Bygone

13

Destiny

The air was stung with an aroma of smoke. Ashy, silencing even, but it'd been enough to wake him from his partially refreshing slumber.

His eyes itched as he felt his body aching from the hardened soil and grass the tent was pitched on. It was dark again, just like it was the night before. No moon for its light to glaze against the polyester. He could feel the sensation of every little droplet that came with the light drizzle. Bouncing, accumulating on the roof before streaming down into the earth.

It was so quiet, eerily silent.

Marcus couldn't tell whether he was grateful for the peace or not. They were too close to an actual, living and breathing Odium city for them not to have been risking their covert presence within the Between.

But his head couldn't be reminded by anything else at the moment. Everything was blurry. Marcus lifted himself from his uncomfortable position on the tent's flooring. Looking to either side, he could genuinely hear nothing. No rumbling in the two tents on his left, no crackling of the perhaps dying fire he presumed they would make before they slept; nothing. Just nothing.

Were the both of them really that fast asleep?

Marcus pushed himself to his tent's zipper, dragging it down and parting the flaps that kept him inside. Shoving his head outward, followed by the rest of his body, the miniscule droplets of water that were merely mist made a mark on him.

His mind was at an incredible ease, the hilt of his own sword firm in the staunch grip of his left hand. Though refreshing, the cooling drizzle meant nothing but distraction to anything that lurked outside.

Rising to his two feet, the armor on his legs felt like nothing more than jeans atop his skin. Even without his chestplate, there was a sense of security that enclosed him. But he still couldn't feel the fire he was promised burning within him.

One day, he hoped. One day when he would truly need it most.

It was definitely in the zenith of the night's reign. Everything around was near pitch black; the ends of the forest ring as it circled round, the endless fields of tall grass that made its inner sphere.

Marcus looked to his leftward rear, noticing both their tents zipped and shut, and beyond it was the shielded city itself.

Enveloped in.. darkness?

The walls weren't exuding the same energy and brightness it once did when daytime was coming to an end. Ironic. Even within there was no speck or remnant of light that was alive. Everything in the shielded city was veiled in an over consuming black. He could not find the sense to explain it but didn't feel the need to be bothered by it.

Something rustled behind him, toward the incessant horizon. Marcus pivoted toward the tall grass, keeping a guarded stance as he took a few steps forward. The hand with his hilt leading on with the other kept bent and close to his side. The rustles intensified, shaking the surrounding flora as he confronted it.

Stopping at the edges that defined what was the soil of their camp and the beginning of the endless fields, he lowered his hilt and faced it at a downward angle toward the soil. He sharpened his grip on his hilt, allowing for his senses to rise to an unmatched precision. Then came the soft caress of the cold wind's breeze, guided by the persistence of the light drizzle.

Keeping his solidified grip, he grasped down onto his hilt and allowed both his mind and the steel of the blade to materialise as one. A solemn reminder of his own fortitude. Each particle of metal spiralling down and round in a helix, forging the sleek and elegant blade that was never meant to be his. Fire traced against his sword's steel, searing into the air its orange, almost red elemental radiance. The rain droplets that found its mark on the warmth of the steel blade bursted into trails of smoke that whistled into the air.