24TH

Just by gazing upon this broad path with carved patterns of old silver and gold, I can visualize the heavy and rushing steps of the familiar man from my dream as he rushed a pregnant woman to the giant doors at the end of the cave. I even hear her unpleasant cries and pleading echoing through the cave walls — to make the pain stop. That pain didn't only carry physical torment, but also emotional agony. What's ominous is that I also feel it. It's stronger here compared to seeing it in my own sleep.

I turn to look at my Mother. She hasn't left her position ever since unmounting the Wyrbird as if she's only forcing herself to come to this place for the sake of my desperation to get answers, whilst the Ordinal himself is already strolling towards me.

"Where are we?" I ask him and the wind blows from the creature's sudden ascend to the sky.

He passes by me before answering, "A temple of the old Rune Writers."

I gaze up at the high ceilings lined with protruding rocks and crystals. The greenery that has grown from within the caves, doesn't hide the light they emit.

"It's a sacred place of rune magic. Makes my kind here the strongest, especially when doing Rituals."

"I had a dream about this place," I say. "And you were there, too."

"Because this wasn't the first time that you came here," My mother says from behind which has my attention darting to her. My instincts are already putting the other puzzle pieces, yet I can't form the words of the conclusion in my head.

The Ordinal's voice beckoning us echoes. He's already at the huge doors.

Upon catching up to him, he's already drawing a number of runes with his elven fingers, matching those inscribed at the closed entrance. Once done, the runes fade into blue sparks, then the doors begin slowly scraping open in unison with a heavy rumble. It disturbs the hidden animals nearby, scramming away.

Thick stone pillars greet my eyes that hold the even ceilings which now look more like a lively night sky due to the gleaming crystals compared to that beyond the doors. The stream below the pillars gives reflected light as well, seemingly sustaining the greenery around. The walls contain carvings of figures and more runes gapped with a number of staircases connected to dim and empty corridors. At the other end of this boasting hall is a wider staircase leading to whatever's below it. When we're on its edge, from up here, I can already hear the echoes of rushing water coming from the dungeon beyond it.

Slowly, I take the steps climbing down. I'm doing well in the first steps not until I almost trip forward, but gladly my mother is here.

"You alright?" She asks, eyes carrying concern.

"Yeah," I whisper, unable to look at her.

The following steps go smoothly until we finally arrive at the bottom, where it leads to another dungeon, far smaller than that upstairs, but still huge as a three-story building without separated floors. At the very center is a circular pool with more streams of water connected to it from different directions, some even coming from the walls.

My mother's hold of me slips and lets me approach the glowing waters. I drop to my knees to see my own wiggly reflection upon its clear surface.

"The waters that you see only run within these mountains," The Ordinal begins. "There's no exit or entry point. Nor does it stop from flowing. Hence it keeps all the magical properties to itself, including how it can show one's former memories."

I turn to look at him, then at my mother, then at him again. "Memories of whom?" Is that part of what my mother meant that this wasn't the first time I've been here?

"You'll see," He says.

I turn back to my mother who stands a yard away, her fingers clutching the fabric of her sling bag. Speechless, she visibly nods. I then rise back and begin removing my garments, leaving my frame with only my trunks and the bandages securing my wounds. While doing so, my mother is preparing ingredients, seemingly to be those that they obtained from their prior journey.

Without further ado, I gently lay my feet in the water, then let it swallow me up to my waist. It's neither cold nor warm, giving a certain comfort. Once I'm at the very center, I face back to my mother who's now kneeling at the very edge of the pool, drizzling the ingredients she had made.

I then turn to the Ordinal standing to my right and ask, "What do I do?"

He only gives me a knowing look, and it's enough of a clue for me.

Slowly, I lay my back embracing the whole waters, detaching my feet from the sandy depths. Here, I drift, with no currents to wash me away in any direction. I hear nothing but the waters clogging my ears, and my gaze only up the high ceiling. After a little while, my lids begin weighing as if I haven't had any sleep in days. Then, I submerge, the water slowly weighing me to the floor.

When I open my eyes, instead of seeing the wavy and blurred waters, I rather see the evening skies, almost dry of any clouds with no moon to be seen. The edges of my vision are rather red and yellow combined due to the crackling fires nearby. I then rise to sit, first witnessing myself in a different set of garments — a plain dirty shirt and cotton pants, then my surroundings of horror and chaos that suddenly instills fear in the pit of my chest. An ocean of dead bodies in which many are nearly unrecognizable due to how blighted they are, scattered weapons and destroyed machinery for battle left to rot, dissolving and melting chitins and crusts that were once hellions. One dead body of a soldier nearby catches my attention, the style of his armor matches that of the illustrations I've seen before. That alone completely tells me what I'm witnessing. The Old Hellion War.

