The Unknown Realm #4 (Waverly Stump and The 7 Realms)

XXVIII

A long-standing belief that the greatest mountains were once little rocks whose roots were buried deep inside the earth even down to its very core made Waverly believe the islet was no ordinary phenomenon. From under the water, she could see how its scraggly bottom twisted and curled, until it found a stamp in the river bed. It seemed far from it, judging by one's eyesight, but she could tell that the red soil was not where the rock ended.

Her face broke through the surface, and she gasped for air, splashing toward the islet in tired strokes. Her arms felt as pump filled with lead as a ship's plummet. Her eyes stung from withheld tears. She placed a hand on the flowery bed of the islet, and no sooner had she touched the soil did she begin to sob. A dam of emotions broke open from deep within and large teardrops rolled out of her like raging waters held back by walls of heavy concrete and metal.

She laid flat on her front and buried her face in the crook of her arms, her shoulders trembling with every sob that escaped her lips. The sound of Onympha crooning from behind came to her like the sound of reeds from afar. Bumping into Judson like that was the last thing she had expected to happen, but the unforeseen incident did ignite a spark of high hope inside her - he was plagued by guilt. It was the only reason he had come looking for her. His presence there only meant that he was guiltless regarding the event near the ravine.

Waverly felt hesitantly glad. A huge part of the boy she grew up with still lived. Oculmus's hold over him was not as immense as she had feared.

Still, she worried, but not for Judson.

For herself.

She had long nursed the attachment she shared with him, until the feeling had eventually grown into something. Something stronger. She knew what that thing was, but feared for her life to admit it. Being a little too motivated to do the unthinkable for those she deeply cared about had become a huge part of her persona. A kind of weakness, in fact. The minute Judson asked to be forgiven as she reckoned he would, her resolve would wane. Her resolve to go no further - to rest. She faintly recalled a time during their travels when he had made a vital statement regarding this. Back then, she only dismissed his words as a trifle deduction, but now she realized that he had displayed some form of foreknowledge. She was indeed tired of taking responsibility. Within her soul, she felt drained as a flower whose juices had been sucked out completely. She longed for peace and quiet.

She shut her eyes, her sniffles reducing by the second, until they ceased entirely. A serene quiet dominated the cavern. The sun above fell beneath the horizon and allowed the moon rise. The evening was dark and cold when Waverly's sticky eyelids drew apart. She could not remember falling asleep. A blazing moon ray filtered in through the skylight above and bathed the cavern with a silver glow. The tree, which stood a few walking steps away, caught the light in its branches and ignited the white flowers within. All around, the flowers gleamed like torches set ablaze with a kindling fire. The waters gleamed seductively. It made Waverly think that precious stones clutched onto the surface.

She weakly pushed herself up and turned to catch a glimpse of the Nedae, but Onympha was long gone. She wondered if Rhos searched for her at that moment, then put the thought out of her mind. With trudging steps, she walked toward the tree. It was bigger up close and much taller. Its sturdy trunk reminded her of a certain tree in Alpgeton. A crossbreed on the training grounds. She had climbed up and down it enough to never forget its unique smell. She leaned forward and pressed her face against the trunk. It smelled of forest air and sweetness, quite different from what she had anticipated. Crossbreeds in Alpgeton smelled the same as weathered wood and something she would greatly relish were it to be food.

The sound of ingressing footsteps reached her ears quickly. She gasped and lazily pressed herself to the tree trunk, hoping that the intruder was a friend. Instead, a low grunt and the slow, torturous chink as of a long blade being drawn from a sheath was all that echoed in the cavern.