32 The Talk

It did not take long for Azeal to wake up after Roland had put him to sleep. It was only a few hours after the fact actually - almost dawn. He was grateful that his unconsciousness did not have the usual nightmares; no bloody mercenaries trying to grab him, no blood filled darkness, and most importantly, no vampire desperate to feed on him. Shivering at the thought, he continued to sit silently next to the large window in his room. He felt lost and weak; utterly incapable of helping himself.

Looking out the window, he watched as the first rays of light started to trek their way across the land. A sign that the day had just begun and the sun about to make its way through the sky, illuminating the once dark world. Out in the horizon, a sliver of light across the sky, horizontally, shined brightly while waves of clouds decorated the brightening sky. A beautiful thing to witness and even more so for the morose Azeal. He balled his fists and knitted his brows, as an indescribable urge came. He knew it was coming and hoped he might be able to fight it, but the longer he fought and struggled the more the sensation grew until it became too much to handle. Sweat slowly dribbled down his forehead, and his teeth were gritted, but no matter what he did, the helm's demand was just too much.

Once a threshold was crossed, and Azeal continued to fight, a voice began to whisper once again. It was the same one as before, but this time it was clearer. It was not distinctly masculine nor was it feminine, a neutral voice that irked him. And just as it was then, it became louder and louder the longer he did not comply. On it went until it became unbearable - screaming into his mind - drowning any other sound. Azeal closed his eyes, his body entire body shaking; an addict facing great withdrawal symptoms.

With a defeated sigh, he grabbed the helm - sitting on the window shelf - and held it in his hands. He tried squeezing it with all his might - all the muscle and strength he was given from this hulking monstrosity of a body - but it was not enough to cause any visible change. His resolve crumbled and muscles loosened as he raised the helm to his head. Slowly, like a liquid, it formed over his head, taking back its home for eternity. When Azeal had accepted the helm from Harold, he had not expected this to develop the way it did. No, he imagined a paradise, in which nothing could go wrong. The world looked like it revolved around him, and he the infallible protagonist. Now, after great torture, and a monster living inside of him, did he mature enough to notice that it might not.

Half the sun had finally passed the line between darkness and light, the rays it sent out burning into his eyes, but the helm did enough to take out most of the glare. After hard comes ease, or at least that was what he was once told by an elderly man. It was weird to Azeal, how some moments from his memory were clear - only faces and names missing - and others completely lost to him. Shaking his head to clear it, he turned away from the bright sun and looked at the only other occupant of his room, Roland. He sat their quietly and patiently, waiting for Azeal to gather his thoughts.

Azeal stared at him for a while, the suns glare leaving shadowing him. Roland sat feet shoulder width apart, hands resting on the staff he had laying on his knees. A stoic face marred the usually bright persona he had shown Azeal. It made it very clear to him that Roland would not be leaving without answers to his question. As the pregnant silence continued, the weight of the moment grew, until Roland found it necessary to speak.

"How are you doing now?" he said, the question and the neutral voice that voiced it made Azeal wince. Where was the kindness he had been shown? Or was it an illusion his foggy mind had created?

"I am okay," said Azeal.

"Good, it took quite a bit to heal you. But, nevertheless, I did. You see, as I was healing you, I found something unusual. An image really, and nothing more. But the image spoke greatly to me," said Roland, not allowing Azeal to interrupt him until he had finished. Not understanding, Azeal waited for him to continue, but it did not seem like he would without a response to his statement. "Image? What image did you see?" said Azeal, hesitantly.

"Well, hopefully, you would be able to give me a good explanation for it. You see, the image was split into two. One half had an Upir, and the other had their opposite the Seraphim," Roland stopped again, giving Azeal a meaningful look. The continued, demanding an answer to his question. "The safety of Harold and his family is of paramount importance to me, so I have to ask you these questions. To, start who are you and how did you get the ability to bestow the lineage of a once dead Higher race?"

Azeal's eyes widened, he had not expected him to find out about the monster in his soul - though he was confused why it was called an Upir - and his ability to give a seraphim bloodline. Those were secrets he had tried to hide or had just found out himself. As the silence continued to lengthen, he noticed Roland's hands tighten on his staff and an almost transparent purple fog started to leak. A threat if Azeal had ever seen one. But, he knew it was necessary. To Roland, Azeal was nothing but a stranger he had seen a few times and cares a considerable amount of potential to destroy what he cared about. Then again, he was tired of keeping these secrets to himself. Maybe voicing them out to someone would help alleviate the pain and struggle he went through.

Taking a deep breath, Azeal felt a pang of pain in his heart. It would be difficult to speak of these things, and even then he would not be able to speak of them all. His origins were one he wouldn't be able to really talk about it even if he wanted to. Too much of it was missing or jumbled up into an awkward mess that he could not make much of them. The others he decided to keep to himself was his connection to Fenia - considering the reaction it produced during the funeral - and some of the more gruesome parts of his Emotional Blindness, namely the sacrifices each kill would be and the blood that splattered in the black realm with the pulsing light. He did not know what it meant and did not want to be executed for something he did not do nor believed in.

"I-I don't know who I am. My memories are broken, and only small confusing parts remain. They flash whenever something feels familiar, but I am never able to understand what they mean," Azeal's voice had become hoarse when he began to speak, his emotions taking their toll on him. He felt butterflies in his stomach, and hands had become clammy from sweat and nervousness. Gulping audibly he continued uninterrupted by Roland, who had a small grandfatherly smile start to appear. "I also got an ability, I don't know why or how, but it has caused me great suffering. If I had a choice, I would not have wanted it; the suffering was too great."

Azeal's body began to shake slightly at the memories of all the suffering he had been through. One by one, they flew past his mind's eye. Making it all more realistic and attainable. As this circle of depression continued, Roland's voice broke through it all and brought him back up. "What skill is it? I am sure we can deal with anything below high tier," said Roland oblivious to the extent of the struggles Azeal had faced.

Laughing depreciative laugh, Azeal shook his head, "It is called Blind Emotion, and it's a high tiered. So, you probably can't do anything about it," putting his head in his hands, and they propped up on his knees, he cradled it as he heard Roland gasp of surprise and disbelief.