I stand to my feet, my injuries and wounds no longer feel as if they were never there. I scan every corner of my surroundings to see no other living beings, or rather soldiers as I still see one or two hellions running in the distance. And by this, it must be the aftermath of the war.

I then hear I tiny murmur from behind. No, it's the voice of a man begging for help. I see movement, a hand trying to reach out. I approach to help, but I'm rather stunned by his situation upon seeing only half his body, blood pooling beneath him. I'm able to shrug the reaction off and rush to help. But the moment my hand meets his, it rather splashes into bubbles of water and then quickly reforms. This immediately makes me realize that this is not real, but a memory that Ordinal Twenty-One said to come from the waters. The question is who's. Or maybe it is when my mother told me that this wasn't the first time I was in the temple.

Still, it doesn't remove the shame that I'm not able to help this man. But what else can I do? Where should I even go?

A scream then abrupts the distance behind me. It starts as a monstrous roar but then turns human-like in pure agony. There, I see his sitting figure, yards away through the slightly dense smoke and fires almost obscuring the view. I make my way to him, fast with my bare feet which can only feel the sands beneath the bodies that only splash into water droplets when I step on them. I stop in complete horror seeing what his barely bare body is going through — skin and muscles almost shredding with the hellion blights that gleam the familiar shades of purple and yellow, forcing and eating their way through his veins already popping out blood. His bones make cracking sounds as if breaking into pieces. He must be fighting it. Witnessing this alone is already nightmarish to me. I want to help, yet I can't.

Gladly, I can only witness it for another few seconds before the torment finally stops. All I observe now is his labored breathing and weakened body scrunched almost into a ball. I can approach him now. His wearings are beyond describable due to how torn it is. Near him are two swords, both contrasting in colors. One is white and the other is black. The latter is nothing else but the same Armament that's in my possession, which confirms that this man, right here, is my father. Ordinal Eight.

I kneel beside him, where his exposed skin still shows all of his swollen veins and glowing the same colors that are now easing. He has quite long hair, reaching just below his neck, but it didn't cover his face smudged with sand, sweat, and tears. He resembles the picture that I have of him so accurately. It is him. I dare to lay my hand on his arm, which only has it easily dissolving into liquid. I really can't touch him, nor he can even sense my presence.

Far ahead through the dense smoke, I see another figure of a person coming this way, a familiar elven face that I've already met, carrying the signature shades of blue on his armor, hair a little shorter and braided differently from what I'm familiar with, whereas his face seemingly possesses no difference. It's Finnobair. But what's really ominous is the emotions manifesting over his guise upon the man before me.

Without further ado, he grabs my father off the ground, one arm over his shoulder before grabbing the swords. I watch them disappear through the dense smoke as I remain in the same position, still in shock. I then force myself to jump back up and chase them through the shroud that is only getting denser and denser the further I go. Upon reaching the clearing, I find myself in the same place in the same temple, the dungeon pool.

There, I see the blue Ordinal desperately, yet gently laying my weakened father into the waters. All I can do is stand here and watch him drizzle variations of liquid and powder into the water before drawing symbols around the pool with a chalky rock, whispering ominous words in the process to make them glow. But something's off. He's shaking, in pain.

The pain only ends when the water bursts with my father's sudden emergence, roaring then choking as if he almost drowned. But in return, he's all healed and well. Swollen veins, blood, all gone. But he's still weak as he crawls out of the water. The elf is on his knees on the ground, drained and seemingly pale, yet he puts his attention on my father and approaches him instead.

"What happened?" I hear him mutter. This is the first time I heard his voice. It seems metallic, but also soft in nature.

"You saved my life," Ordinal Twenty-One replies. "So, I returned the favor."

"Thank you."

"No. This isn't enough."

By the time the Rune Writer has said those words, the other Ordinal has already fallen unconscious. Finnobair spares no second covering him up, then carrying him again out of the dungeon. I watch him leave to the stairs and I follow. And it rather leads to a bright opening, making my eyes hurt. I hear the rustling caused by the subtle wind and feel the warm sunlight from the skies. And I find myself in the middle of an ocean of crops.

