22ND

I realize that I may have fallen asleep a little when I jolt all of a sudden. Judging from how my eyes are weary at the moment, it might have been three hours or so. But I still don't feel like leaving this position and heading back, just yet. I'm still raw with my thoughts about the things I've heard. I admit that those are the answers I never knew I needed to hear. Yet they only left me more… conflicted.

The cold persists in my nerves that they've rendered the pain from my injuries and dry-blooded wounds numb, even though they've been demanding treatment. But, I'm rather unbothered about them.

I then hear something crunch nearby, owned by footsteps and it's no surprise to me anymore as to who it is. He blew his own cover. "How long have you been there?"

"Since you got here," The man answers. He's only four trees away. "Eleanor said don't stray too far. This is the edge of the settlement." That adds justification to the existence of the rune-marked trees.

"I know. I just want to be alone," I say, but it doesn't stop him from stepping closer. I only have my eyes hooded, embracing the non-existent feeling of the cold around me, and pretending that it's just me here. But my ears can't help but remain aware of his presence. I feel him sit under the tree just two meters ahead of me. There's just silence, and me drifting into the same thoughts again. I don't expect him to say a word, as if he's ever given the impression of starting a good conversation. Yet to my surprise, he initiates.

"You left your cloak at your friends'," He says. "But you don't seem to be bothered."

"I suppose you understand why," I only say. "I'm pretty sure you also got the idea from what you heard from them." I snort silently, then mumble, "A hellion and an Ordinal at the same time. What are the odds?"

"Perhaps, you could've heard the rest of the explanation if you didn't leave immediately."

"You'd understand if you were me."

"Let's just say, I do."

I level my chin to look at him. I may have not thought twice before blurting those words. From the sound of that, he speaks from experience.

I then remember our encounter with Ordinal Tenth, where he saved me in the form of that creature. "What's it like," I start again. "To be different?"

From how he takes seconds to respond, he knows what I'm asking about and is thinking of what to answer. "Not belonging anywhere," He replies.

"How'd you even get used to that?" I ask curiously.

"Time," He says.

That doesn't sound like something that leaves an inspiring impression, but rather, curiosity. I guess I can't expect that from him either. Still, drawing from his answers, I feel like I'll only be treading on some thin ice if I ever question anything further. No, I got to at least, ask the right questions.

"Can you control it?"

He gazes up at the sky, immediately parsing my question. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

And the best description he can only give is, "It's like going insane, but also feeling more alive."

"Sounds hectic," I say, and he lightly scoffs.

"At least in your case, you don't have to turn into a monster."

"I'm prophesied to doom the world into another war, what makes you think I might not become a monster?"

"Because you have people to help you." He then gazes at the distant settlement. "A lot of them want to." As much as how that suddenly makes me feel light, I instead notice that same grey tune that's spoken from experience. Perhaps, he has been through a lot in life — more than what I can even imagine from his young facade.

Just how young was he when he got the sketch…? 

"You might want to reconsider excluding the word monster in your description," I say and he looks back at me.

"Well, you saw how I looked, and I almost killed that Ordinal that night," He says. "What else do you think I am?"

"Something I shouldn't be worried about?" There's the unexpected smirk emerging. I guess his stubbornness was just a part of his personality. "If you were a monster you would've killed me yourself already."

His face suddenly falls blank. Did I step too far already? No, I don't sense that I did, because the next thing he does is reach for his pocket. "You were probably also looking for this," He adds as he shows the object he retrieves to me I'm still able to see it with the ample amount of light it reflects. It's the ring. Alek's ring.

I immediately perk from my seat and lean just enough for me to reach for it. The astoundment on my face is as if I'm a domesticated dog that found his long-lost toy. He kept all the while I was unconscious.

"Couldn't let anyone else take it," He says. I remember the thing I opened up to him about it during our trip. I guess I gave him the idea of how much value this has to me. I can't be thankful enough.

I then gently slip it back in my annulary as my pants don't have any pockets to put this in. "Thank you," I say, gazing directly at his inhuman eyes that I can see gleaming. The genuineness in my voice is almost carrying tears on its own. But it's all mostly because of the relief. How stupid of me to forget about this ring again. I'm sorry, Alek.

"You're welcome," He says in almost a whisper. But, the way he said it made it the first time I ever heard his voice sound that soft. He's more than just being stubborn, after all.

I then notice something from the distance — a tiny ball of fire moving in a specific direction. It fetches the man's attention as well. Curious, I grab my crutch and stand to give myself a closer look, and it becomes clear that it's actually a torch in the hold of a person accompanied by four others, armed and certainly not from here with the animal fur wrapped around their frames.

"Hunters," I whisper. Just what they could be hunting for?

