Aurin, the Daemons grow impatient. Arise, they are in search…
Jagged cracks in the wood bled rays of sunlight onto the caravan floor. Birds chirped, horses trotted, and wheels churned over crooked rocks. The air was thick with the stench of mold, mixing with damp wood. Light shimmered off a boy's white hair, and perfectly blended with his orange tufted ends. Despite his peaceful slumber, a sharp ringing pierced his dreams. His eyes creaked ajar, revealing a fire-like color. Yet behind the fierce glow, settled a morbid undertone.
'Did someone say something?'
Rubbing his sore back, he traced the crude bumps of his spine. Barely keeping awake, he squinted around the wagon. Instead, he was reunited with a familiar thin silhouette relaxed inside the shadowy corner beside the gate.
As the sun crept along, her blue eyes and pale skin lightly shed through the badly lit corner, "Quit staring," she muttered, her eyes narrowing with disdain as she crossed her arms.
Shifting his head away, the sustaining pressure of her glare still seared into the back of his skull.
In turn, he threw back against the withered wall. Splinters jabbed through his makeshift tunic and bit into his skin. They brushed against his tunic, causing him to wince. He shuffled around rigidly, position to position. And in the end, he found himself curled into a neat ball. The space turned into a deafening silence, nearly solace. Cut off by the acute pain of splinters, or the occasional complaint from his empty stomach.
'Maybe this village has something different than carrots and bread…' An amused smile appeared as he thought, 'Xyph, hopefully it won't be turnips. Please don't let it be turnips… I'd rather starve than have those again. '
While he peeled wood chips off the withering floor, heavy eyelids almost drew him to sleep. But instead, he found himself contemplating the past. From what he'd heard before by eavesdropping, they were heading to a small village at the edge of Paraphine. They called it Melanor. Every time they passed through a village, he was forced to ration the measly portions of food they gave him. Thirst was the bigger issue he had to face though. They didn't bother to give him much of that. Instead, the woman next to him taught a manifestation called Aqavium.
About a month ago, she dragged him to a vast lake to adapt to the water. Supposedly it was to give him a better feel for the aspect. He spent a week treacherously flinging water around to learn how to swim. The only break he got was his sleeping, eating, or pausing because he would nearly drown. Only after that did she bother talking about Atheria.
Why didn't they use that to give him water? His favorite theory to play at was to stop an opportunistic child like himself from running.
He giggled under a muffled elbow and thought, 'I guess that's something they all had in common—they never said a word about why I'm here… These might be the worst of them though… Elia and… Garrick?'
'Well, maybe not the worst----but close...'
While the caravan was slowly drudging to a halt, Aurin sighed beneath his sleeve.
'The next probably won't be any better...'
As the caravan slowly shook to a stop, Elia rose from the grim corner with a barely visible expression. In her hand, she carried a pail filled with a murky black substance. When she knelt to his height, he mumbled, "How long this time..." While she smeared a black paste into his hair, she grumbled, "How should I know..." Whilst she continued, two deep voices began to chatter ahead of the wagon.
When he tried to listen through the wall, the distracting odor involuntarily made his nose wrinkle; He rarely caused an issue because of it, though, he couldn't resist pinching his nostrils. It was really just a smoky aroma, but the mold made it truly vile. Whenever they went into a village or town, they usually disguised him with charcoal mixed with water. Since his hair was white, it was fairly easy to change color, so most who were with him came to the same conclusion.
By the time she put on the finishing touches of paste, his hair was raven-black. Lightly laying the bucket down, she scuffled his hair. "Don't forget to wear that." She said while pointing towards his side. Staring down, he spotted the hood they made him wear during storms. While he struggled to slide the tightly knit hood over his head, heavy footsteps squelched around the wagon.
After a few moments passed, the gate abruptly flung open. Aurin winced as he watched as it crashed into the outer wood. The intense sunlight became even more dazzling. Outside, stood a freakishly tall man. Long brown hair, dark green eyes, and on his back was a long, slim, double-edged sword. It was Garrick.
"Is the kid ready?" Garrick's raspy tone broke the silence.
After Elia rose to her feet, her eyes darted back down to Aurin. With a moody glint reflecting off her blue eyes, she mumbled, "Just about, yeah…"
Not a second later, her hand snapped down around his wrist.
Squirming his arm, he let out a discomforted gasp as the woman's grip tightened. Without hesitation, she dragged him along as he yelped, "Wai-" Before he could finish, she leapt off. The weight of it caused his balance to falter. As he flung forward off the edge, she jolted her arm out to catch him, but missed by a breadth of hair. He closed his eyes as he flailed his arms around in circles.
He landed with a resounding wet thud.
Laying there didn't only hurt because of the fall, but there were sharp shards of stone embedded beneath the surface. He brewed in the mud that molded around his body. A tightness dug into his throat and his face felt like it was set ablaze. Tears started to well in his eyes, threatening to spill. He propped his stinging hands to the side while rigidly pushing to his knees. The poor state he was in didn't attest to his ascent.
Despite the mud that covered his face, hands, knees, and whole torso, neither Elia nor Garrick were close to him. Instead, they were a few paces to his right with crossed arms. They looked down at him with a cold, distant, uncaring glare; like they were viewing something mundane. Seeing them, Aurin infinitely stared into nothing. His brows raised and was nearly drawing blood by biting his lower lip.
