19TH

As much as I want to jolt up from the man's arms and steal the sword from his grasp, I'm rather too impaired and still losing blood to do so. No, that's one of the most powerful mages in Midterra and he can simply wipe us both off our feet now, even if I was in a stable state. What can I do now? He either kills us or makes us his prisoner to be brought upon Ordinal Three.

The man shows no fear and shields me, hovering the sword straight at the Legionnaire like an actual wolf protecting his pup. The lion-boar does the same. I hear her vibrating growl as she taunts the elf.

"You've found it," Twenty-One says and I'm still able to give a baffled look. I know what he's referring to. But how did he know? "I knew you'd be able to sooner than later."

"You're not taking him," The man says with upright fortitude.

"I mean no harm," The Ordinal says, hands raising signifying his intention. He then shifts his voice to me. "I know your trust in us Ordinals has diminished after our failed attempt to kill you. But I can assure you, Kyvin, you have allies as well."

"I've got fooled by all of you for the first time. What makes you think I'll fall for the second time?" I manage to say. If Ordinal Three managed to lure me into a chamber with a hundred Vanguards waiting with some other Ordinals, then this situation is unlikely to be the same. Or maybe not? This isn't Ordinal Twelve who'd make entertainment out of her enemies, nor Ordinal Ten who'd want to have a decent talk first before resorting to violence, just like what happened the other night. It's Twenty-One. If any, he wouldn't have given us a chance prior to the moment we stepped out of the cave, and would already have his Wyrbird swoop on us which I don't see anywhere. Or better yet, have us caged by a single rune.

Rune…

He was there in my recent dream. In that dungeon. Those symbols turn out to be runes and they were his. The remaining so-called Rune Writer left living in the world, what was he doing there? What does he have to do with my father? What does he know?

"The crystals are draining his strength," I hear from the Legionnaire.

"I said you're not taking him," The man repeats with a stronger vigor.

"What do you know about my father?" I cut in, desperately as I gently drop my feet to the soil without breaking contact with the man's hold.

"I know you've been desperate for answers. But your wounds need prior attention. And I can bring you to your mother," The Ordinal says. "She's safe in a camp, waiting for you. I fetched her the same day I brought you to the citadel." The Ordinal adds.

"Why would you do that instead of sending him to a safe place?" The man asks for me. "You were one of the people who tried to take his life." My tongue then registers the taste of my own blood from my throat and I choke aloud, some dripping from my lips. It draws the man's attention and catches my surrendering body before making contact with the ground.

"I promised his mother to not come back without him. Right now, he needs urgent attention," The elf insists. "You can know all that you want to know if you come with me." The sincerity in his voice is prominent, and I can't help but admit to believing in his words.

The man doesn't waste another second to stick himself between conflict and simply gives in to the Ordinal's plea, settling me leaning against the cave wall. The elf Ordinal approaches us swiftly, at the same time, requesting a few specific herbs that I don't know of. The man complies immediately and departs to gather them. As for the lion-boar, I hear her maintain guard.

"It took a lot of effort to track you," He says as he reveals a piece of parchment from his sleeves he picks up dirt with his fingers to write something on it. Obviously, a rune. "Not even the blood you left back at the citadel was much of a help."

"You were one of them who tried to kill me," I counter "How come you wouldn't know how?"

"No. I was rather keeping you alive," He reasons as he writes. "I kept their attacks weak until you could use your powers to escape. Which, you did. Gladly."

I then remember every rune he cast back then, from the moment the Steelshaper Vanguards were crushing me to the very moments when the other two Ordinals attacked with their Armaments. He was holding them after all. But why?

"After that, Arthur ordered us to find every person affiliated with you and I took that opportunity to take your mother to safety before they could have gotten to her." The parchment lights up with a blue flare, shredding it to ashes until all that's left is the rune he marked in the form of blue-hued light. Despite that he's aiding me now, I can't help but have distrust over his words — not until I finally get to see my mother.

