202 Year

A steamy strip of smoke floated to the white sky, an effect resulting from the form of pressurized gas that was dry ice. It was reminiscent of the crystallizing initiation by which the crystals of crystallizing users began to take physical shape. A hiss of steam flows out of the newly forming and growing crystal, before it would completely die out in seconds. Different than the crystallizing initiation of crystal barriers, which create no such effect and starts out with sharp edges and empty insides. To defend oneself and oneself's loved ones with barriers was an honor, but at what cost to vulnerable targets they are unable to get to? Would a soldier, then in a world of destruction, trade in their power of defense for one of violent and painful piercings? Hard to say.

A soldier concealed in royal blue garb smiled to himself as he stayed leaning in the shadow of a wall by himself. The face of a mildly wrinkled woman, dimples in the corners of her mouth, wispy blue hair in a large bun behind her head, appeared in his mind, chastising him for his contemplative thoughts. His mild-mannered and fragile mother, whom he'd protected against a violent gust of wind that lifted a chunk of sharp crystal and was mere seconds away from piercing her in the chest. He supposed he wouldn't do the trade. The one in silly musings, Soldier Dillon Caudry, was not a mere maker of crystal barriers, at any rate. His powers grew with each and every use, and seemed to have no end in its strengthening progress even as he aged. Normally a barrier crystallization user's powers would stop growing by the age of 25, man or woman, small or big, strong or weak. Dillon, already at 24, could still feel the power coursing and growing in his icy cold veins. If it continued to grow like this, he wouldn't be surprised if it started to flow out of his pores, until the moment it would explode, along with his blood, bones, and skin. A worrisome thought.

Dropping the piece of dry ice, which shattered on the floor, Dillon turned and stalked out of the alley on the other side. Another mammal life rescued from the bit of fiery coal that was inches away from touching its all-too-sensitive tail. Not Dillon's rescue efforts, though. He couldn't find a damn inch of land that needed him and his justice, and he was growing bored for it.

"Moron." The less he was needed, the safer the times. And damned the Almighty Lord knew their war-ravaged kingdom needed more peaceful times, days or weeks. They were lucky to go a few days in a row without the horrible travesty called Volcano Terrorists on the tip of everyone's tongues. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he kicked a piece of ice.

A collision sent the ice flying through the air, and his military hat knocked clean off his head, his hands forced out of their pockets. He turned, eyes wide and trained senses on high alert, to the feeling of a palm clumsily brushing imaginary lint off his clothing. The hand got his front rather than his back because of how swiftly Dillon reacted. Said hand was in his iron grip before it could make second contact.

"Geez! I'm sorry. I think I tripped over something." A younger boy's flustered eyes glanced back over his shoulder, probably seeing nothing of import that could possibly have caused him to crash so recklessly against his victim. Other than his own clumsiness, of course. He pulled his hand, which Dillon released. "Hey, you look mad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

The boy was probably not much older than 21, about the same height as Dillon, with a bit of a baby face, pale skin like everyone else, snowy hair cut short and messy, and hazel eyes that seemed cute in its affliction of contriteness and hesitance. Clearly a beauty in the gaze of many, despite some of his common genetic features. His voice didn't match him. Though he did not resemble him at all, his striking impression reminded Dillon of the utterly ethereal beauty that was their Third Prince, when he had first seen the prince on a stage as a child.

"Mad? Surprised, more like," he said, smiling. He dusted off his hat and placed it back, then waved a hand as he turned to leave. "Don't worry. Later."

The fake, gentle, and dismissive gesture from the regal soldier caught his attention. He interrupted his strides by calling out, "Wait! Wait. I'll treat you to something, if you want. Can we talk a little? Do you have time?"

Dillon caught his beseeching look, which gave him pause. The dude knew what the hell he was doing, didn't he? Why the boy wanted a conversation with a stranger as off putting as he was beyond his understanding. "Fine...If it's important." He pointed at the corner in the east. "Over there?"

He nodded as they walked together. "My name is Fay. Yours?"

"Sol—Dillon. Where were you headed to in a hurry?"

"My apartment. Class just ended, and I always run off when it does. You're in the military, aren't you? Judging by your clothes, Barrier Unit?" Fay's eyes were curious and respectful, despite his words.

He furrowed his brows. "Not many care to remember which belongs to which unit, let alone the uniforms of those units. Let me guess, you wished to join?"

"Once upon a time. Knowing I lack power, though, that was a bummer. Yours is incredible. Not just crystallizing, but barriers! You could do so much with that!"

The envy felt nice, but still he hummed in false agreement. "Lately I am unsure. But you're right, there are people I have saved, people who matter to me, that would have passed in front of my eyes had I not been there for them."

"That's not all, is it? You can trap your enemies, trap their fire. Trap the bombs and setups until someone undoes them. Or even barricade allies and people."

Images of a group of trapped terrorists as they fled flashed by, retrieved from somewhere deep within his memories. Another image of town civilians blocked off and barricaded from a set of fire arrows and torches. Another image of various spots of bear traps, trip wires, and incinerators blocked off by his barriers before they could even strike a single target. Another image of unsuspecting victims having their faces barricaded inches away from triggered bombs. Somehow Dillon had blocked off such memories, filed away in a store of forgotten heroics to which he needed no acknowledgment, no words of appreciation. Yet the victims he protected never forgot to express it to him, never forgot his single act. Even his superiors made certain to thank him for his hard work every night.

