12TH

I rouse to the unison voices, whispers, and mutters coming all at once in my ears. Or is it just my head? Yet all of them, however, are filtered into annoyance instead of comprehension, along with the excruciating pain in my brain as if a nail is being drilled into my skull, let alone the numb feeling of my nose and right eye that makes it hard to squint or make any expression at all. I'm given confirmation that it is just my head when my ears regain stability, hearing crackling fire that quiets the noises. Who makes bonfires during the day? And where am I?

The former is quickly answered when my nose obtains a whiff of a familiar scent. The scent of brewing tea. Or is it boiling soup? An exhausted breath leaves my lips upon moving my head gently in an attempt to open my eyelids. Bright sunlight is first to pass through my peripheral for seconds before the clear vision of the skies of sprawling sparse clouds through the barely compressed trees fades in. After less than a minute of comprehending the ambient green environment, I rise to sit, grunting at the slowly fading headache and light muscle pains.

The next thing to notice is me in my garments of a white sleeveless top and my pants, sitting upon a thin, soft, wool fabric, some dried cuts and bruises appearing on my arms and feeling some scratches on my face, as well. I return my gaze to the surroundings seeking Kyla's uniform and find it neatly folded next to me with my combat boots sitting cleanly on its top, and her sword stowed in its scabbard and the Hexgun. Just ahead is the crackling bonfire, burning half of a huge, cut coconut bowl anchored by thick branches, where the smell of tea continues to linger. No, not tea. Soup. The rest are mere unrecognizable tools and materials. The soup's smell strengthens upon a big inhale, then I'm reminded of the precise image of the man who pulled me from the river.

It's him. It was him. He saved me… again. This time, from an Ordinal. How, though? As far as I could recall, he held no weapon. Nothing at all… or maybe he did and I just did not happen to notice. And how did he even manage to bring me to whatever this place is? Still, it leaves the manifestation of disbelief in my mind. He was fast, rivaling that of the unrelenting Ordinal herself, even though no ordinary being has survived longer than seconds against her — as if a threat has ever lasted against all of them, besides me, so far. But now, after witnessing that, besides my encounter at the citadel, the notion becomes more questionable. And another questionable thing is the man himself. Is he even ordinary?

Upon being completely on my feet, I stumble close to the burning pot to see the boiling reddish-brown liquid it contains. The scent strengthens upon closer assessment, justifying it is indeed the man. It's his soup.

Where did he come from, anyway? He's far beyond the city. Did he follow me all the way? Did he take a train, too? Obviously, he has recognized my scent ever since he saved me from the river so that made it easier for him to track me. Yet, why did he decide to, though? Had it kicked in that the suit I left behind was not enough? Obviously, yes, since it was already damaged when I left it to him. But it's still stupid. Why would anyone risk it just for that? Unless they are that much of a fool.

I see him nowhere. He must be hunting out in the woods, and leaving would be a mistake when first, I'm still wounded and unrecovered. Second, he might just follow me again, unable to escape him, at all. Not that I want to.

My hand lands on the side of my thigh, feeling Alek's ring that is still in my zipped pocket, untouched after everything. That's a huge relief. Just as I do, I happen to just notice the distant sound of a rushing waterfall. That means, there's also a river nearby. I turn behind to have its view just beyond the depressing ground. I could use a clean-up. Carefully, I inch my feet through my combat shoes upon retrieving them, then begin walking in the sound's direction. I still somehow have stability with my balance as I amble down the sloping soil.

The river is just ahead, the either morning or afternoon sun shining through its crystal-clear waters, providing a visual of the tiny swimmers. I begin to hear movement on the water body upon closer inspection, lightly startling me at first, but sounding clear that it is no threat. Must be just some land creatures. Curious, I divert my ambling to its direction, just so I can have company whilst cleaning. Then it becomes a mistake when I receive a sudden full visual of not the presumed land creatures, but a person. No other than him — the man.

He splashes through the steadily flowing river while capturing fish with his bare hands, completely nude where his lower half is barely obscured by the shaky, translucent waters that scatter reflected sun rays to his bright skin. The sparse hair trailing his frontal view doesn't hide those two old scars lining from his shoulder down under his chest, and a few smaller ones on his abdomen lining down further. Just by the shore is a big woven basket, halfway satisfied with what he has captured so far. But certainly, it hadn't taken him long to capture that many already.

The questions return bugging me but I decide to be against them and not to let them go further at this point. I should just return to camp and wait there. I don't want to make things awkward by bringing them up at an inappropriate moment. Or maybe I should not bring up any of it at all. The man saved me for the second time, and I should be grateful. I am.

I turn my heel making sure I'm not seen. Upon return, I skim through the objects again, this time realizing that I find the Front Soldier suit I abandoned to him is nowhere to be found. Maybe, he threw it away. What else could he do with it when it's beyond use? No trader might bother eyeing it. I then decide to skirt around the settlement for a while yet my brain can't help but contemplate the same questions earlier.

