I emerge from the waters, my exposed frame immediately crawling with a chill from the cold atmosphere while my lower half remains in the warmth of the waters. The bandages are afloat. They must've rid themselves of me while I was under. My wounds are gone, not even scar marks have been left but just the remnants of clotted bloodstains on my skin.
The droplets grazing my face don't hide the tears already welling from my eyes. They initially meet the sword just before me, impaled vertically right into the pool, then to my mother who's holding back tears as well. I still hear the child's cries in my ears as if they were echoing within the dungeon walls. In these waters is where my mother, who risked her life for nine months, birthed me. And this was the last place where she ever saw my father before he gave his life just so I could survive. All that suffering…
"How long was I out," I first ask, voice faltering.
"Almost twelve hours," The Ordinal replies.
I then crawl to the side slowly, my motion carrying obvious weight even though my body feels lighter than usual, and then rise from the pool upon reaching the edge. But I remain on my knees on the cold ground as I feel my mother wrap around me with a towel to keep my shoulders warm and dry, her hands rubbing my sides.
At the same time, deep into the question of whether can I blame any of them or not. Can I blame my father when he never knew anything about him being a hellion-blooded being, after all? Can I blame my mother who chose to carry me for nine months even though it almost cost her life? I certainly can't even blame Ordinal Twenty-One for not knowing the spell he cast on my father when he intended to save his life. All my father wanted was a normal life with my mother. He had it. But he didn't get to have it forever.
"You blame yourself," I hear the Ordinal speak and I turn to face him. "You shouldn't." His face, although empty, carries the same guilt. "I could never repay your father enough, or your mother, or even you. Not even my life will be enough." Those words were the same thing he said to my father. "Surrendering him to the legion myself was in complete opposition to my will. Yet we both knew it had to be done."
Had to be done…
"There's more. After Samara's death, Ordinal Three assigned me to take her place as the new oracle and made me keep watch of the prophecy. And after your father's sacrifice, we thought that it was finally prevented. But no."
I keep my ears' attention.
"That's when I figured that the spell had a different effect between you and your father. His soul as an Ordinal and a hellion-blooded being rather latched itself into you, when it wasn't supposed to. Hence, the prophecy remained alive to this day."
"I thought you claimed that I could be the solution to stop that prophecy from happening?" I ask, slowly rising back to my feet.
"Yes, I did," He says. "Or rather, what the prophecy also said. Your birth only caused a rift in it. And it's either you will cause the world's end or its salvation."
"Then, why didn't you tell the Ordinals?" I ask. "They could've considered the latter."
"I did, given that of the duty of the oracle," He answers. "But it only became a huge mistake. I can't blame Arthur if the chances of you causing the world's destruction are still prevalent."
And they say they've been hunting for me for years…
"That's why I formed the order unbeknownst to them to keep watch of you until the day the entity in you finally decides to manifest, which it never had done during your father's living days. I only told your mother about it later than earlier knowing that she wouldn't take it well after everything she went through."
"I thought it was already over," My mother adds. "I thought that we could already live in peace and have a normal life like your father wanted, even though he didn't get to be a part of it. But if there were choices other than Finn's plan, I would never have agreed to this one."
Now, it's clear why she never wants to be in Otima with all my persuasions to her — avoiding all the possible risks of this plan.
I return my gaze to the black sword that is still impaled in the pool, spending a moment taking in its semblance before commanding my feet to step into the pool again and let it stay there no more. My right hand hugs around its hilt and pulls. I see my reflection cast by it again. Holding this sword now means that I have committed to a decision that I can never take back anymore — as if I still can at this point. Although my father may not have intended to have me inherit his fate, there's no one else in the world who will do so. Perhaps, at least, this way, I repay his and my mother's sacrifice, including Ordinal Four and Alek's death.
"I want to learn. Help me know about this entity in me," I say. "And if there's no other way to convince the rest of your legion, then we stop the second war from coming on our own."
"I'll do my best in any way," He swears. "In your father's name."
