Nevertheless It May Be

Silent cries, and shouts of war—the biggest war since the day of March. Struggles and deaths—those that never end in the Silent Souls of Hitzak.

"Don't walk out on me, I'm talking to you….Yizak! Don't you dare—"

Bang!

Door slammed shut at the face of a man past his prime, ending the heated conversation. 

The hall where the just concluded heat, was decorated with glamour, giving off a feel of royalty. Yellow and red with a tolerated glint of the certain entry.

*Sigh*

The heaved, as he shook his, who's if it was out of pity or resignation, or could it be bitterness?

...…

"Get him!!" 

"Sorry excuse me", a figure clothed in almost rags—ran through a busy crowd—as it tried to outrun it's pursuers.

Clang!!

A metal sound rang out, as the figure's body slightly brushed a metal pan, upsetting it's position, as mother gravity never missed the opportunity to draw it to herself.

Bang!!

"You scum!!" the merchant shouted in anger at the running figure.

"Almost there," the figure said to itself, as it's vision narrowed down to an alley, about fifty meters away from it.

Thud!

The world toppled in the view of the figure, as his funny journey was brought to end by a strong punch to his left ear.

"Shoot, how did I miss him?", he blamed himself for his carelessness.

*Slap*

Lots of beatings followed the first punch, after the figure landed from it's short flight in the air, due to the momentum of the punch and it's fast movement speed, creating an impact that could leave a scar on a wall.

*Boff*

*Plam*

"Urghh", the figure groaned in anger and disdain, as he tried to protect vital organs from being harmed.

They continued to batter him—making more of a bruise than precisely needed.

"Let him go", a voice rang out.

"You better leave while you still have your breath and legs", a thug threatened, as he resumed his beatings on a ragged-clothed figure.

"I said let him go", this time the voice was stern, with hints of indignation.

"Marhe keuelma", one of the merchant angrily said in the native tongue as he went, which meant, "Who the freak do you  think you are?"

"Gradous fresnku", the voice replied, meaning "the one who would kick your carcass", as the owner of the voice came into view.

...

"Hey buddy, what's with the face", a youth of mid twenties asked. His friend who was a handsome, and finely shaped youth, who had an angry expression on his face, only managed to grunt in reply. He entered into a carriage of four horses.

"We should probably get going", the angry face youth huffed out.

"Are you sure about this?", a feminine voice asked from within the carriage.

He nodded in reply without looking back at the owner of the voice.

.....

"Where am I?", a handsome young man, in his early years asked, as he abruptly woke up from his slumber, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

"Don't worry, you're safe now".

"How are you feeling?", a voice asked, with concern.

"Who are you?", the young man asked in fear and nervousness, as he saw a figure clothed in white raiments, which ended with a hood. He grunted in pain, as he made moves to sit on the "not too comfy" mattress, in order to obtain a clearer view of his situation. 

The smell of the building lingered with herbs, as his senses jerked alive, due to his now upright position. To his bewilderment, he found his body bandaged, with signs of some minor bruises on the some not bandaged part of his body. His mind returns to earlier moments, as he remembered his previous predicament at the market.

"What happened?—Why did you?—Am I dead? Tell me something", the young man said, visibly shaking with fear.

"You need to rest", the soft voice only answered him with that, as its owner turned to leave.

The room was too dark and the man felt it was much vicious to leave.

"At least tell me your name", the young  hysterically ordered, not giving up.

"Astra Veronica, that's my name", the figure spoke, as she left the young man alone.

"Astra Veronica?", the young man murmured to himself.

In the dark hills of bana

"Power is a manipulating force, son. The more you get hungry for it, the more it consumes you and makes you hungry for more."

This were the words of an old sage, as he spoke to a young apprentice under him.

"But power needs a stronger force to control it."

"Are you ready, Drecosis?" 

"All my life, I have been trained for this moment. What would make me not to be ready for this—

"Your mind", the old sage interrupted.

"Your mind lacks the strength to stand against the manipulation of power, but your will is strong…..hmm."

"Darkness calls for you Drecosis, despite you being in the light."

Sigh

"Nevertheless it may be…."

Silence. Alone darkness that sat inside nowhere—giving endless borders. 

Where was he? What was the point of it?

He began to try to take a breath, but he couldn't slow it to feel the air go into him.

Then, suddenly—two blue eyes flashed forward to him. He looked from his chair and hysterically faced it. 

Then, he started to gasp—as a hand reached out. He hovered around his hand softly and began to glow. 

Could seem pretty nice.

Then—it clenched onto his throat as he gagged and sputtered for help. 

Crack!

He felt throbbing pain and cried—but was blocked by the intensity of the unpredictable eyes with one glowing hand.

"Owen!" 

With a sudden blink, he saw Mrs. Remby's glasses pricked upon her nose with eyes which blinked with a slow effect of the eyelashes. She also had blue eyes which glared at your soul.