I gaze around to find anyone, and there, from far behind, I see a single one, the farmer hat they wear hides almost to their shoulders. My gaze pivots back to the sky as I hear a familiar warping sound, only to find the same elf Ordinal with his Wyrbird landing near a stone house. This also catches the farmer's attention, finally giving me the full sight of his features. It's him. My father.

He takes off his hat which reveals his trimmed hair and a grown beard, telling that an amount of time has gone by. I stand aside to let him brush past me. And the moment he does, he's already standing near a countertop, while Ordinal Twenty-One waits for him to finish brewing tea. I stand near the only door around. I'm in the hut.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to the legion?" Asks the elf. "It's been six years."

My father then approaches him with two wooden cups of steaming liquid and hands one to the other. "No." He then takes his seat opposing the elf. "I've already done my part in the legion." He looks down at his cup.

"The war isn't over," The elf says. "Despite how many armies we raise or how high and wide we make the walls around the desert, it wouldn't stop the Otherrealm from coming."

"Even if I do, I'm sure Arthur wouldn't be pleased to see a former fellow Ordinal that they've all presumed dead come back," He reasons. "This decision may cost me this unwanted immortality. But as I told you before, I always wanted a normal life."

Normal life…

The Rune Writer only nods genuinely. "I can never judge you for that decision, Tenebris."

Tenebris. That was his real name?

"You know that name has died with the old me, Finn," Says my father.

A genuine smile creeps up the elf's lips. "Very well, Hassildor. But I can only warn you that your safety is still fragile. You can't stay in one place."

"I know." That word carried prominent fear and concern when it escaped his lips "Thank you, my friend."

"Don't thank me. I still owe you an unrepayable debt."

My attention then gets caught by the door behind me creaking open. Which leads to the outside scenery. Through the number of houses ahead of me are plains of grass flanked by forestry over the distance, while the sun is nearing the horizon. My bare feet meet the gravelly ground upon descending the stairs. The hut behind me doesn't look the same as earlier, as well as the person who exits the door — a young maiden in an elegant dress. But despite the length of her skirt, she still wears brown jeans with their sleeves tucked in her supple boots. The wide brim of her farm hat fits well around her head and is angled just enough for me to get a hold of her face. Mom…

Her entire semblance only looks two days younger, but in reality, it's two decades younger. This tells that an amount of time has gone by. I'm too distracted taking in her presence not until a person phases through me, their frames breaking into droplets which then shows me the people walking by after. This surely isn't the place I grew up at. I find my young mother walking in a certain direction with a filled bucket in one grasp. I follow, which then leads me to a barn. Horses in stalls neighing their hunger.

She takes her time feeding one, but halfway through, her attention gets caught by something in a direction. Three men, who're effortlessly carrying stacks of hays are heading in this direction. They stop at the very entrance and drop them, which gives my sight an opportunity to see their faces, drenched in sweat, but not looking tired at all from carrying those hays. One is my father, in a plain tank top, tucked in his jeans. He never looks a second older than before. In fact, he even looks younger with his hair slicked back and cleanly shaven jaw. But what almost makes me drop to my knees is the other man with him, his bottom half worn with the Front Soldier suit I'm familiar with. Alek. It's him. Goodness, I even almost whispered his name — as if I'd even be heard. And the other soldier happens to be Mikael. This merely proves that they were indeed friends with my father. My fingers find their way to my annulary, but the ring is not there. I guess the illusion wasn't generous enough to let me bring it along.

My father's attention immediately lands on the young lady on the stall ahead of me who's continuously feeding the stallion, but he looks too stunned at the moment to even engage. Good thing my godfather, being the playboy in his youth he was, gives a gentle push.

"Come on. Man up!" I even hear him say before he leaves with Mikael. I want to follow him, but I know that I'm in this illusion not to see him.

The lady's attention is again on my father.

"Hey," He greets, nervously. That tone in his voice is as if he was never an Ordinal. Only human.

The young maiden beams coyly, "Hi." Then turns again to the horse. "Long day, huh?"

"Yeah. But I'm already done. Thanks to my friends' help."

"They're very generous for visitors from the barrier to help out."

"Well, you can't blame them," He beams, which draws a tiny blush on the lady's cheeks. I can't help but suddenly feel a warm sensation in my lungs. Is this how they met? "Good thing about that is, I'm just gonna have to wait for the old Gary to pay me. But at this time, he must still be downing drinks."