Don't get me wrong, I'd be dead if he didn't come — and that's another debt beyond repaying. But, I just don't understand it. Last night, I woke up to his presence and figured he was the one who pulled me from the river. Then, again today. Who is this man? What is his purpose?

"Thought you'd be awake later than sooner." My gaze darts to my behind, seeing the now half-clothed man, his body still drenched in river water, return with his woven basket full of his efforts on his shoulder. Plus a bigger fish upon his other, almost half the size of his lean frame.

"How long was I out?" I ask, hopeful that he won't be stubborn and leave me talking with the air again.

"More than a day," He answers as he brings forth the collected fetches near the still-burning pile of wood and goes retrieving his upper garment dangling upon a branch.

"You took a lot against that Ordinal." But not as close as many that I took against two Ordinals and a hundred Citadel Vanguards.

I walk back near the smoking pot and then say back, "You seem like you didn't."

He shoots me a neutral look as he completes and fixes his garments, then proceeds to manage the boiling pot. "Let's say it was luck," He says.

"Luck how?" I can't help but be curious still.

"Like how you survived from the citadel," He says as he hands me a half-cut coconut shell filled with the steaming soup he made. I weigh my gaze at his eyes as I receive it, then look at my own reflection down upon the mixture, seeing the same bluish particles swirling. I still haven't taken in that part, nor everything else that has happened so far, and even what is happening now. But what I can appreciate right now is that I'm still alive—all thanks to this man.

My brain denies taking his answer. The sharp memory of his outmaneuvering the Legionnaire's Armament proves it was no luck at all.

"It's up to you if you want to believe it or not," He adds. The doubt must be that obvious on my bruised and scarred face. "Even though you obviously don't." He's not wrong. I can tell, by his response that I won't be getting any precise answers that I undeniably want and he'll only continue to give blatant ones if I keep on. It would just shred my patience.

He utters no other words and continues to drink from his cup. I sip from my own as well, constantly feeling the aches in my muscles begin to deplete. Where does he even get the ingredients to make this?

"What's your next move?" He begins again, me being to have just emptied the bowl.

Is he aware of what I'm up to about all this time? Or is it a trick question to know more about me further? 'What are you?' I remember him asking the other night.

"Go home," I answer, simply. It's the same thing I wanted to do in the first place. I get answers from nothing else but there. From my mother.

"How?"

"Find another way, obviously," I say, frustrated. Not like I have any other options.

Nothing else is in my mind to get there fast. And it worries me more that I feel the Ordinals are after my mother, as well. I'm obviously miles away still, and by foot, it'll take more than a week to reach her. Now that I'm in on the notion, it's even more conflicting that I wasn't able to resolve Kyla's case. The least I could do was abandon her, and Ordinal Twelve finding me and confirming my affiliation with her only sets her situation worse. They can't harm her. Going back for her — as much as I want to — will only lead me to return to them. Having to go all the way just to get help from her went to nothing.

"You clearly don't know what to do," He says, parsing my expression. "Again."

"I'm a soldier," I counter even though it's not the full truth. Again, I was only a Front Soldier for hours. "I can find my own way."

"You're too lost to find your own way at this point." He sounds like he's offering help. But I can't accept it. I already owe him more than enough — even though he has an annoying impression.

"I can take it from here."

"That's similar to what you said the other night," He says, gazing still at me where I let him see the acceptance of that brutally honest criticism regarding my former actions, which only got wasted. In his gaze, I somehow sense consistency, despite that we're both strangers who came into an unexpected encounter through unexpected circumstances.

"I know," I counter walking to my objects to retrieve them. "You've done more than enough and beyond what I can repay." I then have Kyla's blade hovered at him, eye directed to the ground. Another offer to recompense his beyond-debt actions.

He's silent, then responds. "I'm not taking that."

I dart a questionable look at him. "I know it's not enough, but—"

"Return it to your elf friend, instead." He's walking towards the woods, the fish-filled basket again in his grasp. He must've scented it still engraved on the object.

"Then what do you want?" I retort with more frustration, yet he only continues walking away leaving no response. Where is he even going?

I remain locked in my position, holding no purpose to even follow. Or leave, as a part of me is frustratingly considering what he's trying to convey. He's offering to help. A stranger who has nothing to do with me, yet here I am.

Nightfall arrives and the bonfire is only but of ash and barely burning wood, yet I'm only back where I woke up earlier fiddling my fingers together thinking of what plans I should have next. No product has come. Finally, with my thoughts draining, I embark on my feet to gather wood and leaves to burn, not much pain left in my muscles demanding attention, which is odd. My innate nature must also be recovering from injuries fast. The cut I healed in the desert is pretty much a piece of evidence.

