"Relix!" Fevorey mumbled, grief-stricken, his face becoming as lifeless as a corpse. His body followed suit, and memories flashed by. His heart slowly went silent: it released no sounds.
"No, no, please… NO!" Fevorey repeated while clasping his head; he internally screamed in agony. He felt like his brain was getting smashed in by a hammer.
He was stuck in a dilemma. He didn't know what decision he should make.
Again, 1000 Lives for a mere guard sounded stupid to him. So Fevorey decided to after the intruder, with hesitation still clouding his mind–
–But louder did the scream descend, leaving a gift: despair.
it dawned upon Fevorey's senses. And there was no mistaking it.
Relix was getting tortured, miserably.
Fevorey knew that scream better than anyone. He had screamed like that one a certain day. The memories of a time in his life resurfaced at this moment, it helped him make a decision.
But Fevorey forced himself to calm down. He took a deep breath to do so . He had to make a decision quickly.
To go save his friend. Or to go stop the imposter. To him, this decision was gruelling. He cried. He begged for an answer as he knelt on the ground, and scratched the painting of it.
Seconds passed. Fevorey suddenly thought, 'What… What if I was wrong?'
He began to think that he was exaggerating. That everything he had thought up was a mere delusion. He assumed, 'What if that was just a kind old lady and not an intruder?'
A trail of his delusion and self-deceit had begun. He made excuses, excuses on why it was a random occurrence that didn't need too much exaggeration.
But Fevorey was not about to let a man die because he had an assumption.
Each thought made it easier for him. Now, there were no two choices for him to pick from.
Only one. To save his friend.
Fevorey didn't dwell on it. He stood while tightening his grip on his staff—his heart raced: it couldn't bear the weight of what he was about to do.
He sprinted towards the exit with a determined gaze. He felt a mixture of: Guilt. Anger. Defeat. But above all — Courage.
He jumped out of the building, fading into the distance.
He didn't look back.
He had made his choice.
…
In the forest. A man sprinted on all fours; it was the same man who was at the top of the cliff. He bolted across the lands and the trees flashed by him.
He trod through the forest with the grace and elegance of a monkey. Using the trees as a platform, he vaulted across the air.
This action was repeated continuously for long periods. Until a figure caught the man's attention like a flytrap. It was a guard who wore the Munsell-yellow suit every convention member ought to wear.
(His name was Relix)
Relix was scouting the area because there had been multiple loud noises in the vicinity, so their immediate superiors had sent Relix and other guards to scout the place for the cause.
Relix now lingered around, far from the crash site, but he was close enough to spot any abnormalities. The dark place also frightened him, but he had a job to do.
And so far, Relix had noticed footprints around this spot. It totalled 7 people. From the amount, he guessed this was a group, but Relix wondered which group caused such a thing.
Relix strode to a peculiar footprint with his hands placed on his chin, and the ground around the area was scorched, black smoke emitted from it. The zig-zagging smoke made it difficult for Relix to breathe. He assumed the smoke had a paralysis-like effect.
He crouched and held his breath, successfully nullifying the paralysis effect the smoke had on him,
His index finger gathered a trace of ash and caressed it — it felt hot to him. It nearly scorched his skin. As he saw this, Relix thought, 'Zoroastrism and Toxism.'
Relix rubbed the ash in between his fingers, causing it to seep into the air; he watched them swim to the sky in fascination.
He analyzed everything with a keen eye, the ashes, and the organized sequence of steps. His mind slowly connected all the clues. It was connecting.
This whole damn situation was a planned Job.
"So the blast was a signal," Relix whispered, and his gaze took in a feeling of realization; his fingers shook.
The training Relix received at the academy resurfaced — something was amiss, he thought, and swore that he would get to the bottom of it.
Relix shut his eyes. Energy released from the depths of his body, brightening the forest with an azure light. And his sensory powers activated.
And like magic, Relix felt the Earth. The Sky. The Forest, and the crouching man at his back that wielded a hunting knife.
… "F***" Relix's eyes widened in fear. Someone was at his back, managing to stand there for so long without Relix noticing.
So he lunged forward with all his strength. Fear gripped Relix's being; their heart raced, pounding endlessly as he landed clumsily on the ground.
Although he had dodged the attack that nearly killed him, the blade had sliced off a strand of his hair.
As the strands fell onto the ground, Relix peered at them with his face white with terror. In his eyes, that hair had turned to his bloody head. In his mind, he was dead.
Relix shook his head to clear up those thoughts, before glaring at the man that almost beheaded him.
The man circled Relix while clicking his tongue, and the sound echoed through the forest. It was the only thing that made a noise in this silent region.
The rhythm of the clicks also sounded familiar to Relic. It was something his instructor drilled into him during his lectures.
"The hunting tone!" Relix said, with bulging eyes and clacking teeth. His hope crashed and burned. This was a man he never wished to fight or meet.
"Ja-Jar-jargon." He stuttered, and his heartbeat slowed. Everything in him felt cold. "Jargon, Jargon the Huntsman." He spoke.