Even before the white-haired child reached the palace, Zachariah tore off his burning robe and poured copious amounts of green, red, and purple Vigor into his burning limb! The green threads wove into his tissue, sinew, and bones, healing and mending them as fast as the unquenchable fire incinerated the newly formed flesh. The reds surged through his members, granting him the strength to remain standing and endure the mindless and unrelenting anguish. Purple lines of illumination fought to contain the unnatural flames from spreading and devouring the rest of the General’s body.
The King’s Wrath... Zachariah’s mind screamed obscenities that would never reach his lips. On the outside, the General looked calm, almost passive, as he fought to save his left arm from total annihilation. Internally, the Sacer was a whirlwind. This mind processed a thousand thoughts, trying to make sense of his current situation, all the while straining to push past the most excruciating physical pain he had felt in decades. Zachariah wanted to shriek, yell, cry, and laugh, all at the same time, but he did none of those things. Instead, he just stood there, on fire, mesmerized by the blind boy’s abandoned kado. The pearl-white sword lay harmlessly a dozen yards from where its master had once stood.
Impossib—The General caught himself from finishing the thought. At this point, why am I still surprised by anything this boy does? By the Shade, I half expect him to summon a full Phade... Now, wouldn’t that be a sight! Even Enoch wouldn’t be able to keep that from getting out... Zachariah almost cracked a smile at the thought of the trouble such an event would cause for the Overseer. Even as it stands now, everything about this child must be kept quiet.
Sweat formed above the warrior’s brow. The constant pulling and consumption of Vigor in the endless pursuit to save his arm was beginning to tax him. Zachariah cautiously held his limb out to his side and away from the rest of him. He could not afford to allow that flame to even lick another part of his body.
“General, are you okay?” whispered a voice in his head. “I’m sending the medics.” Zachariah could detect the worry in Enoch’s message. Shade Speech was not like regular verbal communication. You did not hear the words but rather felt them. And the more experienced a warrior was at it, the deeper he could sense the emotions and intent behind the words.
The Old Man is worried about me, the General pondered. Well, I’m worried about myself.
“It will do no good...” Zachariah replied through the Shade. “Enoch, you know what this flame is?”
The silence that followed Zachariah’s question seemed to last an eternity. But in truth, it was a moment before Enoch replied, a heavy note of dread in his mental tone.
“Yes,” Enoch’s voice vibrated with an unmistakable gravity. “I know what it appears to be—”
“—I can confirm it is more than just appearance.” It was not like Zachariah to interrupt his superior. Determinedly, Zachariah forced his attention back to his burning limb. With a grunt, he focused more Vigor to encase the flame, trying to suppress it. The struggle was draining; the searing pain wrestled against his disciplined mind.
However, something was troubling him. Lying dormant in a memory long past and forgotten. A conversation with his own master...
“There are only three ways to put out this flame,” Zachariah remembered what King Isaac had said. “If the wielder desires it, dies or is rendered unconscious...”
Unconscious? Zachariah pondered with dread. But... If these flames are still burning, that means... The realization struck the General just as he caught the movement in the corner of his eye.
Musa, somehow, despite his catastrophic injuries, was stirring. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. His fingers twitched, and his chest heaved in a shallow breath. The boy was still conscious.
The General quickly turned his full attention to the boy. He wanted to move towards him, but the unworldly blaze held him in place, the pain a constant reminder of the danger they posed.
Musa’s head turned slightly, a weak acknowledgment of Zachariah’s presence. His lips parted, and a raspy, almost inaudible whisper escaped them. The words were hard to distinguish, but Zachariah caught something about ‘just in time.’
“Just in time for what?” Zachariah muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, there was a flicker of movement—Musa held his hand out towards the pearl white kado that lay dormant in the dirt at the Sacer’s feet. Then, with a Herculean effort that seemed to drain the last of his strength, Musa’s fingers grasped something Zachariah could only see with Shade Sight—tendrils of green and purple stretched out and snatched the sword, pulling it free from its earthy confines and retracting the weapon back to its owner’s waiting hand!
Zero time remaining...
Eyes.
Unseeing Eyes.
Blue, Unseeing Eyes.
Like two illuminated sapphires, Musa’s blue, unseeing eyes burst into radiance!
A pulse of light, bright and pure, emanated from Musa, enveloping his kado in an ethereal glow. The light seemed to draw every thread of Vigor from the surrounding air, concentrating it in a dazzling display of power, light, and splendor!
