We are certain that no one saw us on our way here. That only means they know that I'm alive and they're after every single person affiliated with me — that includes my mother and even Grace.
"You need to go, now!" Kyla urges silently and I snatch my robe before I follow her back to the kitchen, where a hidden trapdoor exists to the interior of the tree's bark. I have no time to question how and when such a thing exists in her own cabin. Kyla pulls the door open and beckons me to jump through. Solid metal bars line the carved wall that is emitting luminescent light. It leads nothing but to whatever is down there and I begin descending, simultaneously hearing the commotions from the outside and that alone pumps rush in my chest. "They're gathering soldiers who might have something to do with you," She adds.
I halt, barely having my head peeking out, and return my gaze to my Elven friend. "What about you?"
"Don't worry about me," She answers.
The assumption that it's obvious it is her that they're looking for is reigniting the anger born out of guilt in me. But if I ask her to come with me, it'll be a mere contradiction to the need to keep her out of this.
She then rushes to the underside of her bed and retrieves two weapons — a hexagon and a sword, and a set of garments from a box, only to hand them to me. "Head to the airbase. The cargos are leaving in less than an hour," She says. "Someone will meet you there."
I nod, then give her a sincere look as I part my lips to speak.
"Go," She cuts me off, and I remain still for a few seconds, weighing my gaze on her, letting her know I'll be back. And if they ever dare to hurt her, I don't know what I'll tell Grace. "Do what you need to do."
The door once again abrupts with a knock and I waste no more time to continue climbing down. I keep my gaze on Kyla as she gently shuts the trapdoor until she's no more to be seen. It may have been a short reunion, but it was worth the while. For now, I have to set my focus onward.
I meet a resembling trapdoor upon reaching the base, leading to its linked secret underground passage of dug soil. Upon entry, protruding roots embed the walls and they seem to sense motion as they glow brighter the closer I am to them. On the spot, I take a minute to switch my garments with what Kyla offered, the Military camp's formal attire. The size seems to overwhelm her frame as it only happens to fit me, luckily.
Seriously, how did Kyla even make this tunnel? This did not exist when we were training here. Three years probably was enough span for her to dig this up. Her skills as a smith can always do things. That's a talent of an elf born with dormant magic.
The end of the tunnel meets my vision, seeing another trapdoor. Upon closure, I carefully push it open, revealing the silhouettes of the other sprawling cabin trees under the ombre-shaded skies that signify the nearing day. I stop my tracks at the very opening, where I give a quick and cautious parse of the surroundings. It's clear, so I have my weapons in their designated places and drop my robe on the spot before leaving, carrying no aura of suspicion.
A quick look back up to the trees and I capture other camp soldiers interrupted from their sleep watching a few citadel vanguards around Kyla's cabin accompanying her. As much as I want to go back and hate the turnout of the situation, it's deemed an at-staking choice. For now, the only choice I can settle on is forward.
I keep a straight demeanor as I saunter calmly, but quickly, towards the said nearby airbase, where airborne vehicles and creatures used for transport are managed. The sun is peeking from the horizon and I take it as a good time for my escape. All I have to do is find the soldier Kyla mentioned to help me get on the cargo transports that are to head to Cysainte.
I arrive and fewer soldiers are seen working on preparations for later departures. Though some have the obvious looks of either having no sleep or just waking up early. A portion of my thoughts still lingers on Kyla, adding more to my bearings of guilt that I had to abandon her. I don't know what the Ordinals will even do to her, but they can't harm her for no reason unless they come to find my presence here, which will automatically confirm her relation to me. It's the only thing that would worsen her current case, that's why I have to leave sooner. I sigh to release that tension given by the ounce of anxiety, just so as to maintain focus.
Ahead, I see a fawn soldier standing just outside that warehouse, seemingly waiting for someone, and I'm positive that's the soldier I'm supposed to come upon. With confidence, I approach his direction. "I'm here to assist the cargos that are to head Cysainte?" I say, sounding casual, but also fixed and collected.
He scans my semblance up and down as if he's familiarizing himself with what I'm wearing. It's Kyla's, so I guess he precisely recognizes it. We then trade cold gazes at first before he decides, cocking his head to the side as a sign for me to follow him inside. "Come with me."
