Shifas’ Curse

"Yellow cloak?"

This was not the question Heon imagined himself being asked.

"A God, wearing a yellow cloak?"

Even after he poured all of the bewilderment he could muster, the old, bald man named Aaric Langhorne was not bothered. He was still stone-faced, staring at his brown eyes as if looking deep into his soul.

Heon shifted his feet, drumming his fingertips against his knee. The tick he did when being under scrutiny.

Seeing that, Aaric waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "It's fine if you don't know."

Beside him, Sunny had returned to his seat. He didn't forget to give a payback shove to the green-haired girl.

The partially white-haired boy murmured. "Why did you ask about the yellow cloak?"

This time, a nervous smile was plastered on the bald, old man's face. "It's nothing you should worry about."

"But the fact that you need to say it makes me worry more."

"He's right," Azran chimed in after she was done with Sunny's childish revenge. "You never mentioned anything like that before. Why now? What's Heon got to do with that?"

By the silence that followed and the still gauging look, he was pretty sure that Aaric would evade the question, even if it was asked by the girl he seemed to favor.

However, the bald, old man opened his mouth and said, "There is this … legend amongst the mages in the palace. Someone who had lived for hundreds of years. Perhaps a thousand, give or take."

"There is immortal here, too?" Heon couldn't stave off the curiosity.

"Now is not the time." Azran chided him, but Aaric seemed to favor him this time.

"Not immortal, no. At least, not in the way you're thinking."

"No?"

"He might be an immortal, but not one out of his own choice, nor is it his natural state."

"Speak clearly, old man." Sunny huffed, shifting on his seat, and ended up slumping against the back of the couch.

He acted like he was the master of this house. However, if Aaric was bothered by him, he didn't show it. Instead, said the old man continued his story.

"He became immortal because of a curse from a God. A curse to remain alive, no matter what he did or what happened to him. To be alive and suffer as the world goes on while he remains alone."

"Hmm … let me guess," the blond between them joked, "He makes lemonade? Turn the curse into something he took advantage of?"

Heon almost cracked a laugh, but he bit his cheek. He wouldn't want to be on the same pedestal as this blond murderer who keeps making fun of him.

"Yes. Time is all he got, so he used what was supposed to be his curse to his advantage," Aaric continued. "He became more dangerous, more devious, and soon, his name was invoked with fear. A legend well-kept in the dark, only being told in the safety of the palace."

A boisterous laugh was the response. Sunny clutched his stomach while a bead of tears threatened to fall on his cheek. He found it hilarious. Oh, very, so hilarious that it took more than a couple minutes for him to cease his offending reaction.

"That was the dumbest curse I ever heard," the blond chuckled, wondering, "Who was the God laying that curse? Maybe I can convince them to give me the same blessing– I mean, curse!"

Despite the dislike vibrating off him, Aaric kindly answered, "Shifas."

That instantly shut the blond up.

Heon blinked, not expecting the silence. However, the green-haired earth mage sitting on the other end of the couch suddenly burst into laughter.

"Did you hear that? Hahahahaha!"

Then, he remembered. Of course, he had heard that name before. Sunny used to mention that particular name in an exclamation or when something truly perplexed him.

Shifas.

"Now, I know why you're insane. Your own God is too!"

"Shifas is the God of Healing. He must have seen something to give that curse!" the blond healer mage defended. "Don't you dare mock my God!"

Thankfully, Azran ignored him so there would be no war breaking right in front of Heon's very eyes. The only girl there then asked the old man. "What does that have to do with him?"

Three pairs of eyes immediately turned to him. Heon resisted scratching at his left hand. It wasn't black. He knew that much and had glanced down twice to make sure of it. Still, their eyes made him uncomfortable, and he couldn't help but tug at the edge of his left sleeve.

The bald, old man sitting on the lone armchair in front of him continued to regard him with a calculating look. "What did you say your name again?"

"I never say my name." He faltered. "It's Heon Lightwalker. Sir."

"You're not supposed to be here, do you?"

"Erm … will you call the city guards and hand me over as a criminal?"

"No. I don't need the city guards to do that. But humor me with this one, alright?"

Heon nodded, wide-eyed.

"Did you really kill the king?"

He shook his head, voice cracking, "N-no."

"Do you know who killed the king?"

"No. No, I don't."

"Then, why did they name you as the Kingslayer?"

Heon gulped, words tumbling together in his throat as he denied all of that clear accusation plastered along the kingdom's every wall. In the end, he merely confessed, "I don't know, sir. I came from another world. Someone brought me here."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"Is there anything you know?"

There was no sarcasm he heard, so he answered truthfully. Hoping someone would finally believe him and help him out with whatever was happening.

"I don't know his name, and I didn't even see his face. The person who brought me here wore a dark cloak, nothing standing out."

Aaric listened to him. "What purpose does he have to bring you here from another world?"

"He wants me to retrieve a key for him in exchange for sending me back to my own world."

They were silent for a couple of minutes.

When Sunny couldn't stay still anymore, and his feet started to tap impatiently, the bald, old man nodded to himself. He announced, "I think I know who brought you here."

"Who?"

"Darym the Breaker."