We Solemn Few

Chapter Twenty : Blood, Aid, and New Beginnings

Zenrin - she struggled to hold on to his name, both from the pounding in her head and the swirl of confusion within her mind - slammed open the door so carelessly that she would think him crazy if she had not just seen things beyond the realm of madness, or had she not been shoved into the building before she could get a word out. The door slammed behind them just as harshly, but the black-haired boy made no efforts to move from the door, instead seating himself against it as his harsh breaths filled the room. She was not surprised he took to sitting; her own legs quaked with pulses of pain and cramps from the long run and her whole body shook from the bone-chilling rain that soaked her entirely. It's better than that heat, at least, she thought with a shiver; that one had not been from the pain. She let her legs fold, joining Zenrin on the ground.

Unconsciously she let her hand come to a rest on his shoulder, nearly yanking it away as the sea of non-thoughts flurried in her head but she forced herself to bear it. And to keep a tight rein on it; she would not let them seep out into the air, not now. They did not need more chaos. She fought within herself to swim through the chaotic space, fought to swim at and grasp onto something tangible, something important. She was searching for something to say he would not die. The further she dug the more she began to lose hope, and soon the non-thoughts began to pull themselves towards her swimming mind, brushing past for just a moment. More than once did they force an image into her head; Zenrin, dead by his own hands, in a graveyard where no grave bore an age older than fifteen, a storm of everything that was consuming him within its center, a single red line piercing his chest, killing and saving him both as it seemed. None of it seemed good; most seemed awful. But something at the back of his mind glistened oddly, a color not quite there. Waiting. She swam towards it shoving away the others that sought to swarm her, fought and reached until-

"Oh, Gods, this just won't do," a voice like honey cut through the sea of thoughts like a knife and even the struggle seemed to cease, leaving her entirely alone with her thoughts; it was odd after living with the odd sea for so long, but she would welcome it as long as it lasted, "Zenrin, hun, I'm so sorry. I should not have let you wander out with those injuries so soon." Her breath seemed to hitch, but when Kaufi looked at her - the sight of another elf, and one who seemed mature to her core, was a welcome one - her face was all cool composure. "That being said, I will not dawdle on apologies. I worry Fal'a'sar has been right about all too much. You are not safe here, nor is anyone else around you." The elven woman glanced at her for a moment, a flash of sorrow and warmth both swirling together in those soft features before they passed leaving her face a cool statue, "I do not yet wish to send you on your own way but it is all I can do to keep you safe, young man, do you understand?"

Zenrin nodded at that, distant eyes cold in a face covered by flaking, dried blood. Water dripped from his sodden locks, the cloth he bore clinging tightly to his skin, but he did not shiver. Oddly, he did not seem to feel anything, but he also did not speak. The elven woman frowned at that, then turned to her, "I will make sure you get home safe too, dear. I can only imagine what you must've seen..." that flash of sad warmth crossed her eyes again as they flickered to Kaufi's fingertips; they were dashed an ash black, "...or experienced, but I assure you you will be safe. Zerin-" He flinched at his name, pulling his legs tight to his chest; he looked entirely hollow, "-did not mean any harm, nor could he have expected it. From what Fal'a'sar has told me, there is nothing he could have done to cause nor avoid this. But you will be safe, dear. I promise."

Kaufi nearly sputtered, but not for all of the woman's elegant phrasing. Rather, something about the woman was... odd, dare she say wrong, even. She could see the edge of a story - whether it was one she had read or one of those forsaken future-tales, she could not say - shimmering around the woman's slim frame, but it was the frame itself that seemed to nearly vibrate as if on the edge of disappearing. She had read once of magic - read many times, really; she was a librarian, after all - and shimmers or vibrations usually indicated an illusion. But what could she be hiding? How far should she trust this woman? Zenrin seemed to think her a haven of sorts, at least, but what of this Fal'a'sar? The name was surely archaic, older than even etheric names, but she could wonder why any person would bear the name Flame of... something. Her etheric was bad enough; archaic, lost languages were nearly impossible for her to grasp.