the neck of whichever Knight had come to check the entrance to the Golden Age ruins.
The voice appeared to be talking to a group of people, its cadence had the same ring to it that teachers from his high school had when giving a lecture. Clear, concise, and not expecting any response from anyone. As the group of people neared, Albert was able to make out the words that the person in the lead was saying.
"- was once the capital of the ancient world and the headquarters of the Delian League. Though abandoned now, Delos used to be one of the largest and most bustling port cities in all of the Mediterranean."
Albert quickly sheathed his knife and hid it in the sleeves of his robes. These people weren't knights, they were tourists. The guide continued his tour and the group stopped outside of the room that Albert was trapped inside.
"If you look inside here, you can see a tile mosaic honoring Poseidon in the center of this building. Though we don't know much, we believe that this Villa used to belong to one of the wealthy traders that used to live on the island. This is one of the best preserved pieces on the island and, as such, entry into this room is prohibited."
Albert jumped as the faces of curious tourists peered through the bars, accompanied by jovial laughter and conversation. Al was just considering whether to show himself and ask to be let out of the ruin when the chubby face of a child poked her head through the bars. The young girl's shoulder-length auburn hair framed her face and her set of olive-green eyes widened as she saw Albert, bloodied and bruised pressed against the wall beside her.
"Jenn, get your head out of there," A woman chided, just out of view. A pair of hands with long, painted nails and wearing a beaded glass bracelet reached through the bars and gently pulled the girl back.
"But Mommy! There's a boy in there! Why can't I go in to?"
"A boy?" the woman repeated, her motherly hands absentmindedly brushing the girl's hair back into place. "What do you mean sweetie?"
"He's got owies and is standing there!" The girl moaned, apparently pointing to where Albert stood. "Please mommy, can I go too?"
"You said you saw someone inside?" The voice of the tour guide repeated, fumbling with the lock on the chain as he did so.
"There's always one. Every tour, someone has to ignore the rules and trespass somewhere," The man grumbled, sliding a key into the lock and popping it open."Alright, come on out kid, this might be fun and games to you, but to me its an hour long lecture and a stack of paperwor-"
The guide froze mid-sentence, mouth agape as he took in Albert's appearance. He was still wearing the set of robes that Kuzma had given him, though the were soaked with blood and torn in many places. Luckily Albert had had the presence of mind to hide his weapon. He didn't want to think of what the guide would have thought had he been brandishing a knife as well. Even without it, he must make quite the sight.
"Good lord, what happened to you?"
The irritation melted away from the tour guide's voice and he suddenly switched into Greek and rapidly spoke into a walkie talkie that he had hooked onto his belt.
"Yes, there's a blood covered boy in the ruins, get some paramedics here stat and call the police. He must have escaped a kidnapper or something, he's hurt bad."
Sliding the walkie-talkie back into his belt, the man bent down to reach Albert's height while the tour group stared into the ruins at Albert , talking amongst themselves. Albert didn't like it, it made him feel a bit like a zoo animal.
"Are you alright? What happened to you?" He asked again, switching back to English.
His eyes traced the wounds on his body, pausing at the embroidered designs of his robes curiously before looking him in the eyes.
"Nothing," Albert said stiffly, replying in Greek. "I don't need paramedics either, I'll be fine."
The last thing he needed was to be stuck in a hospital, dealing with police and reporters. He may as well create a giant sign with an arrow pointing at him stating 'Albert's here!'
The tour guide raised an eyebrow at Albert's usage of Greek, but continued on in Greek unperturbed.
"I don't know what happened, son, but you're safe now. You must have escaped someone horrible but trust me, no one here will hurt you. The paramedics just want to see to your wounds."
Albert shook his head, glancing at the doorway longingly. The door was blocked by the tourists, he wouldn't be able to force his way through easily.
"Come now, they are already on their way," The guide said, placing a gentle, but firm hand on Al's shoulder and leading him out of the room.
The tourists stared at him as if he were a part of the attraction and the little girl from before waved at Al happily.
"I'll be bringing this young man to meet with the paramedics. Please feel free to tour this area of the ruins, but do not enter any gated buildings and please do not continue on. We have more of the tour to come!"
Maneuvering Al away from the tour group, who had begun talking amongst themselves again, whispering about his robes and the blood, and down a hill that led down to a beach with vibrant turquoise waters, a single, small, modern building and with a pier where a couple of boats were moored.
As the two neared the small building, a team of two people wearing black caps and collared shirts, wearing a traditional hand-held radio on their sides and holding a first aid kit and stretcher between them came rushing up.
