Isabelle's funeral will be in two weeks...
Isabelle's funeral will be in two weeks...
Isabelle's funeral will be in two weeks...
The message rang uncontrollably in Charles's fragile head. In fifteen minutes, he managed only to reach the front desk of the hospital on the first floor.
'My head... it hurts,' he sighed and rubbed his temples.
As someone who entered the hospital excited to be a father, he had never expected, even in his wildest dreams, to become a widower. Why him? What has he done to deserve this treatment?
Were there greater forces at play? Was Charles just a cog in a battle of entities? Poppycock! He didn't believe in entities one bit.
'I can't keep going like this; it's biting away at my sanity.'
Emory, who was in the stroller beside him, was quiet as can be. The pair set their gazes on the doors ahead.
"Still packed, huh?" a new voice chimed.
Charles did not answer. Too painful. What was the point of small talk? What was the point of anything, now?
"Are you also hard of hearing, young man?" an older, womanly voice, introduced itself to his ear. She donned a light blue cardigan and small glasses that hung on the bridge of her nose.
Wrinkles covered her face.
The feeling she gave off could only be described as a night spent by the seashore. Rising and falling tides, sands soaking in water, rocks appearing spontaneously, and a dark sky blanketing the masses.
"Oh my."
The lady spotted Emory and leaned to the side. "What a darling child you have; he's beyond adorable! Do you mind if I touch him?"
Charles nodded.
She reached over and softly rubbed Emory's cheek. After the elderly woman stopped petting Emory, she focused back on Charles.
"Y–Yes?" Her gaze was compressing.
The lady shielded her mouth with a hand and faintly chuckled, "No need to be so tense." Her eyes relaxed, and she tapped her black cane on the ground. "We are both just regular civilians, yes?"
Charles experienced a surge of relief run through his arteries and veins. It was like his blood, which had been rushing to his heart at a rapid pace, slowed down tremendously.
"T–Thanks, I'm Charles Vaughan. This is my son, Emory." He gestured to the quiet newborn in the cheap stroller bought days ago.
"Emory, what a beloved name for a beloved child."
"Haha, yeah…"
"..."
The old lady, Amadea, watched him expectantly.
The trio stood a couple of meters away from the entrance, bustling with citizens, and exhaled.
"I wonder how we'll be able to leave this hospital. What a dilemma." A cane tapped on the ground. "Dear Charles, would you like to leave through other methods?"
Charles had been spaced out, so he didn't hear what Amadea said. "I'm sorry?"
Amadea giggled, "I was saying that we can leave the hospital through other methods, this packed entrance won't let us leave normally."
"Other methods?" he echoed.
"Yes. Just watch." Amadea's voice had a hint of pride, but was then overshadowed by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. She knocked on the ground with her cane three times, then traced an emblem of a crown.
The tile morphed.
Charles's grip on Emory's stroller tightened. He called out to Amadea, "Is the ground supposed to be doing this? A–Are we okay?"
Amadea responded calmly, as if this was an everyday circumstance. "Yes, hold on tight to Emory's stroller."
The ground continued to quake. But this time, it started to liquefy. Bubbles popped up from below them, and the floor perfectly mimicked boiling water.
It was strange how none of the passersby or the civilians congesting the front gates noticed this phenomenon. Even so, Charles wasn't worried about what other people thought; he was witnessing a supernatural ritual!
Amadea recited in a low voice, "Obey me, Aglana."
A blue and white aura wrapped around her body. As wind circulated, the aura branched off to wrap around Charles and Emory, the former awestruck.
"I command thee to liquify and grant whomever present the ability to pass through this hospital and translocate to Silver Street. With minimal issue, of course."
The boiling floor replied in a jagged voice, "Yes, Your Grace."
Poof!
. . .
Blinding sunlight caused Charles to rub his eyes a couple of times and adjust to the new weather.
Where was he?
Silver Street, located just next to Trila Municipal Hospital.
Next to him was Emory, who gazed at the view silently. Amadea held her cane and walked closer to them. "How was the ride?" she jokingly asked.
Charles could not recall what he felt down there. His clothes were surprisingly dry and there was no pain at all.
"I know, I know," she began, "I was blessed with these powers." Amadea stopped for a couple of seconds. "I won't go into too much detail about them, but I'm just glad we escaped the traffic."