"He always makes you wait even after your normal work hours. You've been around here for almost five months and you still let yourself get treated that way," My mother comments. So they've rather known each other for a while, then.

"I don't really mind honestly." He then leans against one stall and pets the horse in it. "It's not like it'd cost me my life. But I'm sure he'll get by soon."

"Your patience is unbelievable," My mother chortles.

He chuckles, too, then, maintains eye contact with her—a look that weighs lighter than a cloud and brings a warm sign. "Well, if you wouldn't mind, I can even wait for you here after I get my pay."

"I'm pretty sure your friends would mind."

"No, they won't," He counters. "You obviously saw one of them push me earlier to talk to you."

"You're being silly, Hass." She already has a nickname for him.

"Well, I guess that's just me when I've been trying to impress a beautiful woman for weeks now," He says with a sly grin, and legs and arms crossed.

"You must still have some dirt in your eyes for you to say that."

"Then I'd like to keep that dirt around."

She can't help but only smile delicately at those words.

"And then, maybe, we finally can go take a walk around after."

She giggles now, but she doesn't leave him hanging and agrees.

They both have their gazes at each other, and I sense the comfort around them growing further.

The moment brings a smile to my face. I'm looking at how a story of two lovebirds sprouts. When I turn my back to look outside it's already dark but doesn't hide the grey clouds that are sprinkling light rain. I'm stepping on damp soil, but I don't mind when it's all just an illusion from a memory. I'm standing outside my mother's hut. Glass windows shut and doors secured. Judging by how barely empty the streets are, it's already late. Upon walking near the window, I give myself a view of the inside where I see the same people, my mother sitting on the edge of the bed's foot, while my father is sitting on a chair ahead of her with a long object covered in cloth in his hands.

"I don't think I can keep a secret from you forever."

"Hass, what is this?"

A short silence lingers for two seconds then he says, "That's not my real name." Then he slowly unveils the object's wrapping. It's not just one, but two swords. "It's Tenebris."

The woman looks like she might not be familiar with the name. But, nonetheless, her facade carries so much confusion that she's unable to utter a word as if she's just dreaming. Her eyes, though, have familiarity with the weapon. She knows they're Immortal Armaments. And it confirms that the man before him is nothing else but a supposed immortal being. An Ordinal.

"Why are you here then?" She finally manages. "Did you run away?"

"I didn't run away," He corrects. "I survived the war. But most of them know that I died there."

"That's six hundred years ago…"

"Yes." That voice of his carried so much guilt. "I know it's a lot to believe in."

"Why would you do this?" She asks, referring to his choice that will cost him his immortality instead of questioning the fact that a secret as such was kept from her.

"It's because I want to have a normal life." It's the same reason he gave Ordinal Twenty-One. "And by that, I mean with you. I never wanted to be an Ordinal in the first place, anyway." He keeps his gaze down as if he's anticipating the resentment he'll receive from the woman he's truly in love with. If he wasn't, then why would he even admit such a heavy secret to her? "I've kept myself away from people for so long until I found you. And there's no more reason for me to live another century or raise these weapons again when I already found someone who I'd be happy to have a family with."

I see her hands then find their way over the man's cheeks and caress them, a caress of understanding and even appreciation. She doesn't say another word, but those tears are an obvious sign of gratitude.

The old Ordinal can't help but soften, his own reaching over hers that persists to caress his face. I can't help but have my hand over my chest as if I also feel their emotions combined. Yet it seems to be also combined with something else — something unpleasant that I can't specifically put into detail. I see my palms even shaking.

When I drop them to my sides, I see my feet in touch with growing grass. And my environment is different again. An environment that I'm familiar with. The place where I grew up at.

Kids run around that I might be familiar with, while other people pass by and are minding their own business. But my full attention is rather on my house just yards away, where just outside under the shed is my mother, hair length extended, a charcoal pencil and paper in hand. She's sketching. Coming just returned from the fields is my father, an optimistic smile on his face that has, again, grown a stubble as he carries a sack full of harvested crops. He drops them near the staircase door to greet his spouse. Then leads her back to the hut. I only watch just a few yards away.

By the time they're only about to make their entry through the house's door, my father's attention is on me. No, not actually. It's rather at the person coming this way from behind. A lady suited with shades of pink, red, and white, the garment's tail stretching down behind her legs billowing subtly with the wind. The only parts of her body that have armor plates are her limbs.

I give a second look at the tiara around her forehead, which finally gives me recognition of her.

Samara. Ordinal Four.