The Seeker | Volume 2

"You're one of them? I thought you'd be hostile and murder me on the spot." I said as I stood up, still gripping the knife in my hand.

Cheyenne grew quiet and sighed to himself as he picked his spear back up. "Well, I'm still uncertain if I can trust you."

I looked back at the flowers before asking a question. "If they're dangerous to the touch, why was I asked to retrieve them?" 

Cheyenne suddenly knelt and reached his hand out, picking a few of the flowers from their roots. "The People of The Wind have cultivated these flowers for hundreds of years." He explained. 

"Khorvithian petals are infused with the symbolism of the Apocalypse Routeway, which makes them deadly to those who are reckless with them. Luckily, since my entire tribe is on the Apocalypse Routeway, we're able to handle them with ease."

He pulled out a sack made of a fur hide and put the flowers inside it. "They are still edible, the people back at the village use them in medicines and recipes; it's been our tradition for thousands of years." Cheyenne explained as he began to walk.

He suddenly turned back to me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he silently beckoned me. "Come, it's dangerous in these woods late at night."

…

"A dragon from a Tyrant characteristic?" Sir. Alaric mumbled to himself in amazement as he read Mr. Dwane's letter. It was late at night in the Indun Empire, and Father Night Santon had recently installed a curfew system within the empire to prevent anyone from leaving the kingdom.

In the Indun Empire, Father Night Santon was a ruthless leader. Though he cared about his citizens and his nobles, he still had to govern them with a ruthless doctrine to ensure no one doesn't comply or attempts to escape. The last and only time Santon allowed people to move out was during the overpopulation problem 6 years ago, when he shipped out a quarter of his people to a random empire.

Alaric stood confused and amazed by Dwane's statement. How could a Tyrant Seeker characteristic harbor life to the extent of a mythical creature such as a dragon? Alaric had seen dragons before. When he was younger he and his father would often climb the Pliniege Mountains late into the night and stargaze. Sometimes if the sky was clear enough, they would often see a dragon or two flying in the distance. Upon recalling such memories, Alaric sighed softly in reminiscence. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. He turned to the door and approached it. When he opened the door he saw a young woman clad in a dirty white dress and a ribbon in her hair. It was his maidservant, Eleanor. 

"Any reason why you come to me at this hour?" Alaric asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Eleanor took a deep breath, looking down the hallway before turning back to her master. "Father Night Santon wishes to see you." She said softly.

Alaric felt his heart drop slightly. As someone who lived within Santon's castle for only a few weeks following his ascension to nobility, he'd only seen Santon in a few brief glimpses, something that made the man appear cold and indifferent. He had only seen Santon either shouting at his colleagues or giving orders loudly.

He nodded in affirmation, but when he looked down he realized he was still clad in his pajamas. "Let me change first." He said as he closed the door.

After he changed into more noble attire, he left his quarters and descended down the long staircase leading to the throne room. When he entered he saw the dimly illuminated expanse, one he only entered during his inauguration ceremony.

Alaric bowed in front of Night Father Santon, who sat on his throne, clad in black armor that reminded him of the night. Santon had short black hair and stubble, and his eyes were a matching color. 

"Father, must I know the reason why thou hast summoned thee?" Alaric addressed him.

Santon leaned forward on his throne, an almost determined look in his eyes. "Sir. Alaric, I've heard rumors you've established a connection with someone outside of this kingdom?" Santon asked.

Alaric looked up, his lips curling up into a half-baked smile of admiration. "That is indeed true, but why must you know such a thing?"

Santon suddenly picked up his large spear made of iron, and brought it down onto the stone floors below, sending a deafening echo throughout the chamber. "It's forbidden, you hear?"

"Either you snuck your letters into the export ships or you personally delivered them. We aren't allowed to do such a thing because I willed it. Do you understand?" Santon asked, his voice lowering. 

Alaric nodded. He could see the protective glare inside of Santons eyes, a small flicker of pain from this reminder. 

"Yes, Father Santon." Alaric choked up. 

