As Andrew turned around, the voice he heard seemed to pull him from his thoughts. He found the old priest sitting calmly on a wooden bench, his face turned towards the horizon where the first light of dawn was breaking through the darkness.
"Would you like to sit here with me and enjoy the sunrise?" the priest asked, his tone gentle as if he could sense the inner turmoil that Andrew was trying so hard to hide.
"No," Andrew replied curtly, the word slipping from his mouth like a cold shield protecting himself.
The priest's old, kind eyes didn't falter at the rejection; instead, they seemed to soften, carrying a depth of understanding that went unspoken.
"Well, if you want to talk, I have something to tell you," the priest offered, his voice steady, and patient. "It's important," he added.
"I'm not interested," Andrew shot back, his voice laced with defensiveness.
"It's about you," the priest continued, his voice now firmer, refusing to be dismissed.
Andrew hesitated, his resolve faltering for just a moment. "What does that matter?" he snapped, though the edge in his voice was starting to dull.
As Andrew turned to leave, the priest's next words stopped him in his tracks. "I'm going to die, child. It's near."
"What?" The word barely escaped his lips, disbelief coloring his voice.
"You heard me right," the priest said, his tone gentle but firm. "I am going to die, and it is near... Today, tomorrow, or the day after. My death is coming, and that's the reality I must face."
The priest's gaze drifted toward the rising sun, his expression a mix of sorrow and resignation. "I hear the wind whispering it to me, the water in this container says the same thing, and my own body is warning me," he added, his voice growing softer, tinged with the sadness of acceptance.
"Even if I want to live, I can't save myself," the priest continued, his words slow and deliberate.
Andrew felt a pang of guilt, his rudeness weighing heavily on him now.
"Wouldn't you like to comfort this old man in his last moments? Kind boy…" the priest asked softly, his voice carrying a plea that was impossible to ignore.
"What do you want to say? Hurry and say it," he demanded, though there was a slight softness in his tone.
The priest's expression softened. "You are special, Andrew Moons. You possess this pure energy that eases people and can also heal them. It is very pure and clear, just like clear water, child. You are lucky to have this energy. People do rituals or wait for years just to generate this purity within them. You are gifted with it, how lucky," the priest said, his voice gentle, as if he was speaking of a rare treasure.
"You wanted to tell me this?" he asked, his voice still carrying that same stern edge.
"There is more to it," the priest continued. "However, there is this complication within you. You carry a strange darkness, a very strange darkness. I hope you understand what I am going to say next: this darkness that you have is hungry for release. It is evil. And if it did get released one day, your pure energy would lose before that darkness. You won't even know what you have done."
A chill ran down Andrew's spine as the priest spoke, his words piercing Andrew. "You mean, I am cursed?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.
"The darkness within you cannot be denied. You have to face it and learn to keep it in control. If it takes the lead, you will forget everything—your memories... Your existence, everything. You will be blinded by lust, rage, possessiveness, and everything negative and evil."
"Right now, you are in a delicate equilibrium," the priest added, his tone filled with both warning and concern.
A bitter laugh escaped Andrew's lips. "I am cursed. You could have just said it in short words," he said, his words filled with sadness.
But the priest didn't respond. He simply watched Andrew, his expression unreadable.
"Avoid people with superior darkness," the priest finally advised. "They can influence you. And it will be bad for you."
"And how can I save myself?" he asked, his voice a cold shield against the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
"I do not know. I never saw anything like this before. But some people say that believing in yourself is the biggest power," the priest replied, offering a little comfort.
"Try not to come much in physical contact with the head of Demore family," the priest warned. "The person you are going to."
"There is more to this that you need to hear. Have you been attracting dark creatures?" the priest asked, his question adding yet another layer of confusion and fear within Andrew.
"I am leaving," Andrew said.
"My elder used to talk about a person who was just like you. You are sensitive to energies; that is why you may attract evil beings. They will call out to you or something bad happens to the people near you."
The breeze seemed to grow colder as the priest's words settled over them.
"Andrew, do not be stubborn. You can die," the priest called out, standing from the bench, his voice a desperate plea that cut through the early morning quietness.
Andrew's steps faltered, the weight of the priest's warning pressing on him, but he continued to walk away.
The priest's gaze lingered on Andrew's retreating figure, his expression a mixture of sadness and urgency. "You can die," he repeated.
The further Andrew walked, the more detached he felt, until he found himself near a place where warriors were training. The sound of swords clashing and shouts of determination filled the air, but Andrew barely noticed.
To one side, the twin brothers, Stephen and Steven, stood side by side, their bows drawn back and with a synchronized release, they sent their arrows soaring through the air, their arrows moving with the speed of light, leaving trails behind in the air. They hit the distant targets in the same time with pinpoint accuracy.
Nearby, Nin and Michael clashed swords in a fierce yet controlled duel. Their movements were fluid, each attack met with an equally forceful power. The sound of metal against metal rang out in the air.
Nin had a doubled edged sword, sharp blades both up and down, and holding position in the middle.
And Michael had a long normal plain and simple sword.
Not far off, Sarah sat on the cold ground, her legs crossed and eyes closed in peaceful meditation. Unlike the others, her battle was inward.
Andrew emerged from the bushes, his presence almost unnoticed until he let himself fall onto the soft, green grass. He watched the warriors, his eyes following the swift movements, admiring the skill and dedication they displayed.
Steven, noticing Andrew's quiet observation, paused mid-action. "What? Observing us?" he asked.
Michael, always quick to join in, added with a grin. "How are we doing? Impressive?"
Andrew, feeling the attention on him, quickly offered a humble response. "My apologies if I interrupted your focus," he said, his voice sincere. "I was just watching the lords practice their skills, curious and in awe of your expertise."
Stephen chuckled, shaking his head as he readied another arrow. "No, you didn't interrupt us," he assured, his tone kind yet focused. "But you should go eat. We'll be departing soon," he added, his voice taking on a more serious, almost brotherly tone.
"Thank you, my lord," Andrew replied, standing up from the grass.
As Andrew walked through the quiet grounds, he felt the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He was lost in thought when something caught his eye—a faint glimmer of light ahead.
Curious, he moved closer and found Rema, a members of the Nine. She was kneeling by a small, withered flower. She seemed lost as if she were in her own world. Her delicate hands hovered over the flower, her fingers barely touching its weak petals.
As she focused, a soft, golden light began to emanate from her palms, surrounding the flower in a warm glow. Slowly, the withered stem straightened, and the petals, once dull and lifeless, came back to it's vibrant colours.
Rema, sensing a presence nearby, glanced up and met Andrew's gaze. There was no surprise in her eyes, only a calm acknowledgment.
"Are you looking for breakfast?" she asked, her voice soft and melodic, as she turned her attention back to the healthy flower.
"Madam, are you the one who has the healing abilities in the nine?" he asked, his voice tinged with awe and curiosity.
Rema turned to face him fully. "Yes," she confirmed, her tone gentle but firm. Then, with a light laugh, she added, "And please, do not call me madam. Just Rema is fine."
There was an aura of ease around her, which made Andrew feel slightly less burdened by the weight of his own thoughts.
As the two shared a brief moment of connection, Kale approached them, his stride purposeful yet unhurried. His presence was commanding, yet his voice was gentle when he addressed Rema. "Rema, I have something to discuss with you," he said.
Rema turned to Kale. "What is it, Sir Kale?" she asked.
"In private," said Kale.
She then looked back at Andrew. "I'll leave you to find your breakfast, kid."
Andrew nodded as he watched her walk away with Kale.