The Virtues' Magecraft

Page 39: Quiet Morning

Alexander's eyes burst open with shaky breaths. He instantly sat up in a bed, his face beaded in sweat. He quickly grabbed the sides of his head, letting out labored exhales in his manic confusion.

Memories of the night before flooded his brain in a millisecond. All of the mental anguish he endured with the nightmare he had been shown, everything he had done to Lilith, and the battle against the Titan of Life. All of it poured into him and left him empty.

He swallowed his sudden urge to vomit as he finally noticed his surroundings.

Alexander was sitting in a bed. And, painfully so, that bed was in someone else's home. The room itself wasn't special but the simple view of the interior and the wooden walls proved how large the house truly was.

The room was painted white, just like the tiles on the floor. Practically everything had been painted the same pale color, in fact. All except the brown wooden bed frame and the chair that was beside it.

And it was Anastasia Velda who occupied that wooden chair, her eyes shut as she slept in silence. He spat out a sigh. Of course, she's tired. From sunrise to midnight, they had been all over the realm, through battles and chaos.

She was getting much-needed rest. The only problem was that she slept in a chair and nothing else.

Still seated upright, Alexander turned around to the vast window behind him. Yellow-orange light poured through the window, gleaming past the forest right outside. The singular sight of evergreen proved one thing. He could be anywhere on the realm.

The sun was rising. Considering the time of night it was when he had found the other Virtues, Alexander guessed he had been unconscious for about eight hours. And as many questions as he had right now, he didn't want to wake up Anastasia.

If anything, her presence proved they were safe.

Still, he spat out a sigh. For the whole eight hours, he was unconscious. Not asleep. He was still incredibly tired. His pounding headache didn't help anything either. He had so many questions among his relentless confusion. And the lack of physical anguish was one of the reasons for that confusion.

He slapped himself all over his chest. Alexander finally realized he wore a white tunic instead of anything he had prior. And he wasn't bleeding. Other than the slight pain he felt as he hit his sides, Alexander was perfectly fine.

Maybe not perfectly, he considered, but it was a drastic improvement to what he felt right before he blacked out.

"No sudden movements, boy," a voice called. "Nobody would want your wounds reopening, correct?"

"...Huh?"

"Your wounds. If you put too much pressure on your body, you'll split yourself open."

Alexander stared at him in silence.

"Jeez, that was a joke," the 'deity' clarified. "Don't be so tense. Still, if you do specific things, your wounds will reopen. That won't be good."

"Who... Who are you?" Alexander asked in confusion.

"I'm..." he paused. "I'm essentially a descendent of a Vanir. A demi-god by some standards, a deity by others. As for my name... Well, you wouldn't be able to pronounce it so just call me Patrick."

"...Why Patrick?"

"He was a human saint, I think. Killed a bunch of snakes or something. I think that's pretty cool."

Still confused, Alexander continued to ask questions. "Why... Why did you help us?" he asked, placing his bare feet onto the floor and beginning to stand up. Well, beginning to try.