Unmoved, Garrick stood tapping his foot along the ground, and grumbled, "Clean up…" Elia scratched the back of her head and said, "We don't want people staring…"
A weight strung to his chest as he struggled to utter a word; almost as if they were stuck in his mouth, but he still weakly mumbled, "What if I can't get water…"
Garrick shifted a deadpan stare, and scoffed "Find a way."
Aurin stared back at the imprinted mud. Remembering the ripping pain of a dry coarse throat, he dug his fingers into his neck.
'You're the ones who...'
Eyes twitching, his hands fell to the side and quaked into a fist.
'Find a way he says...'
Letting out a long sigh, he inhaled a long stiff breath as he lifted his right arm out. A subtle warm light seeped from his tunic and shorts. Soon a plethora of orange glowing art-like runes flowed out across his limbs.
Reluctantly he closed his eyes before his mind was transported into seemingly endless darkness. Only his body was illuminated in the empty expanse. The more focused he was on the edge of the empty plane, the more the watery-scape expanded. Staring down, the waves rippled beneath his feet as soothing cool water clung to his feet. When he trailed his arms out, a path of orange particles followed, then dissipated into the black abyss. But slowly, all of them were dimming, including his light.
As he watched as the last one fluttered into black, he closed his eyes. An immediate light poured back into his vision. Squinting, he spotted eight moderate-sized balls of water formed above, circling his head. They were slowly floating outwards from him; while they did, he stared down at his limbs.
He wasn't sure of what the runes were, but no one else seemed to have them...
The eight balls were constantly being molded back into shape, still waiting for his command. Looking up, he swerved his hand to the side, and the water followed. It was as though there were multiple strings of Ather strung to his hand; like a puppeteer. Just one slight movement with all the threads attached to a finger would cause the water to come crashing.
'Wrong one, again...' he frowned.
Reversing his palm facing upwards, he flicked his middle finger inwards, and his index out. The perfectly shaped balls shuddered. They weren't just simply balls anymore, they had morphed into spiraling cones. Clenching his jaw, he shut his eyes as tight as possible. Letting his arm fall, he felt a resistance tugging at his bones. The water had started to fall apart as it twirled, and as a result, they began to fall apart. But before they could dissipate, each of them shot down in a clockwise order.
When the first one hit, he almost screamed in shock. The air inside his lungs propelled out, barely giving him time to recover. He slumped forward. He was completely drenched from head to toe. While the manifestation slowly dispelled, the mud on him slipped to the ground with it. Along with that, his runes were fizzling with a plume of glowing dust. Gasping for breath, his knees wobbled as if they were supported by mere twigs.
Hearing someone click their tongue, he heard Elia reaffirm that by laughing out, "Xyph, you're still terrible. You beat yourself with water!"
The sound around him muffled. He finally got his head up to look at them. His vision was blurred and slightly jittery, but he was able to make out the two figures.
His lower lip quivered, and shoulders shook while Garrick's lips moved to a wry grin
They were waving him over...
'...'
The air hung heavy, smelling wet and sour. He hadn't even bothered to collect where he was… He dragged his head up and met an endless row of mudflats, as far as the eye could see. Puddles, mud, and god rays seeped through the clouded skies. A storm was coming. 'Why here?' he thought while coughing.
Garrick saw it too... He muttered, "A storm aye…"
Elia nodded. Looking back to Aurin, she slowly started to move towards him. He stood there stiffly looking down at the mud while trying to keep on his feet. Before he looked back up, he felt her cold iron grip snap down around his wrist. Giving him a light tug, he stumbled forward in her steps. Then she huffed, "Yeah… and I doubt shelter there is cheap…" He nodded agreeingly, then chuckled, "Xyph, is anywhere cheap nowadays?"
While they started to move, he constantly stuttered on subtle rocks, bumps, or potholes in the poorly made gravel. But he found a rhythm, and in that rhythm, he observed the bleak landscape. They were traversing a thinly paved road barely raised above the mudflats covering both sides. But not too far down the path, the flats ended abruptly to a thick pine wood forest littered with overgrowth.
Aurin watched as the distant tops of the trees swayed with the wind that was slowly picking up. Looking down at his scraped palms and scratched arms, he wondered back to when he trained Aqavium. 'Is there any way of increasing Ather reserves?' Sparing a glance at Garrick, he thought, ''Not like they'd tell me...'
Soon, they reached the outline of the forest. Before they entered, Aurin had a cold realization.
Who was Garrick talking to?
Straight ahead there was nothing, but once he looked behind.
There.
A distant black dot down the paved road, just a bit behind their caravan.
Even while squinting, it still looked like a blur. He couldn't tell if the person stood still, or was moving down the road, but assumed the latter. 'There isn't anything that way for a while… he's going there by foot?' he wondered.
A pit of unease gnawed in his stomach. The dark cloaked figure rose a gray-sleeved gloved arm in the air, and... It felt directed at him...
While paused, Elia tugged on his wrist making him stagger forward. Forced to look ahead, the distant forestry revealed two stone-bound cottages atop a cleared hill deep within.
The border of the village.
Melanor.
End of Chapter 1