"What do you know about the sword, and about my father?" I ask further, my gaze locked onto the crystal still impaled through my thigh, constantly drawing blood. It glints the same color as what manifests in me. Obviously, like what the Legionnaire said, due to its constant enervating me.

I don't get to ask about it along with my former question being left unanswered with the man's immediate return, carrying what the Ordinal asked him off, then is told to crush them in his hands. My lids start to cooperate with the exhaustion and the option to resist is it is no longer available. Before my consciousness gives, the last thing my senses comprehend is the man's gaze, his hand holding either side of my cheek, and his voice, muffled by the growing ringing sound that leads to utter silence.

There are the crumbling lands dispersing the horizon's purple-smothered atmosphere. No… Not this again. Why do I have to see this? How many times do I have to keep seeing this?

I turn my heel to find no more floor to step onto but only this piece of pillar I'm standing on. Below are figures — no. Hands. They're hands. Almost skinless and infected to the bones with hellion blight. Their cries scream pain and demand help. I'm all here drowning in fear.

The rock beneath my feet suddenly collapses. I have nothing else to hold onto but the thought of falling into the hands of death below.

My own scream of panic pushes me to wake up and then turns into whines with the multiple stinging pain over my body. The abrupt movement causes my still-fresh wounds to react. I gaze down to see my own frame covered in dirty-white bandages, smothered with bloodstains on certain spots. I'm shaking and can't catch my breath, skin sweaty and burning hot as if I'm being boiled alive.

Before I fall back, through my foggy vision, I see a pathway meters away from the foot of my bed, people speeding in in response to my sudden rouse.

Their hands are on me, pushing me to lie back down gently. Yet I resist too much uncontrollably, not because of my current state of distress. My brain is still too raw from that nightmare. I can't even form words.

Their voices reach my ears, but one is certainly clear. A lady's voice. I almost assumed it was my mother until I got a glimpse of her guise, painted with white lines and ears pointed. But didn't obscure much of her middle-aged look.

"You're safe, Kyvin," I hear her add in her Nordic accent. "Just breathe."

It takes a while for me to ease down on my sweat-soaked bed and I'm fully out of the dose of my nightmare. This is the fourth time I passed out in one week. But this one was more exhausting, but I dare not pass out again to give the environment a scan. "Where am I?" I whisper. "Who are you, people?"

"Astanor," I hear her say, not knowing which of my questions her response is designated to. My eyes are barely open to see what's in her hands. "Finnobair's secret settlement. Far northeast of Elemis." Northeast. Elemis. That's halfway around the world from Otima. "You're safe here."

"How did I get here?"

"Your godfather brought you here along with your friend and pet by his Wyrbird."

The initial thought I had was Alek and he was alive after all. But upon hearing the word Wyrbird, it just reminded me that it's impossible. Wyrbird? Godfather? Does she mean, Ordinal Twenty-One?

She then mutters something else, a request to call someone to one of the other aiders with her, while I'm taking in the evening light shining through the window above my head. It provides an opportunity for me to also take in the environment. Walls veiled with woven fabric, the ceiling of plain barks with hanging lanterns, displays of painted canvases, and a burning fireplace.

I look back at her, where she's offering a liquid-filled cup close to my face. I have more questions. A lot. But which of them do I ask about? I welcome the smoking cup to my lips, instead. To my impression, it surely doesn't taste better than the man's tea. Soup, rather. Speaking of, where is he? And the lion-boar? And Ordinal Twenty-One? Is this the camp that he was talking about where my mother is? If so, then I can finally see her and talk.

Just as I finish drinking from the cup, another person comes into the room, a tray filled with a steaming bowl and peaches. It's no other than the man, in a new set of clothes — simply, a grey knitted shirt and clean plants. He didn't even bother shaving his stubble which has grown a little more. His gaze greets me with relief.

