Isabelle's funeral will be in two weeks. . .
Isabelle's funeral will be in two weeks. . .
Isabelle's funeral will be in two weeks.
Loop after loop, the message rang uncontrollably in Charles's fragile head. In fifteen minutes, he had only managed to reach the front desk of the hospital on the first floor.
My head. . . it hurts, he sighed and rubbed his temples. As a man who had entered the hospital excited to be a father, he never expected, even in his wildest dreams, to become a widower. Why him? What had 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, 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 didn't answer. Too painful. His lips felt locked. What was the point of small talk? What was the point of anything, now?
"Are you hard of hearing, young man?" an older, womanly voice spoke into his ear. Casting his gaze her way, Charles saw she wore a light blue cardigan with small glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Wrinkles covered her face.
Most of all, the feeling she gave off was like a night spent by the seashore: rising and falling tides, sands soaking in water, rocks appearing spontaneously, and a night sky blanketing the masses.
"Oh my." The lady spotted Emory and leaned over. "What a darling child you have; he's beyond adorable! Do you mind if I touch him?"
Charles meekly nodded.
She reached over and softly rubbed Emory's cheek; the infant gave no attention. After the elderly woman stopped petting Emory, she focused back on Charles. "Y–Yes?" he finally choked out, her gaze 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're 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, suddenly slowed down. Temporary zenith. "You're right. . . I'm Charles Vaughan. This is my son, Emory." He gestured to the quiet newborn in the cheap stroller he'd 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 few meters away from the entrance, bustling with citizens, and waited as Amadea 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 means?"
Charles had been spaced out, so he hadn't heard what Amadea said. "I'm sorry?"
Amadea chuckled. "I was saying that we can leave the hospital through other means; this packed entrance won't let us leave normally."
"Other means?" he echoed.
"Yes. Just watch." Amadea's voice held a hint of pride, but was overshadowed by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. She knocked on the ground with her cane three times and traced the 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 were 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. The floor perfectly mimicked boiling water. It was strange how none of the passersby or civilians congesting the front gates noticed this phenomenon. 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.
"I command thee to liquefy 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 Viel."
Poof!
. . . .
The blinding sunlight caused Charles to rub his eyes a couple of times and adjust to the new surroundings.
Where was he?
Silver Street, located just next to Trila Municipal Hospital.
Next to him was Emory, who gazed at the view. Amadea held her cane and walked closer. "How was the ride?" she jokingly asked.
Charles couldn't 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 paused 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. The woman in front of him was a powerhouse, one he couldn'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 this world had people with abilities far greater than he could ever imagine.
It made sense how even the most protected woman in the land, Queen Bianca, was assassinated. Whoever killed her had the ability to pass through incredibly layered Houtis defenses! Such sorcery!
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 Empire 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 about 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 own benefit and disregarded people in need.
That was one thing Charles despised, and also why he found trouble believing in entities.
If there was one, or even multiple entities, why was this world so cruel? Were they not omnibenevolent? Were they at odds with each other, using humanity as pawns in their battles? It never made sense.
"Charles?" Amadea's gentle voice woke him.
"Oh, sorry." He touched the back of his neck. To his 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 leaned in closer to him and reached a hand out to his cheek. "You've lost someone, haven't you?"
Charles's heart skipped multiple beats. His vision blurred. One mention of Isabelle caused his body to seize.
Tap! A cane hit the floor.
Charles, like the previous time, felt the rush of blood in his body slow. His breathing relaxed, and his sight returned to normal.
"I didn't mean to trigger a scene, sorry." Amadea was genuinely apologetic. He looked into the woman's eyes as her hand faintly rubbed his cheek.
Smiling.
"Are you okay, my child?"
Uncontrollable tears began falling. Why did a simple question invoke such pain so fast?
". . . No." A choked reply.
Amadea became more relaxed as she kissed him on the side of his face. A light kiss filled to the brim with motherly love. "The world hasn't been nice to you, has it?"
He nodded his head, and tears flowed from both eyes.
"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 have died. But the way Amadea's gentle tone made it seem, that 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 stumbled over her words, uncommon for the calm Amadea. "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."
He started crying harder. She embraced him. "It's okay, you can cry."
After a few minutes, he pulled his head from her shoulder. "When did your husband die? How did you deal with it?"
"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 had expected.
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. 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 felt powerful, a new feeling to him. For some reason, Charles felt like she should wear a crown—or something. "Amadea," she said
"Amadea Bersebus."