Minutes go by, and we're now rearranging our necessities for our departure back to Astanor. Ordinal Twenty-One is outside the temple to recall his Wyrbird, while my mother gave me the time to clean myself with the waters and rid of the remaining bloodstains on my skin. Now, I'm slipping on my last garments, and as soon as I finish weaning my boots, my hand initially crawls through the pockets of my shorts and feels the paper there. The man. I still have to talk to him, and that's what I should do first as soon as we get back. I hope he can forgive me for my outrage the other night.
I then proceed to the stairs where at the top is my mother waiting. Upon getting to her, my eyes initially meet the morning horizon in view beyond the open enormous doors of the dungeon ahead. I, indeed, have been under for that long.
The Wyrbird's whistling resounds, signaling its return. As I watch and wait, I feel my mother's hand on my shoulder. Somehow, it elicits a certain amount of shame, asking what I did to even deserve a second chance to live.
"If any, I'm rather in great debt to you and him — for all the sacrifice, for choosing to continue carrying me in your womb when you knew you shouldn't have," I say. "It's something I can never repay with anything, not even the second life that you two gave me." Tears are escaping my eyes, and her soft fingers brush them away.
"When I felt you the first time in my womb, I knew I had to have you," She says. "And I never regretted it. But if it were different, I would've done the sacrifice instead of your father."
"Either way, I don't want it to go for nothing," I say.
"No matter what happens from now on, I'll do my best to be there for you. Remember that." She pulls me into her motherly hug. It takes a while for me to even return it, because of the lingering shame.
"You've done more than what I can imagine a mother would do," I add, and we linger in this embrace until a woosh of gust touches my skin by the Wyrbird's touchdown. There's Finnobair with his gaze on us, and it's enough of a sign for us to head on now and return to the settlement.
Our return is just as quick as our departure from the settlement, landing in the same area where my mother and the Ordinal did upon returning from Cysainte. The welcome is barely the same with fewer people in the vicinity gathering around, initially, young children who are most excited about Finnobair. Through the forming crowd, I scan with my eyes hoping that I would see the man and greet me first. But, no. He's still nowhere to be seen around. It's already night.
Upon unmounting, the elf lady, Eleanor, is the first to greet me. She carries a genuine face that is combined with a hint of optimism seeing me hold my father's sword. I also owe her for helping my mother give birth to me.
"Welcome back," She says.
"I've only been gone for less than a day," I joke to which she giggles.
"It's not just about your return," She counters. "Follow along. There's more for you to know."
I look at my mother, questioningly. But she only urges me with a nod to follow.
Upon arrival back at the order's lair, it was only my mother, the Ordinal, and Eleanor. The rest of the members must still be busy at this point. Now, I stand near the end of the table, in the same room where the three of them are sitting on the other end, my weapon placed on the table before me, whereas my mother and Eleanor sit adjacent to the Ordinal. But I still find one person that I know should be here.
"Where's Mikael?" I ask.
"He's taking a rest at the moment," Eleanor answers. "He returned from hunting along with half of the pack earlier. The rest will arrive the following day."
So he's not yet here… I guess I'll just have to wait again.
My eyes catch one armed guard, burdened by the physical weight of an elongated object wrapped in clothing.
"Your father was the first Ordinal to ever wield not just one, but two Immortal Armaments." Eleanor continues, and her words ring something from the memory back from the temple — this black sword with me being partnered with another. A white one.
"Most of the legion admired him for it back then," The Ordinal adds as he sits on the other end of the table. "Even almost rivaled Ordinal One. But he never took those for granted. He wielded them not for power or reputation, but for his duty despite his constant doubt over himself."
My mother is already holding the object from the guard and places it before me.
"When the old hellion war ended, he decided to never wield them again along with his decision to live a normal life, and at one time offered them to me. Yet such an offer is something I cannot ever take, so he kept it until the day that I'll be able to accept them. Needless to say, due to his sacrifice for the sake of your survival, their allegiance is now yours."
Eleanor, who's just adjacent to the Legionnaire, then adds to the explanation. "So while we waited for your hellion powers to awaken, Finnobair decided to keep them hidden until the day one might call to you. Which has happened."
"So even you put those two hellions there in the cave?" I ask the Legionnaire.
"Yes," He answers.
"How can you even capture them without killing them first?"
"I did," He says. "Only making them alive again and turning them into guards was the hard part. It took a lot of effort to alter them correctly despite them being immune to any form of magic. Not to mention finding the right place to keep that sword from anyone other than you."