"Hey," He mutters, then steps to the side as I hear the joyous groan of my lion-boar. And before I even react, she's already on me with her tongue, not letting me reply back to him. I smell a combination of pineapples and meat. She had her dinner. Her bald spots have grown with a thin layer of fur that her scars are no more to be seen. Now she looks so new. I merely guard myself to not let her step on my still stinging wounds until she eases down, then pet her properly. After that, I rise from the bed to the side, but I realize that my other leg is still too impaired when I suddenly fall almost face-first to the carpeted floor.

"Kyvin, you're forcing it too much. The remnants of the jewels' incantation are still there in your wounds and they crippled your healing." The lady continues. "We know you're desperate for answers—" So she figured. I guess it's obvious by the way how fast I stood up.

"Oh, I'm way past desperate," I'm snapping, not even caring how my wounds are killing me at the moment as I manage to sit back up. I feel the man's hands on me to help, yet I snatch myself off out of the rising anger. Why am I even angry? I grab onto the stand adjacent to the bed instead and manage to recompose myself on my knees.

"You will be able to see her once Ordinal Twenty-One returns with her," The painted lady then says.

I sigh with disappointment. There are no other options for me but to continue waiting. I look down and see myself wearing nothing but my trunks with fabrics wrapped around my side and thigh stained red. My eagerness has me further impaired. My fingers are even trembling as a result. They're right. I need a little more time to recover.

The man gets a hold of me once again — this time I don't resist — and let him guide me back to sit on the bed, silently hissing through the pain. Aiders then approach with their materials. I don't resist and let them do the work cleaning my bleeding thigh and stomach.

"How long do I have to stay here?" I ask the lady, calmly, wincing a little over the hands- upon my stomach.

"You don't have to," She. "You can walk around the settlement, but take it slow. And obviously, don't stray too far."

"How long before they get back?"

"Soon," The man answers this time. "They had to depart to Cystainte and retrieve some things that'll help you retrieve your healing ability. They left as soon we arrived here."

"Cysainte is leagues away," I argue with a questioning look.

"They brought us here with his Wyrbird," He's slicing the peaches. "Going to Cysainte wouldn't be a problem for them."

I acknowledge with a nod. Right. I almost forgot about that. I'm still half-asleep, I guess.

As soon as the aiders finish their work on my wounds the man approaches with the tray, again, in his hands, the smell of his soup capturing the attention of my stomach. Losing touch with reality for two days surely has my tummy have nothing but air and acid.

"You can get dressed after your meal," The elf lady says as she assists the aiders. "Then, your… friend should help you dress up and tour around the camp," She then leaves, followed by everyone else. Now it's just me and the man.

He doesn't bother having to sit in front of me, settling the tray between us.

"I can feed myself," I say. But it doesn't stop him from scooping the soup with a spoon and then reaching it to my mouth. I rather let him than act stubborn.

The liquid-filled spoon touches my tongue and it registers a different taste. A savory taste of meat, and some spices.

"How did you make this so fast when I just woke up?" I ask.

"I made it for some kids," He says. There are kids here? "Gladly, there was more than enough."

"I'm sorry," I say after swallowing another scoop. "For snapping at you."

"Just eat," He says, rather calm, and keeps on feeding me until I've had enough. I admit I want more. But I don't want to bloat myself by the tiniest bit considering my wound. He then has a slice of peach in between his fingers, reaching it to my mouth as well. To make the situation not awkward, I rather grab it from him with my available hand. He doesn't make any stubborn reaction this time, gladly. He, instead, stands up.

"I'll prepare your clothes," He says with a neutral tone. "Finish that up."

I acknowledge with a nod and keep my attention on feeding myself. He is fast enough to get the proper garments for my current state's convenience. I'll only have to walk around with crutches. But most of my concern is not wrapped around that. It's about what will happen when I finally get to talk to my mother and hear out everything she knows. Don't get me wrong, I'm very glad she's safe after all the times I was going through all the dangers possible just to get to her. Once I see her, confront her, get answers, then…

"Let's get you dressed," I hear the man and I turn to see him approaching back with a pair of loose shorts and a large shirt in hand. Judging by how he holds them, he wants to dress me, too.

