Another Rough Morning | Chapter One

Another Rough Morning | Chapter One

Aurin, the Daemons grow impatient for their feast. Arise, they are in search…

Birds… chirping…

Sunlight crept through the jagged cracks of a caravan, casting faint shadows over a feeble boy. The air was thick with the stench of mold mixing with damp wood. Light shimmered off his white hair, and perfectly blended with the orange strands. Despite the peaceful slumber, a sharp ringing pierced his sleep. His eyes creaked ajar, revealing a fire-like color. Yet behind the fierce glow, settled a morid undertone.

'Did someone say something?' He wondered with his hands cupped around his ears.

While he rubbed his aching back, he felt the crude bumps of his spine. Barely keeping awake, he squinted around the wagon searching for an explanation. Instead, he was reunited with a familiar thin silhouette relaxed inside the shadowy corner beside the gate.

Her blue eyes and pale skin slightly bleed through the badly lit corner, as the sun crept along. "Quit staring," she muttered, her eyes narrowing with disdain as she crossed her arms. 

Shifting away, the sustaining pressure of her glare bore into the back of his head.

Throwing back against the withered wall, splinters jabbed through the makeshift tunic biting into his skin. The wooden nuisance brushed against the beneath the tunic causing his face to tighten. Shuffling around rigidly, position to position, he curled into a neat ball. The space turned into a deafening silence, almost solace. Broken only by the acute burning 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. '

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 town in Paraphine called Melanor. About every time they passed through a village, he was forced to ration measly portions of food they gave him.

Thirst was the bigger issue he had to face. 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 mess in the water. Supposedly it was to give him a better feel for the aspect. Spending a week treacherously flinging water around trying to learn how to swim. The only break was sleep, eating, or getting too close to drowning, and only then did she bother talking about Atheria. 

Aqavium uses Atheria. Atheric essence, or Ather in short. It can be used to manifest, manipulate, or bind an aspect that they are adapted to. The second heart of the body, the Atherial Heart is responsible for this. However, according to her, it is more of an orb. When enough is depleted, it takes on a blood loss-like effect. Unluckily his reserves were probably the worst seen in centuries.

Why didn't they just use that to give him water? His favorite theory to play at was to stop an opportunistic child like himself from running. 

While going over these thoughts relentlessly in his head, he silently giggled under a muffled elbow. '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 all though…' Stuck with two ruffians, 'Elia and… Garrick?'

The former was the woman who taught him simple manifestation basics, and Garrick he rarely saw. Most of the time, he was leading the horses, and if it wasn't that, he was asleep or eating. 

Dwelling on these memories felt wrong; like a weight was dropped on his head, and the caravan was slowly drudging to a stop. Two deep voices resounded outside. 

Elia rose from the grim corner like an ill omen. In her hand, she held a bucket filled with black muck. Kneeling down to the weathered boy, she hesitantly began to smear the pasty liquid into his hair.

Aurin pinched his wrinkled nose; the smell was revolting, though in reality, it was just a smoky aroma, but the mold really made it vile. Rarely did he make a struggle, though; he was used to them disguising him with black hair, along with a scrappy hood to stop the washing rain.

'Why don't they just leave me here?'

Putting on the finishing touches of the paste, his hair was raven-black. Lightly laying the bucket on the plank floor, she scuffled his hair roughly, saying "Don't forget to wear that hood…" She stood over him waiting, and to accompany that, heavy thick footsteps squelched around the wagon.

Without warning, the gate instantly flew open, slamming against the outer wood. The intense sunlight became even more dazzling. Outside stood a freakishly tall man with long brown unkempt hair, dark green eyes, and on his back stretched a long slim double-edged pointed sword. It was Garrick.

"Is the kid ready?" he asked raspily.

Elia nodded, then crookedly rose to her feet, and her eyes darted right back down to Aurin. With a moody glint, she mumbled, "Yeah…" Not even a second later, her hand snapped down gripping around his wrist. 

He let out a discomforted gasp, and the woman's grip tightened. Without hesitation, she leaped with his wrist still in her grasp. Tugging his torso forward with his arm in the lead, the grasp she held imbalanced him. Jolting her arm out to catch him, she missed by a breadth of hair. 

He landed with a sickening thud as mud molded around his body. 'Sticky…'

He brewed there for a moment. A tightness dug into his throat, his face felt on fire, and tears slightly welled in his eyes, threatening to spill. He propped his stinging hands to the side, rigidly pushing up to his knees. The poor state he was in didn't attest to his ascent.

