The Lost ( A Sequel To The Forgotten )

Notes From A Dead Man

At the top of the hill, I pause at the large wooden doors.
I'm here. I push the doors open. They're quite heavy.
Once the doors are open, I walk into the building. Immediately, the voice in my head vanishes. Not just quiets, but vanishes completely.
The inside of the building is dark. A table sits behind the doors, and on that, a bowl. Further into the building, there are tables, shelves and chests. Without light, I can't see what's on the tables or shelves. I go searching for a light switch. I take a step forward, and suddenly, the room brightens. I look for the source of the light and see a small transparent box. The inside appears to be glowing. After a few seconds, another light turns on, and then another. Amazed by the lights that turn themselves on, I wander around for a second before focusing again. I don't know how long Cass can hold off the others. I need to find... something. I'm sure of that. I decide to start near the entry doors, figuring it's a good of a place as any. The bowl catches my interest again, because with the light, I can see more details. The bowl has a liquid in it, and in the liquid, a piece of paper. I crouch down, trying to get a good look at the paper. It rotates a certain direction in the liquid, and I see writing on the paper. What the writing says makes me gasp.
Hello, Wrive Tacking. Whoever wrote this note knows my name. Suspicious and curious, I continue reading.
First off, do NOT take this paper out of the conserving water. The words on here will fade.
Next, I want to say sorry. You probably had quite a struggle getting here, didn't you? But I assure you, the things in this building are worth it. Unless somebody died. That'd be very bad.
Lastly, I'm sorry about the lack of explanation. You're probably very confused, but you must understand, I can't have just anyone waltzing in and stealing my stuff. Except you, of course. Feel free to take anything you'd like. Not too much stuff though; I'd like to keep most of my collections.
Anyways, to wrap everything up, don't give up! You're very important, and your... Here was a scribbled out word. Then, after that, Keep going!
And then, at the bottom of the paper, was this:

gFtiShrHet
sDdaCraIyl
nRpuAavBtwLha
pHtSoi
rCtUhFep
sUpYaKtIha
iOitTs
mEbjEeePniWefAahYtpShe
jUtkGhsDem
oVstFeyIad

What the heck? I think. I consider trying to decode it, but I don't have time. Instead, I grab a large sheet of ancient-looking paper and copy the letters, making sure to get all the capitals and different rows right. After I'm done, I put the copy on a shelf. I'm assuming that the paper itself isn't needed to solve the code; after all, the writer stated that the code would disappear as soon as it left the liquid. I leave the odd code and decide to look for something that might come in handy. Maps, weapons, things that could be instruments. They are all of no use to me. All I really need is something to make peace between my friends and I. I eye a odd machine-like contraption. A small, faded piece of paper sits next to it. It reads:
The Thought-Fader Useful for settling ( or erasing ) arguments. Just aim it at the person you want to use it on. Then let the magic do its work.
I lift it. It's in a rectangular shape, but it's not solid. Wires and tubes make its form. A fan-like thing sticks out of the front. I decide to put it near my copy of the code.
Once again wandering around the building, I look at the items that I can now see, thanks to the lights. There are a few books, plenty of cases with weapons, some plants, an area for what looks like fur, and tons more. If I had more time, I'd like to explore every last item. But I don't want to risk being trapped indoors when my former-friends arrive for me. I grab my copy of the code and the Thought-Fader.
Alright. Time to see if this thing works.

I push the large doors open ( without my hands, which are carrying the Thought-Fader ) and walk outside. I'm on top of the hill, looking down, and I've exited the building just in time to see Cass being lifted into the air mentally by Shawn. Tarna then kicks her out of the air with an attack so painful-looking that even the people on her side cringe. Cass goes flying backwards, and when she hits the grass, she rolls a bit, but doesn't get up. Tarna's eyes move from her defeated foe up the hill, straight to me. I lift the machine in my hands.
Okay. I need her- Tarna, that is- to forget about the whole Wrive's-a-traitor thing. Got it? Okay, go. Nothing happens. Work. Abra-kadabra! Oh boy.
"Come on, people. His little machine is a fake." Tarna, Person, Rolly and Shawn resume climbing the hill. I run back inside, throwing the Thought-Fader to the side.
Think quick, think quick, think quick! No brilliant plans pop up. I desperately look around the collection of oddities, and my eyes fall on the bowl. More specifically, the note inside the bowl. It now reads,
Just hide. The magic won't let you down. Why not obey the magically-changing note? I run to find a hiding spot. I decide on hiding behind a few boxes filled with odd-looking rocks. As soon as I'm hidden, the door flies open. I peek out from behind my hiding place to watch Tarna. She looks around, followed by the others, examining the oddities and strange lights. But, like me, she comes back to the bowl. I can't see what it says now, but it's taking her a while to read.
"Guys. G-guys, come look at this." Tarna calls. Did she just stammer? What did that paper say? Shawn looks at the paper and frowns.
"What does it say?" he asks. He must not know how to read. Tarna begins aloud:
"Greetings, friends of Wrive. I imagine that there is great distress in your numbers. If my writings mean anything to you, than perhaps this will help. Wrive is most unusual. Now, being dead and all, I never knew him personally. But I saw him, still. He is the one- must be the one- for my life to mean anything at all. I saw him, mostly. But I saw a younger boy, too. ( Hello, boy. )" Shawn smiles ad waves at Tarna.
"Hi, dead guy." Shawn says. Tarna laughs and continues.
"I saw someone with fire, but that sight escapes me. Many do. But never Wrive. I always remember him.
Anyway, I imagine that you're quite angry at him. But all the odd things he's been doing, that's been to get him here. Because he, and all of you, must be here for it to work. ( So if you killed anyone getting here, for I saw many possible outcomes, if anyone's dead, then sorry. You're all going to die. ) And last, but not least, when you see Wrive next,
1: Don't kill him.
2: Make sure he copied the code." There's a silence, a long silence. Then Rolly weakly says, "Wrive? Are you here?"
"No." I respond from my hiding place. He smiles a little.
"Oh. Okay. Well, when you come, we want you to know... we're sorry." I stand up, and thankfully, no one immediately strikes me dead.
"So am I." I say. And then, wordlessly, for a time like this needs no words, we leave. Silently. I'm not completely forgiven, I know. But for now, there's a truce. Whoever wrote that note knew some sorry of magic, because pure emotion was written on that page. After we gather Cass' still-unconscious body, I take a look over my shoulder at the stone building. That place has magic. That place has strange items. But most of all, that place has secrets. I grip my copy of the code tightly. For the first time since the raid on U.T., we have a purpose.

*Years before*

Lights. Shapes. Voices. He saw. He heard. Still and silent, he saw visions. He wrote them down. He knew the boy, Wrive, quite well. He knew his importance, and thus he made codes. He hid things, for he knew his enemies would come.
When he wasn't seeing magical sights, he explored. He investigated. Built a nice collection of things. Odd things.
But his most important items, those took up most of his time. Writing, drawing. The two things. The most important things. Those were the reason for the codes. They were the reason for everything, really. Without them, there was nothing. The two things. The things Wrive had to find. The reasons for the enchantment that called Wrive.
So he saw and heard. He wrote. But most of all, he protected. Those two things. Those two, all-important things.