Hearing his tone suddenly has my memory rewinding. He must be Mason — the man Kyla was talking to earlier at her door. As we walk deeper into the warehouse, we become more secluded. My guts shout to me the suspicion over this soldier as he is aware that I do not belong here, and is probably going to lead me to my exposure.
"Stop wasting my time, Mason," I mutter and he stops in his tracks, his shoulders tensing suddenly with my mention of his name. "I'm not here to make any trouble. I just want to get home."
He turns slowly to face me while prominently finding the next words. "Then why take the time going all the way here?"
"Besides the cargo ships that are already self-explanatory, I have other reasons," I answer, quickly and simply. "I never wanted to involve more people in this in the first place."
His expression appears undiminishable between confusion and hesitation. Or perhaps there's a difference to be seen in neither.
"I only came here for Kyla's help," I add. "And she'd be safer if I leave sooner."
"How can you say so when the Citadel Vanguards already have her?" He asks, obviously saying that he witnessed her departure with the Ordinal, or maybe just figured out my last sentence.
"Even if I wasn't here, I know they'd still be after her. They're after every single person who knows me," I respond to his first question. "But I doubt that they'll harm her unless they find me here and confirm my relationship with her." Even though I know Kyla's potential as an Elf, it would still be no close to excluding her from the danger I put her in.
"Who are you to Kyla that makes her relevant to the interest of the Ordinals on you, anyway?" He asks.
"Reasons beyond explanation." I hate that I know I'll have to keep doing this to people who would ask the same question until I get the answers I need. "I told her that, too."
He sighs out of his obviously conflicted thoughts and averts his gaze.
"What about you?" I ask, making him return his focus to me. "Who is Kyla to you that makes your interest relevant to her?"
He's clearly taken aback by that question, but he answers anyway, "Reasons beyond explanation."
I give him a smirk, "That reason won't be beyond explanation once it gets to the person who already has committed to her," I say, sounding as if I'm giving a warning. And what I meant by that, is Grace. "It won't be healthy for them."
He exhales a big breath as if he skipped one before that. Clearly, he is not aware of the present relationship Kyla is in with Grace, and this sets a big conflict between them. But this should be a warning for him to know about it before it gets complicated.
"If you surrender me to the Vanguards, you'd be the one putting Kyla in complete danger, not me. And that means you betray her of her wishes to help me. I need to get into one of those cargo rides before they become aware of my presence here and get going. Now are you going to help me or what?"
He drops his gaze for seconds to think — as if he even has another choice. He then looks at me again. "Alright, follow my lead."
I oblige and let him lead me directly to where the departing cargo ships are. We only had to exit the warehouse and a few barracks beyond it to arrive. The ships are winged but are piloted by a number of giant Soaring Pandas, not technically by soldiers. They echo their heavy and almost simultaneous snores, which always tell how seemingly restless they are from the things they carry on the long trips they do. The cargo is constantly being loaded with a number of supplies to distribute and probably empty crates for other resources to acquire. It's everyday work in all camps here in the region to sustain the other armies, especially at the Barrier.
It becomes an effortless success getting into one with Mason instructing me to play along, having me load some crates into one of the ships. Nobody seems to have noticed us come by so I decide to stay hidden behind the stacks.
"Mason," I call in a mutter as I see him about to leave. He turns his head only. "Thank you."
He merely nods, either seemingly still unsure of what he is doing or just making it not so obvious for the sake of our cover, before disembarking the ship.
The loading lasts a few more minutes and the time arrives for departure. The muffled groans of the pandas outside radiate through the metal and wooden walls, a sign of their elevation. Through the glass windows, I see our constant rising surpass the city's walls until the view I have is only but greenery smothered by morning daylight.
Footsteps and talking then come from above, and I already know what is to happen next, so I find a better hiding spot around me, and I do, though it seems unhelpful as I'm still more than half exposed.
The moment I have situated myself, I hear a metal crank coming from the ceiling from the other side of the huge interiors, clearly a hatch opening for someone to enter from above. Maybe a soldier to assess the supplies they carry. What should I do?
I then remember when I was under that wagon entering the city. It'd be very much helpful if I'm able to make myself invisible again. But how? It just came out of nowhere.
