A Gorgeous White

People in robes of red.

Assassins?

Stuck inside a foreign country, Moulin was unknowledgeable about the people residing. If they were in Aurona, perhaps, he would have a hint of who and why? Unfortunately, he does not. With a crease appearing between his brows, he sighed hopelessly. Inside him there was suspicion. How come only one was spared from the sickness? the townspeople don't seem to be ill as well. The only lead they have would be Luwan, the only conscious sentinel.

The smell of medicine and something his stomach was yearning about entered his nose. Without turning his head, the creak of the door of the room sounded and Moulin had to shift his attention away from his unconscious friend. Only the dignified man with magnetic golden eyes was unfazed, unbothered, and impassive. Silver pupils turned to gaze at the man who entered the room.

The long pointy ears were the first to catch his attention. Followed by the long auburn hair that fell just above the man's clothed waist. He looked buff. His skin was pale but healthy. Eyes of dark amber and the expression as if one had lost a lover. A full-grown elven man carried a wooden tray of warm soup and a single wooden mug of water. The smell was amazing as if the scent itself could wake a person under a thousand-year slumber.

"... You must be his friend, Moulin" the man spoke without a hint of friendliness within his tone. Moulin watched him as the man walked across the small room and placed the tray on the tall stool by the bedside.

"You are?..." Moulin asked, concealing the wariness.

"Gaile, Sir Jagra had saved my life... I am greatly indebted to him." He fixed the pillow beneath Jagra's head with careful fingers, straightened the sheets on the bed, and slowly began to blow the hot soup on the spoon. His actions were too intimate and extremely delicate. Moulin had observed the man with a thought appearing in his mind. The atmosphere around Gaile was like a flowery spring drenched in the rain, becoming mournful yet hopeful. Exactly like that of a man fallen into the honeyed pits of affection. Moulin was too familiar with it to not realize it.

His brows furrowed in concern as he lowered his gaze. Had Jagra realized it yet?

Moulin shakes his head. None of it was his business. If his friend wants to engage in courtship, of course, he would support him.

He silently watched the man carefully feed his sleeping friend and could not help but feel uncomfortable. Why did it look like he was intruding on something private? Excusing himself, Moulin stood and politely declined Gaile's offer of joining them for lunch. Moulin gave a sad smile at his friend one last time before he turned around and left ghe house with Hadrian. As soon as they stepped outside, Moulin's calm expression instantly fell gravely. He must help and investigate. For Jagra and the rest of his fallen comrades. Indeed death was unavoidable during this mission. He needed to be careful as well.

As they walked, Hadrian watched the unease and the grieve in the young man's beauteous countenance. To see such expression, He thought Moulin had experienced something so grave and traumatic to not be able to settle as his close ones were in grave danger. Moulin was afraid, the lord had noticed. The slight tremble of those pale slender fingers. The unfocused gaze filled with dread. He still looked exquisite and tempting with the sorrow and misery shrouding him. However, Moulin was in pain and this pain would also strike Hadrian to the chest. Leave it far too long, Moulin would rot from the pain and Hadrian would never let that happen.

Moulin stopped his steps. He found himself a couple of meters away from Phuna's house. The little orc girl, who had come crying to him to save her dear father.

It was ominously quiet. Suddenly Moulin was filled with dread as he quickly barged inside the house. The smell of blood was so strong as it entered his nose.

He instantly assessed the inside of the house. Noticing the broken furniture, splinters, and dust layering the floor. The dust in the air growing visible as it passes through a faint beam of light from the large hole on the roof. Blood had splattered the ground and the walls. The only thing left unbroken and untouched was the empty bed where Phuna's father had slept. Wood broke underneath his boots as Moulin entered the house with slow slightly staggering steps.

"Phuna?" He spoke, hoarsely.

Snap!

Moulin swiftly turned his head. The silence once again engulfed the house. The menacing stillness of the air made Moulin's hair stand as he continued to search. He was not mistaken. He had heard the sound. However, the roomless house was small, and no matter how much he searched he did not find anything. Unless there was a secret compartment inside the house...

Moulin then shifted his gaze to the secret compartment where he knew the family of two had kept their grains.

When he glanced behind him, he saw Hadrian carefully watching him from behind the paneless window at the of the house front. The man was studying him. Watching carefully.

Moulin turned and walked towards the compartment. He saw the dark-stained floorboards, smears of blood trailed as if something was being dragged. The trails stopped, cut off by the edge of a floorboard. Moulin then knew something or someone was hiding in the compartment.

He took a small stick that Moulin had guessed had fallen from the rooftop. He slipped it on the space between the floorboards and cranked it open like a lid. Frosty mist floated around his hand as he prepares himself with caution as he abruptly opened the floorboard.

What greeted him was the sight of a small raven headed girl who had sobbed herself to sleep. Hearing the loud noise, Phuna instantly flinched, her eyes stricken with fear. She held her arms between her body and her knees, shivering in fear. When she looked up, what she saw made her eyes water. As the darkness receded around her she saw the person who had given her hope. Silver braided hair fell in her view. Her eyes reflecting the deity who had come to save her. Dazzling silver eyes which were brighter than her father's. It was like the glowing moon of the night. Cold and bright. Clad with the silky clouds.