Santon nodded, before extending his left hand and dismissing the gentlemen.

…

When me and Cheyenne arrived back at his village, everyone turned their heads in curiosity. When they caught sight of me, their expressions quickly changed, contorting into ones of disdain and malice.

Cheyenne took a protective step forward, extending his spear at the group. "He's one of our accomplices, I strongly recommend treating him with respect." His tone was firm like a parent scolding a child.

The small group of people nodded, but even in the darkness I could see the uneasiness in their expressions.

"I'll bring you back to my hut." Cheyenne said as he led me through the village. Most of the village was in the middle of the forest, blending in among the red colored leaves. The houses were built mostly of clay which came from the towering mountains, dyed a faint red from the leaves of the surrounding trees.

When he led me into his hut, which was a small circular building about the size of a tent, he started a small fire in the center of the room, before grabbing a pot made of wood and clay and placing it over the fire.

"Your neck, its wounded." Cheyenne said in worry as he noticed the scar across my neck. 

I nodded. "It is, but I got it repaired with stitches."

Cheyenne nodded upon hearing that confirmation. He took the sack off of his back and opened it, taking out a handful of the Khorvithian petals and placing them inside of the pot with some water in a pot in the corner of the room.

"This will help your wounds, and saitaite your hunger. I've had Khorvithian petals before, they taste like Elkritcht meat."

"Elkritcht meat?" I asked.

Cheyenne looked towards the corner of his hut. In the corner I saw a pair of antlers, which gave me a silent answer. 

"Elkritcht's are special animals that dwell here. They often feed on Khorvithain petals, which is a bit of a pain since we'd have to make sure we have enough for medicine and herbal needs. Legends say they originated from the Gods, a gift to us from above." Cheyenne explained.

He took the small glowing flowers and a small wooden cylinder made of tree bark and began grinding up the petals into the now boiling water. He then reached into his sack and pulled out another substance, a small black powder.

"These is the ashes we gather from the fires we burn. It's almost like the essence of an angel has been attached to these lands, because these ashes contain special properties and abilities." 

Cheyenne unscrewed the cork and grabbed a pinch of the ashes, sprinkiling them into the mixture. 

After about 5 minutes the medicine was ready. He cupped his hands inside of the boiling water, his face remaining placid.

"Why doesn't it burn your skin?" I asked, curious while also dumbounfed by Cheyenne's recklessness. 

Cheyenne chuckled sofrtly as he poured the liquid into another small bowl. "Because at Order 7 you gain a tolerance to heat, almost complete resistance."

He then handed me the mixture made from Khorvithian petals and ashes. I took the bowl with uncertanry in my expression. I held the bowl with my fingertips to avoid my fingers from getting blisters from the heat.

"Drink, you look hungry." Cheyenne said. A small, almost caring expression on his face. When I sipped the liquid I realized it tasted similar to beef, almost like I was drinking a beef broth. After I sipped the liquid from the bowl I felt a strange sensation in my neck.

When I looked down I noticed the stitches and wound healing slowly, the stiches seeping into my body and the skin layering over them. I watched with amazement as my stitches began to heal on their own.

A began to feel a pounding sensation in my head as the tips of my horns began to glow a faint red color. The sigil on my forehead began to glow a bright red color and my eyes turned the same illusory hue.

Cheyenne watched with shock as I suddenly began to levitate into the air after drinking the herbal mixture. Then, my vision went dark.

When I reopened my eyes I found myself elsewhere. I was still in The Western Lands. When I gazed down at my body I saw I was semi-transparent, almost like my wraith form except my body didn't characteristiclly change. 

Before me stood a massive mountain, the same mountain I had seen earlier. The large cloud above the mountain continued to channel crimson lightning, shooting it down upon the desolate and rocky landscape. 

Suddenly, a figure walked from atop the mountains peak. They stood about 6 feet tall and had long brown hair. On their head stood a pair of large black horns, a black halo floated above their head. A large pair of black wings fluttered behind their back.

Upon closer inspection of the figure from below, I could clearly decipher their identity. It was…me?