The footsteps approach heavier as if the soldier is rather wearing a knight's metal boots. Unless…
In a split second, Kyla's sword is in my hand, hovering over the still approaching person, until I'm given a clearance of a lady's semblance as she stands mere feet before me, but not facing me yet. My heart is pounding a million miles per second, however, it's not clouding me with its effect, even though it's an Ordinal that is standing before me.
Suited with yellow and white garments and armored with a few metal plates, it's enough to unmask her identity for my recognition — not to mention, given her Immortal Armament situated behind her. A ring blade, or named the Orbit Radii. Ordinal Twelve.
My weapon remains pointed at her, yet she seems to not notice me yet even though I'm barely not hidden from her peripheral vision. So I look down at myself, and the realization kicks in. I'm existing in stealth again. Even the weapon in my grasp is affected as well.
I maintain posture on the spot. Despite the luck I got, I still need to be cautious. The Ordinal's senses cannot be doubted, despite that she's human. She stays for a good minute, which has my legs complaining immediately about the improper sitting position I have and my heart pounding in my chest. She finally turns to depart, yet as she does, one of my legs gives and I trip forward, where I have to save myself from face-planting by stretching my hands upon the floor. The sword clanking on the metal floor causes my panic to elevate beyond the skies and it makes my gaze dart back to the Ordinal, who already has her weapon drawn and is about to swing it in my direction.
My reaction saves me, vaulting upon the crates to evade. Her armament ends up cutting through the wall. I'm still in stealth but the noises I make clearly provide the Ordinal clues where she must slash next until I'm cornered with no more spaces to move on with. So I have no other choice but to block with the sword instead. The moment our blades splash, I notice my body revert visibility before I parry her weapon just to the wall beside me. That also becomes a small opportunity to swiftly slither out of the corner.
She effortlessly extracts her armament from the wall, regardless of how deep it sank through, and has her attacks resume for me to evade again rather than block and parry more. My weapon's durability stands no chance against her Immortal Armament, but I don't know how will I escape the situation. I can't even have a second to think as my eyes are mainly focused on dodging her continuous and swift maneuvers.
Her battle movements manifest her recognizable style as if she has hooked me into a performance. Every stunt, every movement, every maneuver. It all seems like a choreography of graceful footwork. That's the forte of the Twelve we all know, anyway. She's recognized for fusing her dual nature of being an Ordinal and an amusement performer. But this is not clearly entertainment. This is a fight where I either escape or get killed.
I get a glimpse of the soldiers outside riding the piloted creatures, not even bothering to help but only pointing their guns. Perhaps because of interfering with the performance — her performance — will be a huge mistake. In this circumstance, they are but an audience.
I somehow have grown to become unbothered being more than in the Legionnaire's presence, despite her being a superior being. Perhaps because I have lost my trust and respect for all of them. Needless to say, her recent effort of slicing me on the spot. Besides, trying to convince her at the moment that I'm no enemy of theirs would be a useless and foolish attempt. How can I even convince her when Three himself has labeled me a threat?
The interior receives more open cuts from the Ordinal and that gives me sudden concern. I still haven't come up with an idea of escape — like there's even a way to. I'm all trapped and surely inching close to death.
With no other choice in mind, I shift the tide of the clash by having the access to lunge straight forward to the Ordinal with my sword. Her naturally quick reaction time saves her shoulder from gaining a stab wound but beyond her knowledge, I'm rather aiming to shoot through her Ring-Blade weapon as she has it hovered back. I end up positioned behind her and that gives me time to maneuver a slashing strike. At first, my thoughts set the idea that it would be a prevailing moment, not until the Legionnaire has kept up the pace and is about to slash as well — the very edges of her round weapon shining much warmer than the morning daylight.
As I've said, my weapon of a common kind stands no chance against an Immortal Armament, but it's now or never. Out of nowhere, within the last second, time seems to have hundred times slowed and the reminiscent image of that in the desert and the similar moment against those outlanders flashes in my head, allowing me to notice the abrupt, snake-like slithering of the familiar devilish purple glow from my wrist up to the tip of the sword. The moment both of our weapons collide, blade by blade, edge by edge, the colors splash but barely fuse, causing an explosion as powerful as a detonated bomb.
The next seconds aren't registered in my memory, yet despite that, my consciousness remains strong to not let me permanently pass out. I'm able to return focus to what's happening now, where my limbs are stretched out, and I feel the air resistance take effect on my face as I'm free-falling face down. Seeing the far greenery below closing to me sets a rush of panic in my blood to think of what to do.