A chopped-down log lies ahead, and I hide behind it to not be seen and observe what they will do next. The man does the same. There, one aims the barrel of his long gun over a direction, so carefully as if he has scored a jackpot. I trace where exactly he's aiming at, only to find a huge furred creature hundreds of yards away from them. My Hellion vision adjusts further to give me extra clarity as to which creature it is exactly.

"A snow stag," The man mutters. He sees it, too.

The animal has skin with thick white fur, which is indeed valuable to settlers who live in climates like this. It's a rare thing to find. No wonder why.

When I sense the hunter is about to pull the trigger, I grab a fist-sized rock from under my boot and fling it in a direction. That startles the hunter and makes him miss his shot, scaring the creature away. The man next to me didn't even notice until I threw it. But it's too late. All he can do is make me duck.

"Scatter," I hear one of them command the rest, and that sets us up in an unpleasant situation.

"You know that wasn't necessary," The man remarks in a whisper.

"I know," I say. "But it's not necessary for that stag to be skinned for clothing either."

A few seconds then go by, and he beckons me up to silently rush back to the settlement's direction, which we cannot see anymore. Did we really go that far already?

"There!" Now, bullets start to rain on us. Can they recognize that we're not even animals? Well, even if they did, I'm certain they wouldn't care still. Stealthing can be really useful now, but my injuries are not allowing me, and not that I even can at will.

Before I can react, the man grabs me by the shoulder and drags me into a ditch that is two meters deep. I even lost hold of my crutch and hit my impaired leg over a protruding twig in the process — right exactly at the spot where my wound exists.

I stay still, back rested on the wall of soil and fighting the urge to even make a noise out of the burning pain on my thigh as we wait for the threats to get lost, not until the trees start to hum and creak on their own. Then combines the nocturnal sounds from directions such as howls and screeches. That's enough to scare them away until we hear their fearful noises no more. Once clear, the rest of the noises begin turning down.

The Wolf-breed then rises to jump back above the ditch, only to return with my crutch that is now snapped in two. I attempt to rise as well, only to fall back wincing and cursing under my shivering breath. My body is suddenly weak and feeling everything, even the cold. The bandage around my thigh has more smeared blood than earlier. My labored breaths come with denser smoke.

I notice him waste no second removing his own cloak from his shoulders, then slowly guiding my frame away forward to him, and sneaking it around me. My nose suddenly accepts a foreign and subtle scent emitted by the fabric. It's neither something commonly whiffed in perfume shops nor from newly washed garments. It's his. I only assume he's been carrying this clothing around since our arrival here so his smell latched onto it.

"I'll be fine," He says ahead of my sudden concern. That's the same soft voice, again. No other words come after that, and he simply sneaks his arms beneath me. Now he's effortlessly carrying me like a piece of feather. This is the fourth time he has carried me like this.

How can we even get out of this ditch? It's more than two meters deep. I'm zigzagging my eyes to find any available route to climb out. No, there's nothing but this continuous ravine of melting snow and moist soil.

I then hear him blow a bracing breath to which at first I don't know what it is about. Not until I feel my guts stir suddenly as he bolts two steps, then leaps on the wall, and springs after the another. And we're out of the ditch. It's a graceful stunt. But he could've at least warned me.

I take notice of one tree, on its bark having a similarly carved rune like the one I encountered earlier, and it's softly gleaming away along with the low crackling and humming noise it's making. So that's what it does — keeps unwelcomed strangers out by emitting those noises. Looking ahead, the distant darkness slowly fades, being replaced by the settlements' familiar lights.

"The runes also shield the entire settlement," He says, adding to my assumption. "Makes it invisible to outsiders."

"Well, they're keeping a wanted felon in there," I say. "It's reasonable."

He carries me all the way, and I notice that the direction we're going is nowhere headed back to the inn. I'm about to ask him about it until I notice we're only on a single route, bounded by trees where at the end sits a small log-roofed stone hut. It's his. They gave him an isolated one, taking into account that he really just prefers to be alone.

There's the lion boar in her peaceful slumber under its shed. But she jumps up upon seeing us, ears perking, and rushes in our direction, all with excitement.

It doesn't come across the man's thoughts to put me down but rather continues going through the door. It's dim, and my Hellion vision has already diminished to let me see correctly. But for him, it's no problem. Gently, he lays me sitting on the edge of a bed. And before going back outside, he says, "Wait here."

There's nothing else I can do but oblige. I gaze through the window adjacent to the door. Just nothing but more balding trees topped with snow, hoping that I might see and hear a flash from the skies where it'll be the Wyrbird's return with my mother. Yet my guts doubt that their return won't be tonight or sooner than I've been anticipating.

The man returns, now with a lit lamp, plus a basin filled with herbs, a mortar, another rolled bandage, and a liquid-filled bottle. Where did he even get those?

"This is where you sleep?" I ask.

"I never slept since we got here," He answers and sets the lamp on the stand next to the bed and the bag next to my foot.

"Why not?"

"Nightmares."