Owen stuttered confusedly, "Yes?"

"Can you please tell us 68 to the power of 10?"

"680?" 

Snickers could be through the class—mainly because of his rich status which pretty much makes a higher ranking to most students. 

Mrs. Remby sighed as if she knew this was the routine, which she did.

"Avie?" 

Avie looked up as her eyes wiggled camptly, as she tried to study the question asked of Mrs. Remby. "Ummm—I think— it may, be-be—might be 5200—"

With a sudden shout—the class shouted with dishonoring laughter. By Owen's view—he could see the soft tears which went down her dimpled cheeks—almost dropping in fact. 

Mrs. Remby sighed.

Ring!!

Students picked up their books, with folders which stuck out in their backpacks. 

"Please do page one hundred and fifty, and show your work!" 

Although it seemed to be ignored, heed was taken.

Owen picked up his backpack and sighed—since it was going to be lunchtime.

"Owen, and Avie." 

He sighed as he faced the disheveled, looking teacher. 

Mrs. Remby admitted, "You guys were literally a pain in the ass in my class."

"Today, you guys are having detention and if this keeps up, we might have to employ some measures we do not like to see—understood?"

Mrs. Remby closely stared ad Owen and Avie stuttered in the process of saying:

"Yes—teacher."

Owen POV:

I'm the son of a rich family who believed in me being equal with the average class, and they tried bridging that gap, by proposing my admission into a regular school, just to teach me the lessons of life and to show me the other side of the coin, and the feeling of how being a regular kid is.

But then I would never know what it's like to be a wealthy kid.

Despite my wealth, I still make a good sport for the average class. Being jeered at, for me not using my brain for the purpose it was created. At least, I don't end up, getting bullied like that weirdo, Avie. Urghh, my class is a pain, I hate school.

Hmmm? Those dreams, what do they mean. These dreams which are scary—from running from a bunch of patrollers. Then, being invaded by a bunch of evil people which trapped me in some orb. I just hate it! Why do I have these nightmares? What do they mean? I need answers.

But, they weren't as bad as what happened two years ago—still remember it like a month ago. It did last for a month but that's just forty-six months left. Anyways—the biggest reason why I hate these dreams is because they always get me in trouble. My parents are really strict on making me have a regular life. 

But—that's life isn't it?

He raised his head, staring at the interior roof of his car, like seated at the back seat. His driver cared less about his troubles, as he zipped through the streets of the town like he owned them. What can I say, he's best at what he does, and this Benz isn't any tough for a driver like him to turn into a speed demon.

Avie's Pov:

Sometimes you just have that feeling that everyone is against you completely. There is no friend I have at all—don't know why—but I don't. Although there is this cute boy who stares at me sometimes. But I doubt he even likes me.

I'm technically an outcast.

Although I'm like everyone else, yet I'm still discriminated against by my own peers, like I have the flu.

Dyslexia, this irking ailment isn't helping either, it's the major cause of my failed social life. Too many difficulties and hurdles for me to overcome. First socializing, now I have a reading ailment to add to it? Could my life ever get better, I can't even read numbers properly! I'm only grateful for my genius brain, at least I have something to be proud of. At first, I thought it was just that I needed glasses—but the doctor said that my eyesight was just fine. 

But now, every question comes with mocking looks from my mates, my ailments just assists me in answering them wrong, and then everyone laughs at me. 

But, life is what it is. 

.....

THE NEXT DAY

Owen tapped his foot much louder dramatically as he rested on his seat. Mrs. Dowvonsmich—a lunch lady or technically their detention teacher—flipped her pages nimbly as she tipped on her tongue.

She was a woman with multiple curled brown bunches, with a red and purple dress which flanked down to her ankles. 

She had a few rinkes by her cheeks and big round glasses which were hazed. 

Owen sighed. 

*Sniff—Sniff* 

He turned his head towards Avie, who has soft sniffs and tears which stained her bright dimpled cheeks. 

Owen adjusted his hair into a soft hair which fell down to the top of his face-cheeks. 

Pah!

The umpteenth time Owen facepalmed.

"What's the use of those tears?" he asked, like he was talking to himself.

Avie seemed to freeze suddenly, she could hear her heartbeat.

"He spoke?", she asked herself.

Weird silence pervaded the atmosphere for a moment. Except the flipping pages from the magazine, the silence was enough to hear the footsteps of a worker ant.

"Tears are a waste of strength", he continued, this time he slowly cast a glance at her, then faced forward.

Avie snickered as her face silently mingled. 

"What else am I supposed to do?", she asked, almost in a dead whisper.

"That's for you to figure out yourself. But I think…..standing up for yourself, isn't the best of ideas, but it's better than crying." 

She looked at the floor instead of gazing to Owen's eyes. 

"When you get beat down, do you stay down? Or you get up? Life's about the choices we make, and life would never be fair", he said, nodding his head as he continued to keep a straight face, while looking forward.