It's easier to see at this point due to how brighter the full moon is tonight. I only focus on the ones already withering upon the soil rather than those still connected to their parent trees. Bothering them might trigger some peaceful infestations that might be residing beneath them.

"Passing with peace," I mutter repeatedly until I've packed enough resources, then return to camp. First, I want to look for available objects to start a fire with. Flint and steel will do, yet I decide against it and only stick with a marble stone and Kyla's sword. These would still do. With the gathered wood and leaves upon the ash-full bonfire, I angle my hand carrying the stone and the blade diagonally to the ground. With three, four, then five strikes, I combust enough spark to set them afire.

Just as I'm reheating the pot still filled with the remaining soup the man brewed earlier, my shoulders jump with a distant howl. Probably, a Wolf-Breed calling for their pack. It's the full moon, after all. A second howl comes, this time, much clearer and louder now combined with others, probably a sign of regrouping. They're obviously hunting as well. They wouldn't happen to feast upon a not-so-human like me unless they're rogues and not as friendly as the man who salvaged me from drowning, but I doubt that. The third follows, and it sends me a tint of concern when it hits me that they're at all not unison howls, but rather a single one, seemingly of various pitches in somehow discordant harmony. That makes me take the former thoughts back. Is that even a howl? No. That's no Wolf-Breed at all…

I then rush to put out the fire, only using the liquid-filled pot and spilling it recklessly over it before rushing through the trees with my only weapon and hex gun. I come upon a ditch beneath a tree's base and that's where I hide — sword and gun ready. The howling persists from the same distance, not closing in nor furthering away as if it's not even planning to move. At the same time, I notice how silent everything else is silent, besides it. No other chirping or clicking nocturnal creatures. Maybe they're scared of it, too. I can honestly say right now that it's almost a nightmarish anxiety. What creature is that, even?

I sit here for a while, still hearing the same sound echo for half an hour. My patience begins depleting and I do not know how long I can even last at this point before that ominous creature shifts pursuit. One more hour-like minute passes and it eases, sending my blood into fury and I extricate myself from my position to bolt.

I've only been running short before I crash onto something solid while looking around for the danger's whereabouts. I groan feeling my ribs as if they're cracked or somewhat. What did I even crash onto and have me lose possession of the weapons? Before even attempting to rise back to my feet to reach for them, I'm being pinned down by someone hovering above me, a hand pressed onto my mouth shushing my panic noises. Then I find my eyes upon who it is, but the man.

He found me. Of course, he would. He has my scent. He's incredibly close—hovering his huge frame over me with his other hand, surprisingly strong, holding my shoulder down to the point that I begin to feel uncomfortable. I gently remove his hand from my mouth and have myself sitting just right.

"What was that?" I ask, heaving, still keeping eye contact.

"I don't know," He answers with his same cold, deep tone immediately, but doesn't hide how seemingly tired he looks. He must've come far to find me. "It's gone, for now, at least. But we can't stay here to find out." He pulls himself up and reaches a hand to me, but I stand on my own. I can't decide if I should count this as the third time he saved me, not that it even matters to him.

"Yeah," I say. "We shouldn't."

"Pack up," He suggests and I nod before I follow him back to camp.

As we manage our things, I notice him fiddle with a bag of clothes, and there, I happen to notice my Front Soldier suit. He did not sell it nor throw it away, after all. But, I won't be taking it from him if he ever even tries to return it.

"Where do we go?" I ask.

He only cocks his head just a little to look at me as he begins switching his own garments where I'm again given the view of those scars with the bright evening's help. It's only a quick sight before I avert my gaze away. He doesn't seem to mind being bare in people's presence. He's a rogue and used to belong in the wild. Come to think of it, the hut I woke up in last time was just an abandoned structure, and he happened to aid me there.

A few more moments of gathering objects and we're through the trees again, rushingly. I trail behind with my eyes upon his tall walking figure, and then I feel my stomach churn, demanding sustenance. Yet I'm too coy at the moment to even ask for anything edible he might have stored in his baggage. Speaking of, I happen to recall the basket of fish he carried earlier.

"What happened to your fetches?" I ask, stepping onto the dry soil.

"Left them," He says with his cold baritone. "Might keep whatever creature that was back there distracted by it."

"How can you even survive alone out here?"

"You're really asking?" That may have insulted him due to the way he threw that utterance, and I'm suddenly guilty and look stupid for even asking. Why would I even ask that? His scars are even more than enough to justify. Or maybe no questions as such should be asked at all.

Our travel decays into a slow hike after almost an hour of rushing, and then we come to a stop near a river to make camp. I can assume it's the same river and we happen to just follow its track. It's getting late and exhaustion is starting to crawl through my nerves.

"Here," I hear him say, then I'm caught off guard catching a pair of clothes — dark knitted long-sleeves, wrinkly pants, and a pair of old-stained shoes. His clothes, obviously. "If you're to walk around people then you should blend in."