He gets them, too, huh? At least, he's honest.

"Your pants," He then says, which takes me aback. So, I look at him strangely. "Take them off."

I part my lips to say something, yet I hold back. Complaining is uncalled for. Without further ado, I untied the cloak's string and let it slip to the bed before carefully slipping my loose shorts off, leaving my lower half in my trunks. Meanwhile, he sits comfortably on the floor in front of me and begins grinding the herbs in the mortar. As soon as he finishes, he settles it on the cemented floor, then slowly crawls his fingers looking for the ends of the bandage around my thigh. My cheeks are almost itching warm. Is he really doing this? Well, I guess it's not as awkward as cleaning him fully naked back in the cave.

Slowly, he unveils the fabric to reveal a stitched cut upon my thigh's skin, swollen and smeared with my own blood.

"Sorry for what happened back there." I begin again, with attempts to forget the tension lingering around. I can't even give him a direct look. "You saved my life again."

"Stay still," He only says, not even having a hint of anger out of what I caused. He inches closer, making himself situated between my bare legs, a wet towel now in hand from the basin and smearing some of the ground herbs into it. Now I feel like as red as a tomato.

I almost flinch when he gently rubs the towel around the swollen area of the wound, making sure the herbs also play their part. But the warmth it emits somehow begins easing the pain. He then pours splashing the liquid from the bottle, to which I suddenly flinch hard with a yelp. The burning pain shoots right through to the back of my thigh as if I'm being stabbed again. My toes curl, and one hand clutches the bed's fabric next to me while I haven't realized that my other one is already clasped onto his shoulder.

"You didn't warn me," I say.

"Anticipation would've made it more painful," He explains, not even sounding pained by my nails digging into his skin.

I chuckle, bitterly, then say, "Well I didn't anticipate everything I went through, but look at me."

He shortly gives me a direct look, which is where I realize how incredibly close he is, his one hand resting on my side. I can tell he agrees with my point as he remains silent and then moves his gaze down to proceed to cover my thigh, now clean as ever, with a new bandage. He's very gentle and I can't help but feel calmer now, my fingers easing. The burning feeling and the sore pain immediately go away. Whatever he did, it either numbed my muscles or that liquid-filled bottle had some instant pain-killing ingredient.

"You can get some rest here while you wait until your mother gets back," He suggests.

"I don't feel like it," I counter. "I've been unconscious long enough."

"Suit yourself," He only says, nonchalantly and finishes tucking the end of the bandage into one seam. After that, he begins regathering the objects used and places them on the stand next to the lamp, before rising back to his feet and ambling to the nearby door.

"Why do you do this?" I ask all of a sudden, and there, he stops so suddenly as if he hit a wall ahead of him. "Why do you keep helping me?"

He then turns his head a little just so he can show one side of his face and his gaze now withholds nothing. Just nothing but blankness. "You know I've answered that already."

"No," I'm sounding desperate now, especially when I have that sketch. "Why did you follow me back to Otima when it clearly wasn't necessary?" I add. "When I'm just a stranger that you pulled from the river?"

"We're not strangers to each other," He says and continues his steps out. There, he does it again—dodging my questions. What is it with him, really?

I jump from my seat and immediately grab his wrist, completely preventing him from setting his foot to make contact with the outside dirt. And I may not have measured the next words in my head, especially when I remember the sketch of the person with a face resembling mine that I found from him.

"Is it because I look like him? The person in the sketch?" Now, I sound more desperate. I don't even care anymore that the single leg that I'm using to balance myself is shaking over my own weight, and the shoulder of the other arm I'm using to hold against the door frame is hurting. I forgot that I also have a wound there.

He faces me completely this time. Where I see his eyes carry so much dread. He really doesn't like where this conversation is heading.

"Who is he?" I ask, calmer, this time.

There's silence that almost feels longer than it actually is, and then he says, "I thought you'd figure it all out by yourself since you had the sketch all this time."

I forget how to breathe for a second there. So he figured. I gaze down as I suddenly feel an unpleasant feeling brewing in the pit of my stomach, and it is shame. It has come too late. But something else comes along. Disbelief. Does he admit it? Does he admit that I'm the person in the sketch?

"Get some rest. Your mother should arrive soon," Is all he says before gently pulling his arm away, and I watch him make his beeline away from here until I see his figure no more. Now, I'm here, alone and in dismay as to what just happened.

I make my way back to the bed that he never slept on, and sit there. I then retrieve the pair of shorts that are on the bed and pull the paper from its pocket. I then unfold it in my hand and parse the sketch. Who is he really? Who was he to the man? And what does it have to do with me?

I then remove my eyes from it and look at the lion boar instead, who's just right beyond the door and asleep, while my thoughts only have nothing but mere confusion. I don't even know how I can rest here when this isn't even my place. Why did he even bring me here besides to treat my wounds? Or maybe I should've just kept my mouth shut.