I twist to face up, having my peripheral view capture scattered debris of what I assume was once the cargo ship, falling along. One moving figure then locks into my vision, seeming to be approaching faster toward me. And it's no other than the same Legionnaire herself, swiftly making parkour upon every debris she'd make contact with. Her performance is not over yet, only the stage has moved.
I zigzag my gaze hoping to find something to save my fall and I do. A bag, obviously containing a chute, though its disappointing distance from me proved it wouldn't be much of a help. I still crawl toward it with desperation anyway, seeing my closing distance down to death. The time I'd be able to reach for it versus the time before the Ordinal gets to me builds intense anxiety. Either way, if I don't make it, my death will be permanent.
I feel the Ordinal gaining on me, but that doesn't stop me from reaching for the bag closer. Come on! The moment my grip makes contact with the baggage's strap, I twist again face-up to the sky and pull the string to release the chute. By that time, the Ordinal has hurled her Ring Blade upon nearing the right distance. I try swerving away, yet fail and the darting Armament ends still hitting me. Before the remaining second of me feeling the impact, again, the purplish light crawls out my wrists as I cross my arms in front of me around the bag, causing another explosion.
Now, I'm crashing through the trees, having branches and leaves surely leaving scratches and bruises all over my body. My face doesn't receive exemption either, as if it was saved for last before I'm limp and barely conscious upon the ground of grass, groaning in excruciating pain. A picture involuntarily projects in my head of how banged up I look right now, not in the cause of the trees, but mostly, of how much power I absorbed intercepting that Armament of the Ordinal.
One of my eyes remains open to capture the remaining debris still falling through the trees, including the active movement of the Ordinal swinging upon the branches with her Immortal Armament in hand again. Of course, she'll survive a sky-high fall without anything else in hand but that.
My brain is still fighting and it brings management for me to attempt to rise back to my feet in a weak manner. I fail. My focus, however, is directed at her figure just yards ahead, where the morning sunlight through the green trees casts her own shadow upon me as she lands, then approaches in a saunter.
"The moment I heard you shattered Tenth's armament," She begins. This is the first time I hear her voice. Calm, yet daring through the decent lady tone. "I figured it would've been an opportunity to have you become a worthy opponent. But your confirmed survival redeemed that opportunity, and you provided no disappointment."
Should I be honored?
"I'm ever impressed that you managed to survive way longer than anything and anyone else I have encountered — at least, one of many others — despite knowing you already lived through the hands of two of my allies and our vanguards," She continues. "But now that we're here, I thank you for providing me with a remarkable performance." I sense a light genuine smile on her tone, a smile that holds appreciation towards not the pertained performance, but rather the aftermath where she has prevailed anyway. She poises into a bowing stance with her only weapon hovering over her head. Yet there is more to it. A preparation for delivering the final blow. "You fought just like your father."
My gaze narrows with curiosity, replaying that sentence in my head. What does she mean by that?? She seems to have had an encounter with the man who carried what the Ordinals want from me. My father? I still don't know if that strengthens what Ordinal Three has said and the fact that I know little to nothing about him. Was it really my father?
I'm not going to be able to get my answer to my questions as the Ordinal has leaped into the air, armament hovered with its edges outlined of warmer orange that trails with her motion. My instincts urge me to raise my stable arm ahead with the hopes for that purple glow again to radiate to block an attack that will surely end me, permanently. Nothing comes.
My blocking stance lasts only a split second, eyes squeezed shut with the persisting anticipation of the closing Immortal Armament that is about to end me for good. Then, the next seconds become just my ears capturing the sound of whirring steel through the ambient forest. Clearly, it's of Ordinal Twelve. Weakly tilting my head in the noise's direction, I see her in a clash with a man. He's familiar.
Ordinal Twelve shows no refrain over him, whilst he either dodges or manages to deflect with his bare hands. Not to mention, he's weaponless, leaving an assumption that he shows no intention of laying a finger on her. And it's an absolute mockery of the renowned Flawless Ballet, let alone that he intervened in the supposed aftermath of the finale of her performance. If he's not going to attack her, then what?
I'm not able to find out as the next moments have me giving into total blackness, lastly having an inhuman roar reach my auditory.