The Mystics Of Valenthia

15. Mission Successful

I stared earnestly at Dad as he started his story. I knew my Dad's voice better than mine, yet his voice seemed only as a dull background narrative as I saw or rather heared the dream that had haunted me more vividly this time.

It was as I had suspected. I wasn't adopted from a reputable orphanage; of course not. My father, or rather, Mr. Michael Evans had found me, peaceful and content, in his burning office that night. He didn't have any offsprings and conveniently adopted me. I always grew up in the hope of finding my biological parents wherever they were. I don't think it is possible any longer.

I stared at the well known walls of my bedroom. I wasn't moving. I wasn't crying either. As soon as Dad had finished telling us what he was supposed to, I ran up without as much as a, "Hey, Dad. Thanks for this surprise."

Nova tried to follow me but I had pushed her roughly and slammed the door to my room shut.

I remembered the time when Mom and Dad had told me about the whole me-being-adopted thing a few years ago. I had chosen not to believe it. I refused to eat and drink and sat in a trance until they took their words back. They were scared and I could see it. For that brief period of time, I had the upper hand. They were ready to do anything for me. Whatever I asked but I was firm. Finally, they had to give in and I pretended that such an incident never took place in our lives. Though I would stand in front of a mirror, studying my reflection. I had noticed how unlike I was to them. I didn't have my Mom's soft brown hair nor my Dad's electric blue eyes. My nature, too was dissimilar compared to my parents. I noticed it in the little things.

I would creep around at night and listened to hushed conversations behind the doors regarding my adoption. And I knew. The harder I tried to hide in my perfect world, in my world of fantasy, the harder reality would find me and slap me. Initially, it was difficult but I did agree. I was adopted.

But this, this felt like a whole new level of torture. Why would my parents leave me in a burning room? Was I immune to fire even as a baby? Who were my parents, anyway? Where were they?

My train of thoughts was interrupted by the opening of the door.

"I am not in the mood for a stupid lecture, Nova!" I shouted.

"Hey....it is me."

He was the last person I wanted to talk to. I whirled around.

"What is it, Carter? Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Busy with what? Brooding over a silly fact you didn't know?"

"Silly? It is not silly, you dunderhead, dimwit, good for nothing numbskull!" I lashed out at him, shouting all kinds of obscenities at him, not caring if the people below heared it.

He smoothly deflected my strikes, taking my hands into his. I glared at him but my expression softened considerably when I saw the look on his face.

"I don't how you are feeling and I do not understand your thoughts. I concede to that."

"So what are you doing here?" I asked, looking away as I pull my hands from his grasp.

"I wanted to make sure that you are okay."

"You wanted to make sure that I was okay? Why would you even do that?" I snapped. He was the last person who would ever think of that.

"Because, let's face it, I am your guard and it is a duty of a guard to protect his protectee."

"From what? Teenage boys who are the protectee's friend?" I scoffed, referring to Andrew.

He seemed stumped for a while before answering, "He could have been a monster in disguise."