The Other Side

Twenty-year-old Alastor Kavish was not one for a romantic walk, nor did he appreciate the clear blue stream, the vibrant colour of pink blossoms growing from ancient trees along the path, or the colourful wings of butterflies as they flew by.

Sure, it was nice to see, but his mind rarely stayed to admire it all. 

So now, as he walked down this wavy pink path beside a steady stream of water, Alastor did not pay much attention to the beauty of nature around him.

Instead, his eyes were plastered on the beautiful figure of Anabelle Alaine as she walked ahead of him. 

Her fiery red hair was gently blown by the summer breeze. Her moss-green dress dragged behind her, over folds of elegant ribbons and a long embroidered silk shawl that wrapped around her elbows. 

His heart trembled in his chest. Its loud beats accompanied his steps as his bloodied boots stepped on the fallen petals adorning the path—a stark contrast to his dark life. In silence, he followed her. 

Alastor had gone through a hard day, having just returned from Sector Three, where war had raged on for a week.

All he wanted to do was rest and sleep, but he knew even in his sleep war would follow him. His only solace was Anabelle, who was gentle and kind. 

Only under her touch could he relax and let go of the tension building through the week. So now, all he wanted was to throw his arms around her, hold her close, and kiss her deeply.

Feel her warmth when all he felt was the hard and cold ground of the battlefield. 

Alastor had longed for her, so when Anabelle told him she wanted him to stay at a distance while they walked down this path, he felt an ache in his chest. 

"I think here should be far enough," Anabelle said, turning to face him.

The green of her eyes matched her dress, wide and afraid.

Alastor stepped closer; instinctively, he wanted to soothe her worries. But Anabelle stepped back as if he were a danger. 

"Ana, please… tell me, what is this?" he demanded. 

"I don't know how I can tell you this without breaking your heart. I don't think there's any way to do it without hurting you," Anabelle started, which already caused a great heartache in his chest. Dark, thorny branches began to sprout out of the ground, slowly spreading up his legs and around his body. 

"Speak," Alastor said, his voice far away even to his own ears. 

"I don't want to be with you anymore. I want to break this relationship," Anabelle said, her voice gaining strength. She held her chest as if in pain, tears starting to well in her eyes. "When I first met you, I fell deeply, deeply in love with you. And I thought back then that I could endure everything as long as you came home safe to me. But I was wrong!" 

Alastor's eyes stared into her pained green eyes. The branches had reached his neck and the bridge of his nose. It was an instinctual magic, a part of him that could not help but awaken in the face of danger or threat.

Unfortunately, there was no telling it that there was no physical danger. 

"I can't continue wasting my life away, waiting for a man who puts his work over me every single time. Every time they call, you'll drop everything and rush to do your missions," Anabelle pointed out, her voice harsh and accusing. 

"I can't live my life waiting for you. What kind of a life is that? If you want to keep me, I need you to promise me you'll stay, at least when you have an arrangement with me," she demanded.

For a moment, the two lovers stared at each other in heated tension, one trapped in a dilemma while the other was crushed by its silence. 

"You really do love your job above all else," Anabelle said after a while; defeated. 

"I don't. I love you, Anabelle; please believe me. I just can't reject any orders. I'm a Black Opt soldier; you know that!" he said, his usual steady and calm voice breaking under pressure.

He had never begged for anything in his life, not even for his life. But now he would go to his knees. Without her, there was anchor. 

"I think… it's true what they say. You need to be a special kind of person to be a Black Opt's wife. Well, I can't be that for you, Alastor. Go find someone else who'll wait by the door for you like a worried dog!" Anabelle yelled. Her face had turned as red as her hair as she gathered her skirts and started darting away. 

Desperate, Alastor grabbed her arm. "Please! Please understand! Don't you know we bleed the same way? You don't think it rips me apart inside to be away from you for so long, serving a nation that wouldn't think twice about sacrificing me?" Alastor asked.

The trembling of his body began to intensify, the shadows in him splitting, threatening to depart from him. The branches continued to wrap around him in defense. 

"My life has turned grey and empty. I have no one else, no family, only you." 

"You have your comrades, remember?" Anabelle asked, with a venom uncharacteristic of her. She was always kind to him, no matter what. To hear her words shattered him. 

"Do you… really not love me anymore?" Alastor asked, feeling like a child. 

"No, Alastor," Anabelle answered without a sliver of doubt. Her eyes were wide and cold as she looked into his.

His pupil shrank from the sudden blow. 

"I wanted to spare you the truth, but my love for you has grown cold for a long time. I just feel empty, as if I were alone in this relationship…" 

"I-I'll try to ask my team leader. I'll ask my comrades to go in my stead…" Alastor started to stutter, grasping for any words and ideas. Although he knew they would never let him disobey orders, he was not the only one who had to leave loved ones behind. 

"I met someone else," Anabelle admitted suddenly. As if her skin had turned to hot coal, Alastor let go of her arm. He felt his heart shrink, his breath catching in his throat, his chest rising and falling along with the realization as her words began to sink in. 

"What?" 

"I said… I met someone else. He's a Sentinel. A sweet, loving man who comes home every day… he has a fixed schedule, you know?" Anabelle asked, slowly stepping away from him. Alastor looked at her with a sinking feeling in his chest. 

"Is it Jameson?" 

"I'm so sorry, Alastor," Anabelle answered. 

Alastor's lips parted, feeling the dagger she had placed in his heart twisting even deeper. His head felt light. All of a sudden, he did not mind being surrounded by these branches, thorns growing longer and sharper around him, threatening anyone who dared to step closer.

So wild and thick, until what was left of him were his eyes. 

"Goodbye," Anabelle said before she turned and ran away. 

Alastor had just come back from war. His body was dirty from sand and ash, sticky from sweat and blood, smelly from the guts of those wretched creatures.

It had been long and tiring, to the core of his bones. But he didn't mind; he had grown up a child soldier, and violence was all he had ever known. Still, he knew what a gentle touch was, and that was all he ever wanted. 

Someone to love, who loved him back. Someone who waited for him to come home so that even in the most gruesome of battlefields, he had something to fight for other than just to stay alive.

But Anabelle's words had snapped him into reality. 

There was a reason Black Opt officers did not have families or even lovers. They were raised to be in constant war until there was nothing left of them, until death. So for him to have had anyone at all was a blessing he should have thanked the heavens for. 

However, even with these thoughts, Alastor stayed where he stood, like a statue. To ask for someone to stay by his side when he was never going to be by their side was the most selfish thing.

And he knew that now. 

Alastor began to sob, tears spilling for the first time in what felt like an eternity. 

Then, without warning, a sharp pain flared in his wrist.

It burned fiercely, spreading up his arm like burning coal beneath his skin. His breathing grew shallow, and ragged, as he stumbled back against the branches behind him. One was thick enough to catch his weight, holding him steady as he clutched his wrist in a sorry attempt to soothe the pain. 

In the haze of it all, a vision appeared in his mind—a girl staring at him. Her hair, a rich copper that gleamed like polished metal, framed her face in soft waves. The gentle curves of her features were delicate yet striking, and her deep brown eyes filled with emotion. 

The vision vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by an overwhelming surge of pain. It was too much. Weakened by everything he had gone through already, Alastor lost consciousness, letting the darkness take him to sleep.