Despite the mud covering his face, hands, knees, and whole torso, both Elia and Garrick held a bizarre lack of disconcern. Cold, distant, uncaring. Aurin though, an empty infinite stare into nothing, raised brows, and biting his lower lip nearly drawing blood.

Unmoved, Garrick stood tapping his foot along the ground, and grumbled, "Clumsy, clean up…" and Elia was scratching the back of her head, adding, "We don't want people staring…"

A weight dropped in his chest as he struggled to utter anything, 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 blankly at the imprinted mud. Remembering the dull, dry dehydration he'd gone through before, grasping his own throat. The ripping pain of a hoarse throat flashed back to memory.

His hands quaked into a fist. Eyelids twitching slightly, he thought, 'Leave? No… kill them? I couldn't do that… wait, how will I walk? Oh yeah, find a way he says!'

  A subtle warm light seeped from his tunic and shorts. Soon a plethora of orange glowing art-like runes flowed out across his legs, and arms.

Grudgingly closing his eyes, his mind was teleported into endless darkness. Only his body was illuminated in the empty expanse with the rippling waves of water beneath his feet. The more focused he became on the plain's expanse, the more the watery-scape expanded. Soon enough, the liquid began to cling to his legs with a soothing cold.

Outside, his eyes snapped open again, and eight moderate-sized balls of water formed above circling his head. They floated outwards from him a good few paces; 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. He had an inkling that might be what's special about him. 

Ather is constantly produced and recycled through channels that vent through your skin pores. Creating an invisible mist membrane of Atheria. For him though, attempting usage always caused a plethora of runes to slither out. These runes caused a sense of gates slamming down on the freely moving essence. Almost suffocating…

Despite that, he was still mesmerized by the slightly iridescent runes, nearly forgetting the manifestation. The eight balls were constantly being molded back into perfect shape, still waiting for his command. 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. 

He shut his eyes as tight as possible, then reversed his palm facing upwards. Flicking his middle finger inwards, and his index out, the perfectly shaped balls shuddered. Each of the orbs simultaneously flew forward as bolts impacting the small child.

As all of them hit, the air inside his lungs propelled out, leaving him slumped forward. He was completely drenched from head to toe. Leading his view downwards, the manifestation dispelled, and runes slowly faded into glowing dust fluttering through the air.

Accompanying this, the overbearing loss of Ather finally took its toll. His knees wobbled as if they were supported by mere twigs. Stumbling to keep on straight, the two smugglers were waving him over. 

Vision blurring, and slightly wobbly, he barely was able to make out the two figures. His lower lip quivered slightly, while his upper mouth twitched. Balling his fist, his shoulders jittered.

'I want to be free too, you know…'

Garrick's lips moved to a wry grin, while Elia bore a rather blank stoic expression. Everything was thin, a sore red face, stinging palms, near limp legs, and Elia's iron held snapping around his wrist again. The air hung heavily, smelling wet and sour. He hadn't even bothered to collect where he was…

Dragging his head up, he met an endless row of mudflats, as far as the eye could see. Just puddles, mud, and god rays seeping through the clouded skies. A storm was coming. Luckily not too far down the path is where the flats ended abruptly. A thick pine wood forest littered with overgrowth.

Garrick seemed to be watching the same thing, because he muttered, "A storm aye…" Elia glanced at him, muttering, "Yeah… and I doubt shelter there is cheap…" He nodded agreeingly before responding with, "Xyph, is anywhere cheap nowadays?"

Since they were on the move now, the two began the usual useless banter, ignoring him… After a while of traveling with these two, he learned to tune out of their rants, and absorb the scenic views to entertain himself. So like normal, the sounds muffled, and was stuck in his head again.

'Why would anyone have a village out here? It's so sad? Is that the right word?' While staring along the landscape, he remembered earlier, 'Wasn't he talking to someone?' Creeping his gaze away from Garrick, he darted his head around for anything, and there… Behind them stood a black dot far down the paved road wearing a cloak.

Squinting, it still looked like a blur. He couldn't tell if the person was standing still, or moving down the road, but assumed the latter. 'There isn't anything that way for a while… he's going there by foot?'

The distant black figure raised a gray-sleeved gloved arm in the air, for some reason it felt directed at him…

A pit of unease settled in his stomach, but Elia tugged on his wrist because of his constant pausing. Forced to follow down the grimly paved street, the distant forestry revealed a few stone-bound cottages atop a cleared hill deep within. 

The border of the village.

Melanor.

End of Chapter 1