𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄, apply fic

𝙞𝙞𝙞. the morning after

TW // fire

( ARIA'S POV )

     "REARRANGE THE LETTERS."

The group had all eyes on me now. I glided my pen from a letter to another, decoding the jumbled words together. The scenery was highly evocative— as if my body remained in the present, but my soul lingered into the distant past.

     A strange feeling it was, to teach them the ways of unraveling mysteries and codes. Now that I think of it, why had my father taught me decipher work at the ripe age of seven?

     He told me that swimming classes or piano lessons didn't matter, when we both shared a special hobby together. I vividly remember spending the next few months after his disappearance nagging and convincing my mom to sign me up into the aforementioned classes.

     An act of rebellion, if you will.

     After not many attempts, we've managed to decode the message. Considering the dashes in-between, it spelled GOLDEN-OXYGEN-BLADE-BUTTERFLY-HOME.

     So far, I couldn't manage to find any similarities between the words. They must be understood individually.

     "Is that a place? Look it up!" Giovani asked, continuously tapping on Miren's shoulder.

     Miren's eyes grew larger, flicking his finger away. "Are you kidding? Our phones are a deadbeat in this vexingly beautiful forest!"

     "Maybe it's a nursing home?" Nayari asked.

     Mateo gives her an unimpressed look, then scoffs. "Yeah, for psychopaths."

     "Or sickly, retired detectives."

     Peter's response made me think, strangely enough.

     Maybe they're objects, I thought. If that's the case, then golden must be pertaining to the plaque. Haven looked over at me, like she'd just figured it out. Pushing through our compact crowd, she took a pen of her own, crossing out the word.

     What could oxygen mean? Everyone else gave us a look. It was up to us. I felt my skin tickle, a warm uneasy feeling hugging my cheeks. This has to be something big.

     Mysteries don't come and go, they follow you.

     "Any ideas?" I asked them. The gears in our heads turned and twisted, visibly written in all our expressions. I felt like a robot. The sort still in beta— unable to process commands properly.

     I drew an arrow pointing downwards, listing things or places linked to oxygen. That was easier said than done. I isolated the choices that were too common. Answers are always beyond what meets the eye, take science for example.

     Could you prove photosynthesis after one look at a green leaf? Unless you had a magnifying eye and an overly complex brain: sure.

     "Whatever that is, it's probably not what you think," Giovani commented, his sarcasm trying to throw us off-course.

     Oxygen... or the lack thereof.

     Now I'm truly convinced he's a prophet.

     I crossed off our previous guesses, and wrote places in nature where the air was limited. Bodies of water? The river. Concealed places? A cave.

I drew stars beside my enlightened guesses. Turning around, I noticed the group dispersing— the exhaustion taking over their systems. Haven stayed, though.