Alpha X

The Nephilim

Buried beneath the water, Ora lay at the bottom of the lake.

Above him, the fractured sunlight floating on the surface. Each sun ray became a blob of molten gold, refracted into a shimmering rainbow.

His labored heartbeat banged against his ribs as he held his breath. Even that, and the sloshing echoing in his ears, couldn't block out a singular observation.

Today marked the milestone of him spending half his years in captivity.

The oppressive weight of this undeniable fact threatened to crush him.

He flipped. With a powerful kick, he propelled himself up and swam to the rocky shore. His fingertips and toes gripped the rough vertical wall of limestone as he climbed up the cliff.

Each steady, deep inhalation fed his starving lungs. Droplets cascaded down his broad back and thighs. His muscles contracted as he heaved himself onto the top of the five hundred feet tall outcrop.

The swim and climb had washed away some of the melancholy.

As he sat on the steep overhang, his narrowed gaze swept over the breathtaking view. The lush tapestry of sloping greens and golds, dotted with wildflowers, was a riot of colors. Their sweet nectar attracted doves of butterflies, bumblebees, and dragonflies. Punch-drunk, they flitted in flocks, enjoying the brief summer of their short lifespan. Winter would arrive soon enough. But for now, autumn, an unwanted visitor, crept in. Ora shuddered as the cool wind caressed his scars. His species wasn't fond of the cold, but he had adapted.

"Do you remember the island, Nāga? They call it Kodo," Ora asked as he didn't, not anymore.

'No, but I miss the heat and humidity... and the ocean no chill could touch,' his beast replied.

In the distance, the waterfall tumbled into a valley, forming a tarn. Dense vegetation, framed by a circle of towering mountains, became unassailable curtain walls. The peaks cast a sinister shadow on the woodlands, not different from the corruption that tainted his soul.

Two curved outcrops formed an arch with a jagged ridge jutting out. By passing under this structure, christened Hellridge, convicted criminals entered Tartarus.

There were no warnings, but if there were one, it'd state: Abandon hope all ye who enter here, never shall you leave.

In a cruel irony, these beautiful lands, rich in prey, provided an idyllic home for creatures like him. Despite its picturesque beauty, this was a prison where the passage of time was rendered meaningless. This landscape, an ever-evolving canvas, depicted the same scene. Only the hues and shades morphed when fickle seasons tormented them with their drastic mood swings.

But Ora hadn't ever been healthier, but he wouldn't say he was happier. He had not forgotten what that specific emotion entailed. But he'd also come to admire the cunning illusion of freedom these surroundings mimicked. Fortunately for him, freedom was a fleeting dream that faded in the waking moments.

Yet, against his will, he'd begun associating the smell of pine and earthy mulch saturating the air with his home.

Nāga sibilated to reject that blasphemous idea. His beast, a Sheesha, said little nowadays. But there was not much to say. In the netherworld, waiting was the name of the game.

Ora wrung the moisture out of his long hair and beard before he lay down. He tilted his face to soak up the warm overhead sun until the band on his wrist beeped.

With a huff, he stood up, rocked on his toes, and stretched. Ignoring the beeps, he strolled into the woods.

Filtering through the canopy, the dappling shadows danced on the moss-covered floor. The play of light and darkness bolstered his flagging spirits.