Chapter 2 - The Crow

This isn't death...

My wounds—from the slightest scratch to the fatal stab that had me face to face with death—were all gone.

And this sensation—couldn't be death...

Either that or death's "embrace" was more of a swallow than a gentle hug. A swallow that grew more uncomfortable with each passing second.

Am I choking? On what? And now, I'm floating?

When the unfamiliar substance reached my lips, clarity punctured the cranium. The substance wasn't water; it was similar but different—denser.

The realization created immense disbelief and confusion. The fact that my body was currently submerged in a liquid had a stunning effect.

In this day and age, any form of liquid is priceless. Over a thousand years ago, the Cataclysm turned the continent into a barren wasteland. Rivers evaporated, lakes disappeared, and water receded into memory.

Every drop of water became more valuable than gold, fiercely guarded and desperately sought after by the remnants of humanity.

The discovery of a small pond alone held more than enough potential to spark wars.

Even though I was in a completely unknown and uncomfortable environment, I felt at peace. Away from pain, away from the memories of my father that had tormented me, away from the relentless war that never ended.

I let out a sigh of exhaustion. My body struggled to relax. How could I? Years of turmoil and never-ending death did things to people; it transformed them.

Yet for the first time in a long time, I had no adversary, no need to run, fight, or hide. Just alone.

But all things come to an end. The curiosity about my predicament begged for my eyes to open. With open and observant eyes, the environment illuminated itself.

No.

It blinded. The room was white, with a serene blandness, an unmatched spotlessness. The room had a singular source of light that was attached to the ceiling—it was more than enough.

My nose twitched uncomfortably. It wasn't that it smelled in any particular way; it didn't have a smell. The room's stench carried the same blandness as the room did.

I tilted my head downwards in an attempt to understand my predicament. It was a white translucent substance that reflected my darkened purple eyes and tousled hair.

Moist hands connected to my face in amazement...

I was clean. In these times, hygiene was a concept strictly reserved for the upper echelon of society.

Yet I was clean; devoid of all soot, grime, blood, or sweat. My eyes noticed a change—my armor. The cheap mail armor that had once draped me was now replaced by a white gown.

In a frantic frenzy, my eyes scanned the room until they encountered an opening within the walls. The opening seemed to lead to another room, probably just as bland.

It was tempting, rational even, for what did waiting for my fate do? I was clean, uninjured in fact. The opportunity couldn't announce itself any louder.

Then it returned...

The same foul odor seeped into the room like a parasite entering the body. The smell of war. Of death.

A pair of closing footsteps were accompanied by a terrorized heartbeat.

He entered, my eyes meeting the same black beak-like mask that pronounced him a Crow—a trained killer for the Church.

"If you ever see a Crow—run. A Dove, you're already dead." In less than a second, I knew that Father's teachings were going to be vital.

Someone—no, something else—accompanied the approaching killer.

A damn Dove...

Doves were different. While Crows were strictly for killing and massacring at a whim, Doves were judges. Enforcers. From the peasants in the slums to the nobles in the citadels, all responded to the Doves with respect—a false sense of respect that hid deep terror.

Clad in a stark white robe over a dark, elegant tuxedo and the familiar bird-like mask with hollow eyes, he presented a striking and enigmatic figure. His presence was a concoction of macabre grace with an unsettling aura.

A playful voice emanated from the Dove, puncturing the still vicinity. "This better work," he said, his tone laced with laughter. "Hehe! The Archbishop wouldn't like it if we failed aga—"

In an abrupt manner, the room became silent once more. The deafening silence ensued as the pointed mask turned in my direction.

Quickly and discreetly, I submerged my head under the liquid in an attempt to drown out my heartbeat.

With open eyes, I could tell. He knew of my presence...yet he did not care. His unbothered stance only lit an ember within. Not even a glance in my direction—in fact, his attention was focused on the wall directly behind me.

It infuriated me, not because I had been taken and held without consent, but rather; because I was too powerless, too weak, for his concern.

"What do you suppose we start with?" The Dove's voice adopted a serious tone as he continued to gaze at the wall. His voice had a noble-like feel to it: direct, assertive, demanding.

Once again, the Crow didn't talk.

The Crow lifted his hands, each finger intertwining with another to form an intricate pattern of sorts.

He was talking? With his hands? At this point, my brain had transcended the boundary of disbelief.

"I suppose that's for the best." The man draped in white let out a sigh as he spoke. "First, psychological. Then, combat. And finally Mistomancy."

There was an audible smile taking form behind his mask, a sadistic one. The Dove's emotional state was similar to the wind, changing and twisting within seconds—always unpredictable.

Without instruction, air bubbles began to rise from my lips. As the bubbles reached the surface, I knew my demise was imminent.

The two cloaked men darted their eyes at the pool. If they weren't aware of my consciousness before...now they were.

That's funny—when had I exited the substance?

Before my nerves could even realize it, a suffocating hold claimed my neck hostage. The nerves may have been late to realize it, but the stench that seeped into my nostrils demanded immediate attention.

It was the same darkened hands that belonged to a monster, the Crow.

"Hehe... Look who woke up." The psychotic Dove drew closer, his beak grazing my left cheek.

While my captor, the Crow, remained motionless. Silent.

I averted my focus to the left, catching the Dove's eyes. Without a doubt, he was different.

Rather than containing eyes of immense loss and pain, his were akin to a set of eyes I had only seen once: from a commander who had lost his entire battalion and sanity.

Someone who had nothing to lose.

The dense eyes set my emotions into a frenzy. Thoughts shattered, and limbs flailed like a fish out of water.

"He needs to be asleep," the Dove spoke with a hint of genuine annoyance.

"Hmmph."

The Crow grunted. His clasp tightened, and the world faded.