Chapter 5: Linked Fate

“…Chrove!”

Lyandra reached for her head groggily as she came into consciousness. The dream faded away fast from her mind. She tried to grasp the details but she was unable to hang on to any. The only impression she had about it was that it was quite a peculiar and extraordinary dream; beautiful and significant.

Abruptly, the reason for her unconsciousness burst into her mind. Her eyes flung wide open in alarm and panic. How long had she passed out? She sat up instantly, her head pounding heavily. She glanced around nervously. She was still at the forest. The sun had set and it was dark, the shadows of the trees reaching for her.

“Are you alright?”

There were no lights around and it was a new moon. She could not see the speaker but her ears told her he was beside her. She turned to the supposed direction of the owner of the voice. She wondered if it was her own eyes playing a trick on her when she saw flames flickering in his eyes.

“Evenal?” She called out with uncertainty.

“Yes, it’s me,” was the reply.

The memory of her aunt’s phone call returned to haunt her. She quickly stood up, her anxiety rising. “I…I have to get to Aunt Sheryl… What have I done?!” she moaned. How could she have been so irresponsible? She could never forgive herself if anything happened to her aunt.

“What’s the matter, Chrove? Are you injured?” questioned Flame.

He then felt an iron grip on his arm. “I need to get out of here!”

“I’ll take you home,” he said clearly which produced a calming effect on her. The grip loosened when he said that.

He cleared his throat and instructed her, “Visualise your home.”

“What…?”

“Just do as I say,” he pressed, a little annoyed.

All Lyandra wanted to do right then was to rush to her aunt’s side. Who was this person to stop her? She shut her eyes and tried to picture her aunt’s apartment. But her unease and restlessness were distracting her thoughts. She did not even know why she was doing this absurd thing. It wasn’t going to bring her any closer to her aunt anyway.

“Focus!” commanded Flame, breaking through her jungle of thoughts.

Hearing his firm voice, all of a sudden, her head, as though driven by it, extracted out the image of the interior of Aunt Sheryl’s apartment. Sensing that she had done as told, Flame allowed his Summoning Energy to flow out of him. He held her hands gently and let the energy spill onto her. A warm golden-red fire engulfed the two. Surprised at the sudden warmth, Lyandra opened her eyes, only to find out that they were standing before the door of the number 306.

She rapidly banged on the door, demanding for her aunt to open the door. When there was no response, she began to panic even more. She tried the door but it was locked. Flame quickly prevented her from throwing herself at the door. He pulled her to a side and with heavy shoves using his shoulder and right arm, the door soon gave way.

Lyandra hurried in, searching for Aunt Sheryl in every room. She let out a sharp shriek when she found her—in a pool of blood. Flame entered the small kitchen just in time to see the girl slumped to the ground, horrified at the scene.

She crawled weakly to her aunt’s body which was sprawled on the floor, her torso red with blood. There was blood at the sides of her mouth as well. She had the terrible expression of one who was in immense shock on her face; her eyes wide open.

“Aunt Sheryl…” she mourned. “Why… Who… Oh God… Why?!” Tears overflowed. A drop or two fell onto the skin of her aunt. The bitterness and despair were overpowering. At the sight of her dead aunt, she felt helpless. She was now made a complete orphan. Her only family was snatched away from her.

She heaved the cold body onto her lap and hugged her. She had remained in that position for a period of time while Flame bowed his head in silence. Slowly, she placed her shaky fingers over those lifeless blue-grey eyes, which had always looked back at her affectionately, and closed them eternally. She pushed herself up and leaned against the wall, crying uncontrollably.

“Chrove… Lyandra… I’m so sorry.”

Flame could feel her pain of lost so precisely that it hurt him too. Meeting those lavender eyes, he knew what she was going through. His parents were murdered before his eyes. He was grateful that she, at the least, was graced from witnessing the death of her aunt. Lyandra trudged towards him. She hated sympathy and there it was in his eyes. But they were compassionate at the same time.

The tall young man did what he had done so many times when he was in Dehemel; the act of condolence which had been performed all too often. How many comrades had he lost? How many souls had he consoled? He stretched out his arms and embraced her, allowing the prideful girl to weep without shame.

~*~

“She is asleep?”

“Yes, Master Flame,” answered a shy female voice.

“Thank you for your assistance, Syrialle.” Flame sat back wearily on the couch in the living room of his condominium apartment.

“It is my duty to obey my master’s order… but Master Flame… are you hurt?”

He looked up at the fifteen-year-old girl who was his personal attendant. She had risked coming to this foreign world from Dehemel in order to serve him, just as she did when he was at home, in the household of Evenal.

Syrialle blushed furiously when he was looking at her and words gushed out of her unorganised. “I… umm… saw… sleeve…burn… bruises—”

Flame stood up apologetically. “I must look quite a mess. Sorry I have you so worked up. I’ll clean myself up immediately.” Instantly, he left for his room.

The pair of soft green eyes fell to the carpeted floor. She understood her place as a maid and did not nose into her master’s matters. Those injuries, even if they were not heavy ones, indicated that he was recently in a battle, which meant the enemies were here.

She hated their enemies—the Organisation of Chaos. Ever since her master was capable of fighting, he had been a crusader against them, like every other member of the Apostles Order. They could never rest, as long as their counterpart remained active.

Then, strangely, her master returned with a female companion who seemed unwell. He informed her that she would most likely be a permanent guest in his current residence. What was she supposed to make out of this? She had meekly asked him who she was and all he said was, “She’s my classmate.”

The maid shook her head slowly and smoothed her apron out of habit. She refused to let her thoughts ponder any further and decided to brew some nourishing broth for her dearest master—and his new friend, she added.

Flame took off his sweater, revealing another layer of white Polo shirt beneath it. He now noticed he was indeed covered in dust, soil and dirt. There was a hint of burnt smell in the air as well. He sighed when he recalled his meeting with Xanbak, his traitor of an uncle.

He felt for his forehead, tracing a non-existent symbol. He had been told since young that he suffered from an illness which ran in his family. Almost like a curse in his opinion. If he releases too much of his Summoning Energy, he might lose his conscious self and act upon emotions. Worst case scenario, as his brother Areruto had mentioned once although he meant it as a joke, was that he could kill without knowing.

A frown etched onto his face. He definitely remembered losing control and then passing out. That was what the Dragon of Fire—the illness does. He would gain superior power for a moment beyond his control and then faint out the next due to the over exertion on his body.

If so, who sealed the Dragon of Fire for him a couple of hours ago? His brother was not here and he was known to be the only person who could perform the seal of the Dragon of Fire. The seal was a legacy passed down from one generation to another in the House of Evenal, taught to the eldest son, the would-be leader of the family. It was the solution their ancestors came up with in order to deal with the inherited illness which they named the Dragon of Fire.

Could it be her…?

He shook his head at the thought. It did not make any sense at all. She was a girl from the Third World and not from his. She could not possibly even comprehend the battle between him and Xanbak, assuming that she did watch them battle. He was, of course, bewildered to find her beside him when he regained his consciousness.

He knew in time, she would demand for explanations.

But for now, he could only hope she would overcome her shock. Flame could not help it but felt that there was something strange about the death of her aunt. He shed off his shirt, leaving his body bare, ready for his shower.

If only he could place his hands on it.