Somehow none of it mattered. He would protect even the most wretched of people. Bullies, thieves, murderers. Home owners, landlords, property owners, residents, fools, and everyone else.

He smiled. "That's true." He went through the open door Fay held for him. The bell chimed their arrival, welcoming and beckoning them with the aroma of baked goods and sweet beverages.

A Wildlife Café was small, musty, capturing and imprisoning even the smallest of scents in its brightly lit interior for days on end. The ceiling of the room was adorned by hanging leaves, vines encasing two sides of the icy blue walls, encircling tall plants and fake trees that sat forever in the corners. Stained wooden tables lined one wall, with two or four chairs to each. At the end, a counter made of transparent crystal held a cash register, tired-looking cashier, two more servers, painted coffee machines, and a high menu pasted behind them. Under the surface, shelves displayed croissants, dozens of donut flavors, small decorated cookies, and various decadent desserts.

Dillon desired and craved none of it. He sat at an unoccupied table as he waited for Fay's next move. Fay didn't stop until he got to the counter, pondering the menu and the infinite options. Turning, he noticed Dillon's absence and went to bug him. "Do you know what you want?"

He pretended to think a moment. "A tall espresso is fine."

"You're a man of small tastes and few words," Fay mused as he fought back a grin. "I'm getting us donuts."

With that he was off to order their food, leaving Dillon bewildered, yet beguiled by the surprising pushiness. Did he have a specific topic of conversation in mind for him? Did he desire to make friendship? Or did he simply assume everyone loved donuts? His mysterious intentions behind the flattering behavior baffled him. Rather, his lack of deceptiveness and inability to hide his thoughts and emotions, despite his odd actions, baffled him.

After ordering, he returned to the table with the cup of espresso, setting it by Dillon. He sat across from him, folding his hands together. On the cup, a woodsy logo of the store's name was imprinted on one side, while a monkey hanging on a tall tree branch imprinted the other side. Dillon stared at it as he often did.

"You actually like this place, don't you? You come here a lot."

Startled, he looked up at Fay's impish grin, then away. "How do you figure that?"

"You went straight for this table, barely looking around. You're not looking at the cup design like it's new and interesting, but like it's adorable and you can't take your eyes off it. Even now."

Dillon moved his eyes away, looking as if he'd been caught trying to steal a cookie. "You're more observant than you appear. Less in a daze and in your own head than I thought. Fine, so I get a cup of coffee sometimes. I'm allowed."

"I get that a lot." Fay nodded. "Is that all? Do you not find it...dare I say, cute?"

"Fine, so it's cute! So I don't get to see that much cute on an everyday basis." Dillon couldn't help but to raise his voice. Somehow he got under his skin that so few others had done. "So I can't indulge myself enough. What are you after, my innermost thoughts and desires?"

Fay smiled a little. "There's nothing behind it. I just want to know you. So far I find it interesting how you seem to clam up behind a mental barrier of your own, even to hide something so simple as how much you adore a cute monkey, cup of coffee, or choice of café. When you walk, you do so with purpose: a purpose to not let anyone in."

Espresso forgotten, he glared. "You know nothing. None of that is true. Are you a psychology major or something? Your eyes and attitude need work. You won't come close to graduation like this."

None of his words rang true. Not an inkling of it. The sooner he convinced this wanna-be student of it, the sooner they could move on to bigger and better things: living. Better yet, he stood. "I got my treat. Enjoy your donuts." Waving his free hand, he walked off.

He was idiotic and fake. A betrayer of his natural looks. A pretender of psych evaluations and unbiased counseling. A foolish student pretending to do good, be good.

Hand on the door, he pushed out, but was halted in his tracks by the desperate grasp on his elbow.

"No. I mean it. I just want to be friends. It's not because I admire you for being a soldier. Well, I do admire you, and envy you, but I don't mean to offend you. Nor do I want to. You just seem..."

Lonely. He heard it without him saying it. His superficial anger dissipated, and he looked Fay in the eyes with composure. He ignored the worried glances of customers and employees behind him. "I know you didn't. Let's make it clear, I do wrap myself in a shell, I do keep everyone out. True, I don't trust easily."

I don't trust people to not die horribly and painfully, leaving me in shattered pieces and yearning for them. He was close to clarifying, but it wasn't his business yet. "Give it up. We'll barely see each other. I could die any day in some far-off war. Let me."

Fay looked behind him, as if to find someone who had the answers, hand still clutching the sleeve. "No. We can make time to hang out. I'll talk to you whenever I can. I think you should make as many friends as you can, while you can, even if you risk losing them. I won't let you die alone."

Whether he meant it physically or emotionally, he wasn't sure. He softened. "I'll think about it. Bye." He walked off, a hand back in his pocket, shoulders stiff and wide, back hunched against further contact or communication. The way he wanted it.

His coffee was still warm, steaming with reminders of Fay and what could be a necessary friendship. A meaningful connection. Dillon wasn't sure anymore.

What if war beckons once more? What if the military couldn't protect Fay in time? What if he lost his life because he used up too much power, or was knocked unconscious? What if he lost another loved one to this unending nightmare?

Can he handle any more grief?