All Charles could do was bob his head meekly.
The woman in front of him was a powerhouse, one he shouldn't make angry at any cost. She had manipulated the ground with ease and transported the three of them to another location!
'It's... sorcery.'
While Charles didn't believe in entities, he acknowledged that in this world, there were people with abilities far greater than he could ever imagine.
The most protected woman in the land, Queen Bianca, was assassinated. This must have meant whomever killed her had the ability to pass through incredibly layered Houtis defense!
He didn't want to even think about other countries like Itolon or Gliasia, or even countries outside the Western Cradle. Their respective monarchies also acknowledged and even worked with sorcerers.
Gliasia's new king, the man who overthrew the previous Maxi dynasty by unknown methods, Edmund Evermoor, was a sorcerer himself!
Itolon's king, Leopold Sorin, the wisest man in the Western Cradle, had knowledge beyond belief on sorcery!
And even Houtis' king, Magnus Selwyn, was a sorcerer!
While the world was no stranger to sorcery, it lacked just sorcerers and sorceresses. Those who gained power used it for their good and disregarded people in need.
That was one thing Charles despised, and also why he found trouble believing in entities.
If there is one, or even multiple entities, why was this world so cruel? Were they not omnibenevolent? Were they at odds with each other and used humanity as pawns in their battles?
"Charles?" Amadea's gentle voice woke him.
"Oh, sorry." He touched the back of his neck. To a surprise, there was moisture at the tips of his fingers.
'Was I sweating thinking about sorcery?'
"Well, I should be going now." Amadea scratched her chin and tilted her head for a moment. "I just need to tell you something before I leave."
She inclined closer to him and reached a hand out to his cheek. "You've... lost someone, haven't you?"
Charles's heart skipped multiple beats.
Blurry vision. One mention of Isabelle caused his body to exasperate.
Tap!
A cane hit the floor.
Charles, like the previous time, felt all blood rushing in his body slow down. His breathing relaxed, and his vision returned to normal.
"I didn't mean to trigger a scene, sorry."
Amadea was genuinely apologetic. Once noticing her gaze, Charles saw a hand faintly rub his cheek, and he looked into the woman's eyes.
Smiling.
"Are you okay, my child?"
Uncontrollable tears began falling. Why did a simple question invoke such pain that fast?
"...No," a choked out reply. Amadea became more relaxed as she kissed him on the side of his face.
It was a light kiss filled with motherly love.
"The world hasn't been nice to you, has it?"
He nodded his head, and tears flowed from both sides.
"It's okay. It's okay to be sad." She ran her hand softly through his hair. "Just remember to be grateful. You have been blessed with a beautiful baby boy."
She heaved an exhale, "We sometimes hold losses so heavy in our hearts that we forget what was a result of them."
Charles didn't want to believe that in order for Emory to arrive safely, Isabelle must die. But the way Amadea's gentle tone made it seem, it was likely the case.
Why?
Amadea spoke calmly. "I know this is a strange conversation for the two of us to have, but I felt a mournful presence exude from you in the hospital."
She staggered at her words, uncommon for the calm Amadea.
"I–I also lost someone dear to me, and was haunted for quite a while after he died. I couldn't just let you walk alone, I wanted you to know some people are going through what you are. You're not alone, Charles; you will never be."
Charles started to cry, and Amadea hugged him. "It's okay, you can cry."
After a couple of minutes, his head pulled from her shoulder. "When did your husband die?" While he didn't want to trigger any memories, the curiosity was too difficult to contain.
"Oh, it's been quite some time, now that I think about it. Much longer than you've been alive, I suppose." She wasn't as sad as Charles thought.
Was this a result of time affecting your love? If so, Charles rejected it. He didn't want to age and forget Isabelle or the love he had for her.
Amadea glanced at her watch. "I have to head off." She looked at Charles. "This was a nice talk. Thank you."
After patting Emory on the head and walking away, the sound of her footsteps became less and less prominent.
"Excuse me!" Charles called out, to which Amadea stopped but didn't look back. "What was your name?"
Amadea paused. "Have I not told you it before? Silly me."
She turned around and revealed a set of gleaming blue eyes. Her aura was compactful, a new feeling to him. For some reason, Charles felt like she should wear a crown—or something. "Amadea," she said.
"Amadea Cordosia."