He has a point, and I can't argue with that.

He then starts walking towards the trees, probably to collect something to start a fire and some sustenance nearby. And I don't waste the opportunity to begin replacing my garments. While doing so, I notice the bruises and scratches I obtained from my encounter with Ordinal Twelve are completely gone, clearly caused by my innate Hellion blood, proving to me the words that Ordinal Three has said what I am. It's really real. I am, indeed, a creature as such. A being of the Otherrealm. I shrug, dismissing the diverting thoughts.

The shirt is a little oversized, yet it allows extra access for the breeze to slip through while the pants, fortunately, fit just right. The ring, of course, is something I won't forget. However, the pants don't have any seams or pockets to store this in. The only choice I have is to slip it on my annulary. It disgusts me as if it's shredding my away for even having to.

I'm sorry, Alek. He must be buried now somewhere in the camp behind the Barrier. I don't know what to do. If he was here, I'm sure things would be easier. I wish I could visit his grave, at least.

I finish fixing myself in the new wearings and shoes just as the man returns, a bunch of bananas and patches of berries in his hold, and has them settle upon his large baggage before proceeding to start piling wood and leaves. I rest my gaze on him as he works with flint and steel. He must've had it in his bag that I didn't look into earlier. It's a huge bag anyway, obviously with lots of compartments.

"Your clothes," He utters, looking at me as if a fire is already consuming the pile.

"What?" I narrow my gaze, questioningly.

"Hand me your clothes, all of them."

I don't question that and simply hand my former garments to him. I don't have a bag to store them in, so might as well oblige. But I only turn out to be wrong when he's walking back to the fire instead.

"What are you doing?" I ask brows furrowed.

"Erasing your scent," He answers, then throws the clothes onto the burning fire. "Those Ordinals are obviously tracking you with it."

I did not think of that. If it ever comes to it, they might already be using Kyla's scent to track me. I merely give an affirmative nod then he simply drops the objects splashing with flare crumbs upon the fire. What choice do I have, anyway?

Come to think of it, it still doesn't deplete my primary concerns, one of which is that they have Kyla. Who knows what they can be doing to her right now? Another thing I should be concerned about is Grace. They might have her now prosecuted somewhere. And my mother… I have nothing else but an utter sense of foreboding emotion, and I can't deny that it even pressures me more to get to her sooner. My hands are formed into fists, nails digging into my palms. They can't hurt Kyla or my mother.

"How do I get to Southwest as soon as possible?" I say, sounding desperate.

"Right now, we're beyond Otima's regional borders," He answers as he continues to set up his objects. "By foot, it'll take four weeks." That elevates the disappointment that it negates my earlier assumption.

"If I'm able to find a ride or any, can I get there within days?"

"Which part of Southwest are you talking about?" He asks, and I'm caught in the corner. What else can I do? I have nothing but two weapons. No map. No other plan. No nothing — even though I hate involving more people in this as much as many already are.

"The West Mountains, near Cysainte," I say. "A village exists there just a hundred miles from its foot."

He thinks for a second as he continues to set up his cooking utilities, seemingly having second thoughts. "We leave tomorrow," He finally says to which I'm not surprised. "Find a nearby town where we can get a ride."

From the sound of that, he's really offering help. The thought of pushing him away and saying that I'll do it alone is clashing with the other of the fact that I'll be deeper in debt to him. If I push him away, then I'll be the most ungrateful person in the world. But if he really does want to do it, then who am I to contradict? A sigh leaves my lips.

"Thank you," I say, yet he seems to not acknowledge it. "For saving me twice," I add. "And for doing this." I feel myself sinking to the soil beneath my feet, not because of shredding the pride while blurting those words even though there aren't any, but the fact that no words can level the actions he has done.

He still gives no response while constantly dissembling his stuff, either he's again being stubborn, or just too polite to even take the words. Regardless, I continue no further to not set an awkward atmosphere and simply begin approaching to help. Before I even have my hands make contact with any of his objects, he speaks.

"Water," I dart my gaze to him, approaching with a waterskin, and handing it to me. "Fill it." I simply nod, affirmatively and head to the nearby water body.

The rest of the night is nothing but silence between us, neither annoying nor awkward. We only share the fruits he gathered and the same soup he makes. Upon bedtime, I realize that there is only a single thick fabric and pillow, which is the one I woke up on earlier.

"You can have it," I say with a tiny hint of insistence.

"I rarely sleep," He counters and only puts the objects near me, which I can no longer argue with. He's really stubborn.

I contemplate for seconds while my conscience is slowly consuming me before I finally take the objects and assemble them in my position, while the man decides to walk around the camp. After that, I lay down and rest my head with the thoughts that will eventually have me drift off and what to expect in the following hours. Or days. Or even the rest of my life.