"I can take it from here," I recommend to him.

He gives no sign of complaint and simply lays them next to me. I'm glad he can respect this demand of mine. It'll be too much if he dresses me with his hands.

"I'll get you a crutch," He then ambles his way to the hallway without leaving the tray behind, giving me one last look. Did he just smile? It was coy but had a sense of gladness as if it was for the fact that I was finally awake.

My attention then falls to the lion-boar laying on her tummy on the carpeted floor, but her eyes are directed at me. She huffs. I forgot she's still here. At least, she's the only one who witnessed me being pampered like a child, rather than Grace.

I grab the garments prepared for me. It takes a lot of effort to put them on without touching my bandaged wounds as much as possible, but I succeed anyway. Beside the drawer next to my bed is a wooden chair and on top of them are my former clothes, neatly folded and looking clean and new from the wash. The garment on the very top is my pants and I see something poking out of the pocket. It's the paper with the sketch, the one that belonged to the man. I'm surprised how it retained in one piece after all it went through with me in the cave. Not even the ink of the writing got smudged by a bit. But come to think of it, I'm worried now that he hasn't even remembered about it or is even looking for it. I put it in the available pocket on the pants I currently have on, so I can return it to him at the right time.

Speaking of, he returns with a robe and a pair of crutches for me, which I insist on just using only one instead. He doesn't complain and I simply let him assist me in putting myself up with it. It only takes me a moment to get the hang of walking with it, then let him slip a pair of slippers on my feet. He gently wears the robe around my shoulders and I let him tie its strings below my neck. That's the finishing touch and we move while he puts his own around himself.

Reaching the end of the hall from my room is the living room, I assume. It's only more open with curtained windows. And from beyond those, I expect to hear people but it's rather silent. Where is this place, really? Is that snow I see? Am I this far to the north?

We reach the porch upon exit of the wide doors, then carefully step down the wooden stairs to the thick-bedded snow. The skies are barely clear tonight, the half-moon above the thin layer of clouds smothering everything under its lunar light, and the calm air that's brushing along trees and shrubs makes the atmosphere peaceful. Through the descending hill of trees, I see bright lights, where the distant noises of activity I now hear come from. I give a quick parse of the house behind me and all I can say is that this wasn't in any of my dreams, nor this is a dream at all.

"This way," I turn back to the man who's already in the visible pathway through the trees leading towards the lights down the hill.

I follow, walking along his side. He rather slows his steps for me to keep up. It's like I have a babysitter, now. I'm not complaining about it though.

"Did you meet her?" I ask, referring to my mother. The man obviously had met her during the entire time my head was out of this world.

It takes a moment for him to answer. "Yes."

"How was she?"

"She wasn't happy the moment she saw you."

I think I could've constructed the question better. But, by his response, what kind of mother would be?

"You were dying, you know?" The way he says it with his neutral tone is so unreadable. But I feel that there's more to it. Well, he always does sound like he has more to say. I may have only always considered it as part of his stubbornness.

"Was I?" I'm trying to be sarcastic.

"You had like one pulse left beating before we arrived here."

That suddenly makes me feel awkward. I guess the way how bad my situation went in that cave really had his concerns over the roof. And to be honest, I don't know what to feel about it. I can't be either mad or happy. But what I can say? Even though considering he was a stranger who pulled me from the river, it was very… humane of him. And did I really almost die? If so, then, that was the closest call for death to fetch me as his new fish, next to what happened to me in the citadel. The fight with Ordinal Twelve and Ten never got close to that.

As we reach the end of the tree line, my eyes give awe at the view of numerous houses and wide nests with boasting spaces upon white-coated trees, while the dancing lanterns in their static positions in the air provide the environment a gentle warm light. The lively men, women, and children around minding their own businesses make me feel seemingly welcome. What is this place, really?