"But why hellions?"
"Let's just say that I'm not fond of making predators like that pet of yours into puppets."
That's a fair reason.
"When Finnobair came for a visit to us months after you were born, he brought this along and told me to keep it," She explains. "But not mainly for the reason of it being a memoir for me and you, but for me to give it to you one day. That's also when he told me about you and how your life will turn out. I couldn't accept that reality. But, the first time you told me that you wanted to be a Soldier, that's when I knew there was nothing else I could do but accept it."
I gaze back at the cloth-wrapped weapon and slowly trace my fingers on it before unveiling its cover. Revealed to me is a white scabbard, not of metal nor wood. Seeing the peaking hilt of the sword stashed in it starts to make my shoulders heavy. But I'm still able to have the courage to draw it out. It's rather light as a feather, the same way as I'm able to carry the black sword. Another proof that I have their allegiance. It's almost as if it's the other Armament's twin, although they rather look complete opposites. Its blade is white as snow seen atop mountains. But unlike the other, this one cast no reflections, only the light around. It's also mine… Yet, somehow, not.
"It's great to have your presence," I hear Eleanor from her seat. "Ordinal Eight."
Then the rest of the people in the room, including the legionnaire and my mother, are bowing to me. All I can do is suppress a frown. Hearing that address of me with my father's epithet doesn't sit right. I turn to look at my mother again, a look that a child always does when needing help. She looks at me and only nods affirmatively.
"No," I say and gently return the sword to its sheath and place it next to its pair on the table. "I never aimed for any titles in my life, infamous or not. I only wanted to become a soldier, that's all. But I know that's gone now and I can never have that kind of living again. I may have my father's soul and the allegiance of these armaments now, but there could only be one Ordinal Eight. And that's him. No one else. Not me. And I can never be him. I can never be the man who helped win the Old Hellion War and the man who gave his life for his child and wife. All I want to do now is learn about this entity that lives in me and use it to stop the second war from coming."
The gazes they now give me are filled with hope, yet I can't help but feel them add weight to my shoulders. Makes me ask myself if I'm even doing the right thing. If any, my commitment to this now makes me a complete enemy of the legion, maybe even the world. And so is Ordinal Twenty-One. My life as a soldier is gone, and is now sparked into something else.
I rather decide to get back to my inn with both the armaments now in my possession, they deem it necessary for its wielder to finally have them, even though I deem myself unready just yet. It's too soon. I still have a lot to learn about what either of them could do. So I should start slowly. Start with one.
My mother obliged to come along, and I let her. The inn is not that far from the council's lair, at all. So it's a sign that I'm getting more familiar with the directions. I hear her footsteps just behind me as I reach the bedroom, suddenly falling silent as her feet meet the carpeted floor while I proceed to the rack attached to the wall
"You sounded just like him back there," She begins. "Patient and humble."
"You never told me much about him," I say softly as I place the weapons.
"Well, if you asked more, I would've been more afraid to tell you more lies," She makes her way to sit over the edge of the bed.
"I guess letting me go to military school was a good way to divert more of my curiosity," I say and make my way to kneel beside her.
"Well, you were always optimistic about your dream then."
"At least, you gave me a picture of him. It's smudged now, but I still remember what he looked like there. And seeing his face again in that temple only refreshed it."
She trades a smile with me, then looks around. "This is the same house where Finnobair brought me and your father for the first time." She adds, which I remember seeing from the pool, as well. "At one time, Eleanor even offered to let me and your father stay here once I'm no longer ill. We kept going everywhere, almost all over the world to the point that I got so weak and your father had to continue alone."
Now, she can't look at me, but I keep my ears on her voice.
"I looked forward, honestly," She continues. "Every time I rubbed my belly and felt you there, I kept imagining us living here, or watching you play with him outside. But, now, I can't stand imagining it anymore." She finally gazes at me, tears clouding her eyes. "Who knew that wasn't the endgame, after all? I never even got to say goodbye to him. But I can never blame him for it when he did for you."
"He didn't only sacrifice himself for me, but for you, too," I say, taking her hand into my palms. "It was either him or the both of us. And he also considered that it would save the world from another war, even though it turned out differently. But now, I can't let that sacrifice, and your sacrifice, go to waste." I chortle lightly at the end. "And he did," I affirm, her gaze subtly changing. "He said goodbye."
