The sudden lightness of my body sets in. But I don't regard that as a good sign when it's because of the man to whom I owe my life to accept his fate. At this point, fear becomes nonexistent in my system, and I also rid my hold — just at the exact moment that the Ordinal is already above me. The next thing I know is that I'm in a race against time, or rather, death, with me desperately reaching to catch him.
I'm not falling any faster, nor does his fall go any slower. Time feels so slow, yet I only have less than a fraction of a second until our bodies meet the trees, at least that's what it feels like. But then, my remaining hope diminishes as my fall stops by something grabbing me by the foot. That's when I realized the light that flashed in the sky spawned Ordinal Twenty-One's Wyrbird, which is the creature holding me now.
All I can do is scream his name and watch the man's figure shrink as his immediate descent continues. Right when he's about to meet the trees, I'm suddenly on my stomach on the back of the creature as it takes me to wherever it will.
The opportunity to cry and beg to turn around is snatched as his flight suddenly swerves out of control due to the blood bursting from its flank. My focus is on my single grip on the Wyrbird's feathers trying to keep myself from being thrown while I can barely move my other arm due to its constant bleeding. Yet through all that, I'm able to get a glimpse of the one at fault, holding onto his spear that is still impaled into the creature and pushing us further down. The only resistance the creature can do is trigger its ability to warp and send us to some place exposed under the searing sun.
My tongue registers dry grains of sand and my skin feels the warning wind of a coming sandstorm. I force myself up holding my shoulder and see the distant horizon lined with what I know are the walls of The Barrier. Judging by the position of the sun that is present near the horizon, and the timezone from where we warped, we're surely around the territories covered by the West and Southwest Sector.
I then pan to the right and see Ordinal Twenty-One's Wyrbird meters away, barely moving as blood spews more from the open wound on its flank. I rush to the creature to find its worsened status, let alone one of its wings folded in the wrong direction. I don't know what to do. I'm stranded in hellion-infested lands with no sign of possible aid. It's just me, the Wyrbird, and the raged Ordinal Three. He's just ahead, armament in hand, on his knees showing subtle exhaustion. Perhaps staying inside a castle for so long rusted him. Is that even possible for someone who's a vampire and an Ordinal?
"Is it true?" I start. "What Finnobair said?"
"Even if it is, it still doesn't negate the prophecy's truth," He says, his gaze in the distance. "So long as you exist, the world will remain in danger."
"You were aware of the change in the prophecy all this time, and yet you still let your envy against my father push you to go after me, that you even had to kill Ordinal Twenty-One, too…"
He scoffs. "He was lucky, you know. Your father," He adds. "To have a family and a child. To experience love. The rest of us could have had that if it weren't for this curse. How unfair."
At this point, can I still feel empathy for him? Should I even? No. He's not even showing a sign of surrender or finally putting an end to his desperation to achieve my death. I can't even understand him.
"You never even gave him the chance to tell his story," I say. "He was ready to die the moment he met my mother. Not until he found out what happened to him. He never wanted any of it"
"And yet, he still took that for granted," He counters. "And he had you carry on his legacy."
I shake my head. "You're wrong. I'm sure you saw the other way around when he surrendered by his own will. He did that just so he could give me and my mother a second chance. Just so he can give the world a second chance. And yet, you failed to see that." Tears and sand combine on my cheek.
"Perhaps that might have been his mistake." He then rises to his feet to face me. And now that I look at him, I no longer sense the morality of an Ordinal. I don't even know if it's still an Ordinal I'm facing. And I can't understand why. He still holds onto his convictions and still uses them as an excuse, and it feeds the pride that's also eating his sanity away that's subtly prominent on his face. He can no longer hide that with a cold menacing guise that intimidates those below his authority, nor does it intimidate me any longer. The only way I can get through him is by force — well, what force? I have nothing but my own blood in my hands and part of my mind is still tracing back to Killian. If I let myself die, his death would only be in vain, and so will be my father's and Ordinal Twenty-One's sacrifice, and the people close to me who got involved.
I can only evade his first strike, then barely survive the next one that makes contact with my chest, and feel the tip of his spear's blade exit my back. Blood rises to my throat and it chokes me. But I don't fall yet. I don't want to. My hand that's gripping around the shaft of the armament starts making cracking noises, and it solicits a reaction from the Ordinal, not just from that, but also from the tendrils of purple light radiating from my elbow to my knuckles.
Snap! And he's just holding half of his armament as he stumbles back, while I painfully pull the other half from my chest and drop it to the sand. I have no clue what just happened, but now's not the time to contemplate it as the Legionnaire resumes his strikes with daggers that he kept in his pockets that I can now fend off with my bare arms. I no longer feel the open wounds and bruises I sustained and my body suddenly feels light and full of energy, just like the first time. Every time that the blades would make contact with my skin, they would only make sparks and not even leave a scratch.