"Phuna?" Moulin sighed in relief the tension on his shoulders relaxed. With a thud, the stick fell on the floor and Moulin kneeled to take the girl hiding beneath the floor. As Moulin hoisted her, he felt the tremble of her limbs and the crimson liquid dripping from her right leg. It stained his uniform with its iron scent but Moulin did not pay attention to it. He cradled the girl in his arms as he rose from the floor.

He burst out of the door and called for a healer. Phuna's fingers were trembling as she clutched on Moulin's sleeve. Reluctantly, Moulin gave Phuna to the healers for a thorough treatment. He stood by the side and carefully observed the little girl's treatment. Watching the color return to her pale cheeks.

Moulin felt a hand grasp his shoulder. While watching Phuna's treatment, he released a breath as he held the large hand on his shoulder.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Moulin spoke, "Her father... is gone..."

"Taken..." Hadrian deduced. He gave Moulin's shoulder a faint squeeze.

"Silver eyes..." Moulin forced out the words. "It seems that the ones who have attacked Yan'Gofrae and the ones who raided the princess' chambers are of the same people. People in robes of red."

"It seems so..." Hadrian narrowed his eyes as he stared down at the head of white hair belonging to none other than his lover. During this circumstance, if one of those people would catch sight of Moulin... what happens next would be expected and Hadrian will never allow it to happen. His expression darkened heavily. Anyone who would dare to do so will die by his hand.

It seems he might be revealing himself sooner than he thought...

The golden-eyed man bent his head. His mouth dipping right beside Moulin's ear. His breath, warm. His words filled with heavy magnetism.

"You shall never leave my side..."

Moulin slightly lowered his lids. His gaze lowered as he felt the deepness of the man's words. It dropped into his chest, sending ripples. He raised his hand and lightly caressed his lids. His silver eyes gleamed and glistened like the sparkling silk of a goddess' veil. His identity and appearance were exposed. He will need to be more careful.

Boom!

A loud explosion noised not too far from where Moulin and Hadrian stood. The loud explosion instantly startled the surrounding people. A couple of houses away, a wooden house exploded. Splinters and ice shards flew, sharply cutting through the wind and nicked the people nearby. Debris flew and landed roughly on the ground. A frosty mist instantly surrounded the area stretching a few meters outwards. People started running away. Mothers hurriedly carried their children and men staggered as they fled away. All sentinels turned to the root of the sound almost immediately.

Moulin subconsciously became cautious as he and Hadrian looked back to witness the cold smoke spreading towards them. The ambiance of mana that brushed past Moulin was too familiar.

He knew who it belonged to.

Before heading towards the explosion, he made sure Phuna was alright in the arms of the healer. His steps were light and quick as he avoided the people running past him. Along with some sentinels who came to check, the youth with white hair gradually slowed his steps. He and the others halted in front of the dense mist.

They felt movements within.

The snapping and cracking sounds entered their ears and they waited.

Growl...

Mouin froze. His eyes blinked twice. His ears weren't playing tricks on him. Moulin had heard Snow. He squinted his eyes while he took a step forward.

Emerging from the smoke was a large Mystic beast. Its pure silver-white fur glistened under the faint light of the clouded sky. Paws trudged through the pile of broken wood and furniture stained by smears of dry blood. The wood crumbled beneath the weight of its paws. A long vicious growl was heard, gradually growing louder to the cautious sentinels as it got nearer. A pair of glowing silver eyes were seen within the smoke. Six massive tails swaying elegantly behind the animal.

The people gasped in fear as the beast emerged. Sentinels took a step back as they felt the creature's destructive and momentous aura. Even Moulin was shocked.

He knew it was Snow but that wasn't the cause of his alarm.

It was the limp body trapped between his jaws. Red fabric dragging on the ground. It was soaked with blood, staining the Oppallian beast's lustrous fur. An arm dangled in the air, fingers dripped with crimson. It's sharp fangs pierced the man's flesh, blood leaking between those sharp teeth. Large jaws clamped tightly on the back and the man's stomach mercilessly.

Moulin stood rooted on the ground while others slowly retreated as the creature drew nearer.

Snow halted before his master and loosened his jaws.

Thud!

The body fell. The head facing the open sky. Facing Moulin.

Moulin's heart thundered. With hot boiling anger, with fear, with the thirst for revenge. His eyes stared at the robes of the man and the heaving chest. The man was alive.

"Red robes..." Moulin hissed.

Suddenly, the unconscious man's eyes opened abruptly. Eyes constricting with madness but he uttered no sound. Red vessels decorated the white of his eyes as he found Moulin within his view. His grin was frightening and sinister. Blood seeping between the spaces of his teeth.

His eyes found Moulin's eyes. Those dazzling pair of silver. Blessed by the gods. He half cackled, half gurgled.

"Sanctify... be Vigal..."