Chapter 73: The Fog Island [13].

The next few months were, undeniably, the worst of Aldrus’ life. He had never seen a woman crumble the way his mother had after the call. They said it was a Guardian. Second rank. It plunged three people into misery and went off to get itself eradicated by some Holder called to help. Mere minutes had been enough to steal someone’s everything and set them on a path they had not even dreamed of; a path without him.

Grief had been less painful than it had been shocking and, looking back, Aldrus was unable to recall anything clearly. He barely remembered the funeral or the hundreds of meals that his family had shared in utter silence afterward. Nor did he remember the last time that he and Claire had cuddled up together for their usual movie-night.

His home was a ghost. He had begun to find some peace in the quiet, yet he hated it to death at the same time. He wished it had never left, that it had never stopped suffocating him. But he also wished it were gone, that it had loosened its grip on his loved ones and faded never to return. One of those two wishes would eventually come true, and it happened in February. Although it became clear things would turn out very differently, that did not mean they would necessarily get worse.

And thus the first beam of light to seep into his heart came with a name, and that name was Lugh. The last gift his old man had left them—living proof of his existence and a reminder that, if three people could hear nothing but the silence, there would always be a fourth to sing them all a song.

In a way, Lugh’s birth changed them for the better. It forced their mother out of her depression and kept both Claire and Aldrus busy all the time. If blessings existed, that little boy would surely have been one.

However, despite all the smiles the child had brought, time had a way of wearing things down. Over the following years, Aldrus returned to his former self, the one who lay in bed amidst the mess in his room. The only difference was that there was no one to scold him now. His days spent alone shaped his teenage years in a particular manner; the more he isolated himself, the more he felt the urge to swallow the world whole.

Such indescribable curiosity bloomed violently from the depths of his being. He had reflected on it. What was it he wanted? Vengeance? Absolutely not; something so vague and shallow could not possibly drive a man to pursue what he craved. It happened every time he had the misfortune to head out, sleep at school, and pass by those iron gates. He wanted to breach them, violate the rules, run away as far as his legs could take him, and see.

He needed to see, to know, to dye his soul the color of danger. What was out there? What was it? Who are they? What are they? Why did they kill him? Would they kill him too? It mattered not. Against all reason, he soon reached a conclusion he would later regret deeply: if the price of that knowledge was death, then he would die.

That was how he studied for a time, snuck into Cael’s office every night, and five years after the passing of his father, Aldrus Dagon left the iron gates. He dyed his soul the color of danger, looked death in the eye, met his salvation clad in purple and yellow, and became a Holder of Time.

It was only now, on the island, where a different death he had not sought challenged him once more, that he realized how foolish he had been.

Death would not claim him, not if he could help it. Not anymore. If only he had been willing to think of his father more often, maybe thoughts of throwing everything away would not have seen the light of day. The answer had never been to satisfy his hunger for the truth no matter what. Things did matter, more than he had dared to think.

Claire, Lugh, Mom. They matter enough to think twice, thrice, a hundred million times. I’ve seen enough; I’m going back home. It’s time to wake up.

***

Damn it...

Aldrus slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground, staring at the barely visible sky. He then sat up and let the rain fall on him for a while, choosing not to think about what could have knocked him unconscious and separated him from the others. Just for a second, and only a second, he allowed himself to forget. He then sighed, checked his surroundings, and peered into his pack. Everything was as he had left it, soaked and ruined, except for the single truly important thing—the artifact. As expected, water and mud had nothing on a thing of its caliber.

Rising to his feet, the boy closed his eyes and focused on his hearing. With nothing but the rain to break the eerie silence, even the faintest movement could stand out. And so, about a minute later, something finally reached his ears.

Someone’s coming.

Aldrus snapped his eyes open and waited. A moment later, he heard the air whistle behind him, and before he could get hit, he ducked under his cloak, spun aside, and thrust his dagger forward. A sharp metallic clang rang out as his blow struck a sword. Standing before him was Aiden, who had effortlessly blocked his attack with the blade he had claimed back at the crater.

"I knew you guys were fine," Aldrus said, his voice nearly drowned out by the storm.

The silver-haired boy sheathed his sword and smiled.

"I don’t know about the others."

Aldrus’ face twisted into a complicated expression.

"Then we shall go look for them, and quick."

Aiden nodded, and without a single extra word, they went off in search of Alice and Cedric.

Please, just be okay...