It has not even gone a minute, and the Legionnaire's fury is up to a ticking time bomb and it's beginning to make his movements sloppy to the point that I just grab his hand and throw him on his back. Now it's just me ready to finish him with a single punch that I know is overflowing with hellion power. But I hold it as I obtain a familiar feeling that sends a shiver down my spine. And it's coming from somewhere below. The sands start to make an unusual movement, in contrast to the wind's trajectory. Before I know it, I'm in the air then back splat back to the ground. I endure the pain from the impact just to get back up immediately and pan to the Wyrbird who has made an effort to crawl, leaving a trail of blood from where it landed.
From the distance of its east is the other speeding danger. I bolt in full speed, snatching the broken piece of what was once Ordinal Three's Immortal Armament, not even minding the other Hellion that attacked us from below as I know that the Ordinal can deal with it. I'm getting unwanted flashes of this familiar scene and it's burning through my mind, and it's the one thing that's urging me to prevent it from happening again.
I'm just in time to reach the Wyrbird first, and the giant hellion that is now on the surface is still not stopping with its four legs. From here, I'm shown its horrific beetle-like face and skull, and lizard-shaped body, appearing much larger than the one that killed my godfather. Certainly, this is one of the new ones that came along with the activity's return.
I tighten the grip around the only weapon I have and it begins searing with hellion light. Although I'm uncertain that it'll be enough to kill it with one blow, I can make further efforts to do so, just in case.
Just when I make my first stride, my legs feel the sudden surge of energy familiar to those that I have on my fist, and it sends me immediately to the monster. All I know next is that I find my entire wrist speared into its neck with the broken armament, its entire head splattered elsewhere, and its exploded torso still cindering purple due to the blast it received from my fist.
My tongue registers distaste of hellion blood that no word in the world can put a description on and it makes me recoil and retract away. As I cough my throat out, I pan my gaze behind me to find the Third Legionnaire who is on the brink of being stung with deadly hellion blight.
I can only register the moment that I have already torn off the limb of the hellion with a single punch, ridding it from the Legionnaire. Then, I stand between them, returning the taunt to the abomination with a poise ready to let it face the same fate as the previous one. But, instead, it decides to keep its remaining limbs and run away.
I can still taste the blood down my throat, and the best option I have is to cough it out. I'm on my knees with all the weight of exhaustion suddenly befalling me, not even minding the Ordinal's stare of utter disbelief witnessing my display of power, not to mention, the beheaded hellion carcass. Perhaps I should have reacted the same way when the outcome was not what I had in mind at all. I wasn't in control doing that.
"You can kill me now if you wish." I hear him mutter, not what I anticipated at all when I just saved his life. But all I can do is ignore him, stand up, and walk to the Wyrbird who's still fighting for its life.
On the way, I then take my top off to cover the bleeding area on its flank, and then, apply gentle pressure with both hands that are now absent of the hellion glow.
The vampire is on his feet carrying the shame of being saved by someone when he's supposedly the most powerful person in the world. "After everything, you'd still spare me?′
I sigh, almost coming out as a chuckle. "The difference between you and me is that I'm not a murderer, not like you," I say, then add, "And the world cannot afford to lose another Ordinal." as an indication that, in my confidence, I can kill him for all he's caused me.
He remains there, silent, certainly having no more reason to fight.
The Wyrbird is making no further attempted movements and is only saving its subtle breaths to survive longer while the slowly fading glimmering dust smothering its feathers indicates the worst-case scenario. But I don't plan to leave at all. I've lost the energy to put my concerns over the other hellions that are to come soon, knowing that I can take them down without breaking a sweat. At least, from now on. Still, the greatest shame is weighing me down, that even with this kind of power, I wasn't able to save Alek and his friends, Ordinal Twenty-One and his dying companion before me, and Killian.
Killian… I didn't even get to say what I needed to say or had the chance to act up and repay him. I can only further shame myself by replaying the moment he let go of my hand in my head, and not being able to save him.
For some reason, I'm raising both my arms. Is it me waiting to be dragged by a hellion under the sands? Certainly not. It's only the dozens of Wall Sentries descending from the giant blimp above, then surrounding us. I don't recognize these faces as they are confirmed to be from the Western Sector, but surely, they'd be familiar with me as the person who killed a hellion. The dead one here should give them a clue that it wasn't Ordinal Three who killed it. Their guns point at me as they slowly pull me away from the Wyrbird who's now being approached by aiders.
My gaze suddenly jumps to the vampire Legionnaire as I'm being escorted back up to the ship. There's a presence of uncertainty in him, looking for the right words to answer the other Legionnaire before him, whom I recognize as Ordinal Sixteen, named Quintessa. I'm not great at reading mouths, and my ears are numb to even hear the rest of the background, but I have the clear sense that I'm the subject of their discourse.
