(IM)MORTAL

07

⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

༶•┈┈୨ FOR DAYS, IVO was home—where he ought to stay, and not because he was a very wanted man. He was home but not at her side—he spent his days and nights on his computer, looking for him.

Maria supposed it was better than all the villainy he was suddenly obsessed with. Ivo never apolgised, but she considered this as one—the least he could do to make up for her sorrow was to find the only person that truly mattered to her.

For days, he was lost inside the digital world; the clack of the computer keyboard was constant. 

Until it stopped.

"I found him . . ." Soft. Almost unheard. Uncertain; almost a question.

"I found him." Loud. Definitely heard. A confirmation.

"Maria—!"

But she was already at his side, eyes glued to the computer screen, to the blinking green dot on a digital map.

"Get him."

Ivo was out of his chair and into his coat before he took his next breath. As was Maria—no way was she passing this up. She grabbed her coat and shoved on her boots and she was out the door all in a single breath, a single blink.

She did not pay attention as to where they were going, what country, what mountain—it was all a blur, in her mind.

She was set on one single thing. Nothing else mattered.

There was endless snow and the sun was long gone, despite the hour. That was all she registered, all that mattered.

She squinted through the snow—a thin, wispy flurry—and marched forward. Ivo's calls were ignored. Maria kept going; she did not need a map, a tracker—she felt him.

So she followed the invisible pull, steps growing ever quicker.

And there he was. Lying in the snow, unmoving. Asleep or dead? Dread, either way.

Maria knelt in the snow, her knees instantly soaked and cold. But she felt nothing. She dug in the snow to better grab him, and when she did—goodness gracious, did she hold him.

And the heartbeat in her ears was not her own but his. Alive.

"Shadow." A prayer, a song. Then she whispered his real name, the name she gave him.

Ivo knew not to ruin the moment, to taint the reunion, so he did not speak. He held her shoulder, gave it a squeeze. Let's go, he said without saying.

And away they went, back home, back to the laboratory. Maria held Shadow the entire time, bundled him in her coat; listened to his heartbeat. She bathed him, dried him, swaddled him—and he lay unmoving through all of it.

Ivo suggested a healing pod. Maria almost punched him in the face.

Her words were icy. "Put him back in a coffin?"

"You want him to live, don't you?" was his retort.

She said nothing, relenting. Allowing. With a nod, the process began, but Maria hated it.

As Maria resurrected, so did Shadow. Little by little, life returned to him.

         She hated seeing him in the

(glass coffin)

         healing pod, but she had to bear it. Just for a little while. Just until he was well enough. It was healing him through medicine and sleep and her Chaos, all good things. This chamber was not locking him away. Helping, not hurting. Not this time. Never again.

A creation named E-123 Omega was resurrected from the dusty corner where it was sat—but only to be programmed as a guard dog, awakening only when Shadow did. Maria found that very low of Ivo to do, and she voiced that to him. He mumbled something about Omega being insubordinate and that he deserved it and that the robot had no say, being his creation. Maria rolled her eyes but said nothing more about it.

Omega was a warrior, not a servant. He was a walking armoury and arsenal, not a messenger. It was demeaning.

But he would have his revenge soon enough.