"Alright, you'll be safe with them kid, I've got to get back to the tour," the guide chattered, pushing Albert towards the two, who had stopped and set up the stretcher in a swift, well-practiced, manner.
"Where does it hurt?" One of the two medics asked him in rapid-fire, Greek.
"Nowhere, I'm fine," Albert muttered, brushing away the medic's hand before it touched the location where he hid his dagger as it ran up and down his arms to test for injuries.
The medic gripped Al's chin and forced him to look in her eyes.
"I'm a medic. You are obviously injured. It's okay, whatever experiences you had before, you are safe now. Just tell me where you are hurt, and we can help you."
Albert groaned inwardly, eager to get away and nervous that the Knights of Elysian would appear and attack him at any moment. He decided that going along with this and looking for a chance to escape would be his best choice of action.
"My arm, my leg and everywhere really," Albert said, wincing as the medic's hand flew to the locations he indicated.
"You're going to need to take that…, um, take off your clothes." The woman said, gesturing at Albert's robe.
Albert quickly slid out of the robes, hiding his dagger within the fabric, but remembering to keep the mana stone that Kuzma had given him grasped in one of his fists.
"Don't throw those away," Albert told the other medic, who was holding the bloody fabric in gloved hands wearing an expression as if he were holding a pile of dung.
"You want to keep these rags?" He asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Yes, don't throw them away," Albert repeated, somewhat distracted now that the woman had begun using a scalpel to cut away his undershirt away from his chest.
The man rolled his eyes, but dropped the folds of fabric into a plastic bag.
Meanwhile, the female medic poured some water over his shoulder and arms, rinsing off the blood and grime to get a better look at the wounds.
"Holy mother," she gasped, seeing the burns, cuts and bruises covering Albert's body.
"What happened to you? She asked, cutting away the fabric on his legs as well.
"What is it?" The man asked, peering curiously over at him, wincing as he saw the exposed flesh beneath his skin.
"His wounds," she said, cleaning off his legs with water as well. "They look like shrapnel wounds from a grenade. I've seen some like this serving in the navy in Iraq."
"Really now? What have you been doing kid?" The man asked, more curious than concerned.
Albert shook his head and said nothing.
"What? Too good for conversation, are you?"
"Don't mind him," The woman whispered to him, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and pouring some of it over a square of gauze. "This'll sting," She added, beginning to dab all of his open wounds with the stinging liquid.
"He's only a medic in name only, his father is the director of our company and got him stationed here," She continued, dousing another piece of gauze as this one was dirtied.
"Demitrí, call the coast guard and get a helicopter or something over here. I can't treat these wounds here with a first aid kit."
"Ugh," He sighed, "Just lugged all this stuff up here and now I need to hike back down. You'd better be grateful kiddo. Ol' Demitrí here is one of the best medic's you'll see. Not everyone would give you top-class treatment like me."
"Just get going," the female snapped, grabbing some more gauze and a roll of bandages from the first aid box. "Unless you want the kid to fester. Oh, and grab some more bandages while you're there."
The man sauntered down to the welcome center, loudly bad-mouthing her as he went.
"Some second rate medic, treating me like a pack mule. I'll need to report this to dad, this place needs to be reorganized anyway."
The woman rolled her eyes and began wrapping Albert's shoulder and arm.
"He's been threatening to report me to his dad since day one. I think his old man sent him here to get him out of his hair more than anything. Useless, spoiled, rich boy he is."
She pulled the bandages taut, making it hard for Al to move his arm but the stiffness and pressure was strangely comforting.
"Seriously though, where have you been to get injuries like this? And how'd you end up on Delos? You're quite the mystery."
"Dunno," Albert answered honestly, watching Demitrí's figure enter the welcome center a few hundred meters away.
"Cautious, aren't you? Well, can't say I blame you, looking at these wounds. I promise the Virgin Mary, though, I'll get you out here safely."
"What's the date?" Albert asked in an attempt to avoid talking about where he came from and curious as to how long he'd been gone from home.
"The date? Today's January 10th."
"The 10th?"
He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. When he had climbed down the cliffs behind the house, the trees had just begun to shed their leaves and don their autumnal colors and yet, now, after what only felt like a week, he learned that it had been months. His parents must be distraught.
"I'm sure It's alright kid," the medic said, noticing his expression.
A faint, rhythmic beating sound entered the periphery of their hearing at the same time as Demitrí returned, panting heavily.
"Oh, guess I didn't need the extra gauze after all," The female medic said brightly, finishing torso and looking up at the bright orange helicopter approaching in the distance.
"Son of a bitch," Demitrí spat, still panting.
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