My thoughts run assumptions. What will they do to me? Torture me? Experiment on me? No, I'm thinking ahead too far. They cannot just judge me for being a hellion-blooded child of Ordinal Eight. I'm still human — part human.
Even so, I'm not the only one who'll have to face the same predicament. It's up to him now if he even still has some remaining wiseness the people always saw in him despite hiding in Otima's citadel for ages — either he admits his malicious commitments or lets the truth reveal itself.
Almost two weeks go by, and within that span of time, much has occurred; my mother, Mikael, Grace, Kyla, and my lion-boar companion were brought here back at the Barrier days later, while the rest of Astanor was safe if it weren't for Ordinal Five. I only got to see them as soon as I was released from the Western Wall Sector's prison at the Barrier, where I spent almost twenty hours, a quarter of that being asked questions — interrogated, rather — by Ordinal Sixteen.
Ordinal Five then escorted me to the Southwest Sector, where Ordinal Twenty-Four and High General Canmore were also revealed to be a part of this scheme. I'm no longer surprised by that, for some reason.
There, Ordinal Five further told me everything else she knew; Who knew she had already doubted Ordinal Three ever since finding out that my father was the hellion-blooded being in the prophecy? After some time, she then allied with Finnobair after my father's death. Her being involved in the incident at the citadel gave a different impression. But keeping their allyship between themselves is understandable when there were only two of them, plus Ordinal Twenty-Four, against the most powerful Oridnal in the world.
Keeping me hidden while training my hellion abilities was the only ever plan they had, only that it never went well as Ordinal Three was an unpredictable man. And then, Ordinal Three used my godfather to find me, something that they never knew the vampire could ever do. The Bowwoman Ordinal was too late to even find out about that, and warn Finnobair. The only remaining resort was to bring me elsewhere that night as soon as possible. Yet the unexpected happened.
Three days after that, I was told that I'd be going on trial — which I already predicted — with everyone related to me to testify. That also included Ordinals Five and Twenty-Four. Until now, however, I don't know what kind of charges they've put under my name, nor I am aware of what any of them were asked and the answers they gave as Ordinal Five suggested that don't go out in public for now, which I did. I'm here in this room, in a building at one of Otima's towns — with some supervisions under her command.
Still, I hardly thought about any of those as, until now, I'm processing the lives these predicaments involved. My brain still repeats Aleks and his friends, my father, Finnobair, and Killian most of the time. Their deaths became nightmares that left me sleepless or something that would immediately wake me back up screaming if I dozed just for a second, plus the episodic reactions I'd release at some point. I'd stay longer in the shower, but not completely clean myself. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror or barely replace my clothes, but won't ever take my godfather's ring off. Thinking about how these days passed now seems quick, but when those episodes occurred, it was a minute stretched into an hour.
I barely had any visits from anyone. Mom only did twice as soon as I got here which is when she told me everything that happened during her testimony on her second visit. For some time, she stayed at Alice's at the Barrier, who I still fear seeing, until her testimony here in Otima. I can tell she's also going through the same state of mind as I am and I can't blame her. I'm unaware of her whereabouts at the moment. But I'm sure she's safe.
As for Mikael, who has also done his testimony, he initiated the favor of accompanying my lion-boar throughout her recovery despite that I still have things to say to him. As for the couple, the last time I saw them was when they arrived from Astanor. But Grace sent me a letter five days ago. Her writings included the usual jokes and sarcasm that I always knew her of, her testimony, letting me know that she was allowed to return home to Irathra soon after due to the news of what happened to her reaching her guardians, and sentiments of concern knowing that my trial is tomorrow, adding assurance that she'd be there. Kyla, on the other hand, went back home, not yet returning to her job as a blacksmith in her camp here in the region even after her testimony, which surely sparked complications between her and her Otiman Borough Leader mother. Just thinking about that also increases my fears of a potential addition to my penalties. I don't know how I'll be able to deal with that when it's my fault that I involved her in the first place.
As for Ordinal Three… I haven't gotten any news of him since that day, making the coming trial even scarier. Yes, I can expect that his murder of Ordinal Twenty-One and other unjustifiable crimes have been exposed. But who knows? Have they even made him answer to those? Or will they even make him, if they haven't yet? And how about the others involved with him? How are the world leaders even reacting to this? But even so, he's still Ordinal Three, the only person that most in the world admired and trusted, who helped found the giant walls composing The Barrier and the armies residing in it, who some call a hero, much so a saint.
But me? They can certainly put me in a cell, or probably lock me in a more secure place, or worse, sentence me to death. Destroying his and Ordinal Ten's Immortal Armaments, entering Otima during its lockdown, involving myself in an organization that was outside legal authorities, and being in a prophecy that says I will bring the world to its final doom are enough justifications for them to consider. I might even see him in my trial tomorrow, sitting along with the jurors and judges, probably fixed and upright with an unreadable demeanor, just like what the public has been familiar with.