And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the light extinguished, leaving behind a heavy stillness in the air. Musa’s body relaxed, his struggles ceasing as unconsciousness finally claimed him.
In that instant, the flames on Zachariah’s arm snuffed out as if extinguished by an unseen hand. The General looked down at his now scarred but intact limb, then back at Musa, a mix of awe and deep contemplation on his face.
In the sudden calm that followed, Zachariah stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the young warrior who had defied every expectation and norm. The silence was profound, a stark contrast to the chaos that had reigned just moments before.
As he watched, medics rushed onto the field, their quick, efficient movements a blur as they tended to Musa. Zachariah remained where he was, processing the events that had just unfolded. If what I believe is true, the implications of this boy’s existence could change everything.
He turned his eyes towards the palace, knowing that what had transpired here today would resonate far beyond these walls. What could happen if it got out too quickly, too soon? This was a delicate matter that needed to be handled with the utmost care and consideration... They had been wrong before... and they couldn’t let that happen again.
Zachariah’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the Shade.
“General, are you alright?” Gabriel whispered.
Zachariah nodded, his mind still partly elsewhere. “I’m fine. But Gabriel, this... this...” His voice trailed off as he glanced back at Musa, now being carefully loaded onto a stretcher.
Gabriel finished the sentiment. “I told you he was interesting, did I not?” Zachariah could almost feel the Captain’s smirk even through the Void.
“Yes,” Zachariah agreed reluctantly, a hint of a smile drew across his face. “Regretfully, I must admit, Captain, you were right... This time.” The gray-haired warrior was about to elaborate more on the unlikelihood that the Captain would ever be right again, but before he could, a small, nearly insignificant object by his foot caught his attention.
Reaching down with his good hand, Zachariah picked up the tiny green leaf that had wandered into the Trial Ground and stared at it with inquiring eyes. “Now, how did you get here?” he asked as he twirled the leaf by its stem between his thumb and forefinger. “There are no maples in the Trial Grounds.”
“Sir, you still there?” Gabriel’s tone still felt worried.
“Yes, Gabe,” the General reassured the Captain. “I was just thinking... thinking that you never truly know what the wind will blow your way.”
“Er... yes,” Gabriel said. “I guess that’s true. Sir, are you sure you’re alright? The medics are right there—”
“I said I’m fine, Gabriel,” Zachariah’s tone left no further room for rebuttal. “Send word out immediately to call the Table together.”
“Sir, General Enoch has already done so, sir.”
“Of course he has.” Zachariah’s reply was not one of irritation but rather confirmation. “Then, Gabe, you can cancel the shuttle; I’ll be staying on Heron for a while.”
“Yes, Sir,” said the Captain. “About that, sir.” Now came the irritation. “I never held the shuttle for you in the first place. I figured you would not need it.”
Zachariah restrained the impulse to Shade Step to the Captain’s location and reminded the man of his station. Instead, he simply whispered back, “Good to hear. It is about time you showed initiative. Maybe someday, even you can become a general.”
“Yes, Sir,” Gabriel said; the subtle warning was not lost on him. “I will ensure your quarters are adequately prepared for extended stay.”
“Ah, yes, Captain. And there is that initiative again.” As the General whispered, he casually looked back toward the palace, his Shade Sight pulling his attention to the very pinnacle spire of the magnificent structure.
Now... Now... Zachariah mused to himself. Now, when did you get here? The inquiry never made it to his lips, but his eyes sought out of whom he spoke. Of course, if there was anyone who could escape my attention, it would be you. The General gave a subtle nod to the figure perched on the highest point of the Great Hall. Reaching out his undefiled hand, he gave the leaf one last twirl and set it free.
The leaf did not fall. Instead, a purposeful breeze caught the green passenger and drove it across the Trial Grounds and to the palace wall. No sooner did it reach the building; it turned upward and ascended the steep granite structure. Higher and higher it climbed, relentlessly driven by the invisible wind that guided it. Soon, it passed over the roof’s edge, sailed over the slate tiles, and further up the sloped pitch. Maneuvering with precision and grace, it weaved between, through, and around the many spires that line the palace towers. It journeyed unrelentingly ever higher until it peaked triumphantly over the last and grandest pinnacle. There, the leaf slowed, and the wind, no more than a gentle draft, unleashed the helpless traveler. Only then did a tiny, feminine hand leisurely pluck the leaf from the air.
With curiosity, she examined the oddity with discerning eyes.
Then she spoke, but a single word.
“Father?”
The End of Part One: Trial of Entry.
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