If only I could show her how her beloved man savored the last moment of that very fated day, but now all I can do is let her pull me into her chest and feel her lips on the crown of my head. I sense her tears without even seeing them — tears of both yearning and gladness.
After a while, she then rises from her seat to pull something from her pocket. A journal. It's tiny, and the leather cover is crumbly which tells her best to keep it in care.
"He still had the time to write, huh?"
"He began writing that along with his solo expeditions in finding a cure for me. I was oblivious about it until Finnobair gave it to me the same day he visited us and told me about his plans." So that's what he handed to the elf. "Your father gave it to him since it contained some things that may become helpful to wield his armaments. But since their allegiance is to you, then it's only right for you to have it. The only catch is…"
Flipping it open, they're not scribbled in modern letters that I can read. But I pay no mind to that for now and hold it firm to me. "Thank you, Mom," I say.
"Don't thank me," She says. "You owe me nothing." My mind says otherwise. "I'll be with the council. Get some rest." She gives me one last hug before she says good night and departs the inn.
I sit back on the edge of the bed as I keep a firm look at the book in my hand. It's not as thick as it looks, but in reality, it has quite many few pages. I open it, skipping right to the middle. The pages themselves are aged, but they don't hide the unreadable descriptions. One or two dull sketches on every other page exist — which tells that he wasn't that much of an artist — that is no help either.
As I get to the latter pages, I suddenly stop at those that contain writings different from the former pages. They had specified dates as to when they were written. I take the time to read each page. They're just out of pure guilt and self-resentment, sleeplessness and restlessness, failures and mistakes. And just those alone confirm that he wrote these during my mother's pregnancy. I can even almost hear each word in his voice. It's as if they were things he kept to himself.
I happen to stop at a page that rather mentions my mother's name. A message for her. Every word is full and true — from his gratefulness to have met her and become his wife, to the unsaid farewells to her before surrendering his last breath.
A droplet suddenly splats on the page, a tear from my welling eyes that I haven't noticed until now. That's when I decide that it's enough reading for now and I should get some rest, so I stand and flip it close. But then my eyes catch a page at its end that makes me sit on the floor this time to give it a look. It rather has a different name on it. My name.
Kyvin,
I write this now as I know that I won't be able to see you for the first time or ever. And I know that I will be long gone once either Finnobair or your mother gives this page to you. And perhaps, even make you despise me, especially knowing that you carry the blood of mine that was rather tainted by a curse. But I hope that you don't put a part of the blame on your mother. She may have decided to keep you, but it's because of her love that grew over time ever since you began showing her things that I may not have understood then. But you can blame it all on me.
Losing my immortality was never a problem when I had already let go of that a long time ago, way before I even met your mother. It was when fate told me that you carry this other curse of mine. I hated myself for it and condemned myself as an undeserving husband to your mother and a father to you. It's shameful. Not even my efforts of trying to find a non-existent cure would redeem me, nor would the sacrifice I'm to make.
I just want you to know that even if you resent me, no matter how swallowed I am already with my guilt, I hope you find it in your heart someday to forgive me that you'll have to live without a father to watch you grow, to play with you and your toys, to guide you toward your possible dreams, teach you to stand up for yourself like those ordinary parents out there should, because no child deserves to be deprived of it. I wish I could change everything just so I could have those moments to cherish with you.
And just know that even if I won't get to see my son, I'm proud, and will always be proud of who you are, of who you will be, and of who you ever want to be.
I love you, my little pebble.
Pebble… I repeat that word in my head as I drop my hand to my side with the journal, tears completely soaking my cheeks. No, I can never resent him. And there's nothing to forgive when he committed sacrifices that I'm not even capable of doing. He may have abandoned his immortality to have a normal life, but in the end, he was still selfless, took responsibility, and protected my mother and me. And despite that I inherited his blood as an Ordinal, it's no one else's responsibility now, but mine.
I hold the journal close to me as I sob and sob, making little noises as much as I can, although no one will even hear me. This is the closest I could ever get to hugging him. The swords may be there, but those belonged to Ordinal Eight. These words belonged to my father.