The door of my room opens with two pairs of footsteps following. It's probably the Soldiers assigned to accompany me bringing in food that I'll only be leaving to get spoiled after swallowing a spoon or two from it. But I'm rather mistaken about the ones bringing the food in as soon as I see my mother and Kyla's faces come into view.
I straighten my seat with my legs crossed on the bed of mess that I've barely left off these days. But I can only feel embarrassment over how the rest of my room looks. It can only generally resemble my state at the moment. Awful. The electric lamp next to the bed never had any rest from being the only light I left on since my arrival here, crumbs of leftover food smudged on the floor that I only hope has not yet left any unpleasant impression on my visitors' nose, my bed that's almost rid of the fabric covering it, and the pillows and blanket having stains from my most recent and older breakdowns. The only thing that's saving the remaining neatness present is the white painted walls — at least, for me — and the window curtains that I keep shut just so I can avoid ever seeing the Ordinal Citadel.
"Hi, Mom," I rasp, drained. "Kyla."
Mom rests the tray of food on the table adjacent to my bed, picks up the fallen pillow on the floor, and comes to bed to greet me with a maternal hug without even dropping her pouch bag that seems to be carrying clothes. Kyla on the other hand starts cleaning around what she can.
"The guards told me you haven't been eating properly," She says, followed by a look of notice of how deep and sore my eyes are. "Your trial is tomorrow—"
"I know." I can't even look at her. But I hope she senses that I'm not ready for tomorrow. "I know."
There's a moment of silence, then the unexpected statement leaves her lips. "He surrendered."
My face makes a confused expression, probably the first expression I've had in days, then whisper, "What?"
"Ordinal Three," She confirms. "He surrendered the same day you were found in the desert with him. They only made it public a few hours ago."
"I'm surprised it hasn't reached you until now," Kyla adds. She doesn't sound furious at all, not even a tint of anything rooted in for me causing her so much trouble. But she's genuinely serious.
Does this information put me in relief? Not in the slightest. Even if that relieves me of the idea of the other possibilities about how tomorrow will go, what was lost has been lost forever. And I'm suffering from those losses — losses I can't help but feel responsible for.
"He pleaded guilty to every crime that you can think of, murder being the prevalent one," Continues the elf as she finds comfort on the chair she pulls from the small dining table near the bathroom. "He's currently imprisoned under the Citadel. But as of public request and law, investigations are still in the act."
"Let me guess, a lot of people are not liking it," I say, and she only gives an incomplete nod.
"You can say that," Kyla answers. "But Cysainte's locals are furious too, and their leaders met with Ordinal Five today, but information about that is classified."
Of course. Losing two Ordinals native to Cysainte in the hands of their own supposedly ally will spark immeasurable disputes. But I ignore that fact and resume to Ordinal Three. "Do they know that it's because of me?"
"The only clue that they have is the person who was found with him in the desert." Mom answers this time. "But they fully don't know it was you, yet."
I can only nod.
"It's not your fault, Kye," She adds.
"Well, once I step out there, they'll finally know who to point their fingers at."
"Maybe. Maybe for a while. But they won't for long if you convince them," My mom says. "And you'll only convince them once they know your truth. Much so, you saved his life after everything."
"More like spared," I counter, while at the same time, thinking about the irony of her last statement with the lives I failed to save.
She continues. "All you have to do is answer the questions you'll be asked, and make a statement."
Even with that affirmation, it has no effect on elevating my confidence in the slightest.
"How do I please them?" I ask as Kyla stands and proceeds to the door.
"You don't please them, Kye. They're the ones that you need to convince the most," She answers as I hear her begin to struggle dragging something from the door that she probably left there. "You have to let them know that we're not an enemy. That you're not an enemy."
As she comes back into view, she's only dragging the familiar weapons that my father had to the bed and one by one carrying them up to me. I look at them strangely in their sheaths for no reason, but I admit that I've completely forgotten about them. I only stay in place, can't afford to even lift a finger to touch them.
"I carried both of that all the way up here, by the way. You're welcome," The elf coos.
"Ordinal Five suggested having you bring these tomorrow." I gaze at my mother who says.
"Why?"
"To further prove that you're the son of an Ordinal that was murdered by Ordinal Three. And so they wouldn't only see you as a threat to the world. This might also convince enough of the public if not all of them."
"We have faith in you, Kyvin," Mom adds last, and they're waiting for me to decide.
My hands rest on the bed, clutching the fabric, eyes locked onto the Immortal Armaments. I'll be there not only as Kyvin Licht, but as someone carrying half an Ordinal and half a Hellion's blood. It's as if I have any other choice, right? But as simple as they say it, it won't be easy, let alone, with the world watching.