Author: bonnieradm
Prompt: There were three.
The FIRST. The GREAT. The TRUE.
The FIRST died. The GREAT dies. The TRUE will die.
Maine saves Death. And sang Gloomy Sunday.
Prompter: IShipWhatIShip
For Katkat because she is an awesome prompter and mentor and she pushed me and supported me and believed in me. She made me feel normal despite being anything but. For Carla and her endless "kaya mo 'yan." "just write it." "wala pa rin ako." For being a much needed shoulder to cry on when I can't anymore. For Ian and her chocolates and whipped creams For my sibs. And for you because your reactions and feedbacks humbles and reassures me that my work is worth reading.
He was surrounded by destruction. His two-year-old mind could not take more than the one thing that was painfully obvious at the moment.
The place he once called home could now pass as a sanctuary for flames and embers and ashes.
It was a miracle, really. An ironic surprise. That the crowned prince of the dragon palace sat in the middle of ashes – life amidst chaos. Or maybe it was the dragon that resided within the child's body that saved him from being burned alive like the rest of his family.
"Hello," a woman spoke.
He could not see her face clearly – the young dragon's eyes were clouded by tears and the smoke to which his ancestors were reduced into. He looked up, strangely comforted by the sound of the lady's voice.
"I'm not here to hurt you but if you stay here, you might get hurt. Please let me help you."
His bright brown eyes pierced through the lady's heart. They were sad and distraught, but there was something there that provided the lady a bit of comfort – hope and trust and faith and wonder.
The child placed his tiny hand on hers, her warmth engulfing his, providing him with comfort and reassurance.
"May I ask what your name is?"
"Thirteen."
She filled her cheeks with air and slowly blew the air out in hopes of calming her erratic heartbeats.
She needed to calm down. Her hands were shaking and her aim legs were good as jelly. She can't have that, not when she had the last bullet and her shot will define their team's fate. All her breathing exercises were useless, she was still shaking. Worse, her hands were beginning to sweat.
"Please calm down. Please calm down. Please calm down. Please calm down," she inwardly chanted, only making it worse for herself.
The sound of a lightly armored body hitting the ground and wood beside her made her jump.
"Wow, Mendoza. I did not know you jump like a frightened chicken." He chuckled, his breath coming out in puffs, his face caked with dust and grime. "And you're shaking, too. This is making me so happy that I might just accept defeat together with its consequences."
To be fair to him, he was trying to make the situation light. He was trying to get a rise out of her so that she would feel something other than anxiety, anything to make her stop shaking and finally take the shot. He knew how much she questioned her ability as a marksman, always comparing herself to him, but he had something she didn't have— three years of experience ahead of her. There are just some things that gets better through the years— aiming and shooting and just getting used to the feel of a rifle in your hands as you pulled the trigger.
She looked at him. And her eyes confirmed the thoughts in his head.
"Look, you can do this. You don't need to be nervous." He looked straight into her brown orbs. "You just need to stand, aim and pull the trigger and everything will be over."
She scoffed, placing the riffle in front of her and wiping her hands on her jeans. "Not everyone is as good as you, Faulkerson. I can't aim this second and pull the trigger on the next."
He flicked a finger on her forehead.
"HEY!"
"Don't hey me, Mendoza. Stand up and shoot," he commanded as he removed his armor and stripped himself of the heavy rifle and bullet straps. "I'll buy you enough time. I can give you five seconds to shoot. If I get shot, I'm blaming you and I will haunt you in your dreams."
She can't help but chuckle. "Don't be such a drama queen. You won't die from a paint bullet." She could always trust him to have her back, annoying her and making her feel better at the same time.
She picked up her rifle and checked the bullet reservoir before cocking it and taking position.
His eyes were round with disbelief. "Have you been hit with one of those little things? They hurt like a bi... bullhorn." She held in her giggles at his feeble attempt to school his potty mouth, or maybe he did it on purpose to loosen her up. Either way, she was grateful.
"You better get that shot, Mendoza. I don't want to do the housework for those pigs." He huffed, sounding more like a diva than the warrior that he was. "On three. One, two—"
The dragon and the phoenix moved in perfect sync as if their muscle memories were rigged to move like satellites. He rolled out, catching the attention of the solitary marksman of the other team, distracting her enough for the phoenix to position herself to get a clean shot. She popped out a second after, her peripheral vision trained to monitor his movements, looking out for him even though the paint bullets wouldn't really cause a fatal wound–
It was a force of habit.
The five second intervention was exactly all she needed to take a perfect shot— smack dab in the middle of Ian's chest.
"That was so unfair, you two!" she said from across the battlefield.
Team A rejoiced in their victory while team B sulked their way out of the fenced field.
He made his way to Ian's side, draping his sweaty arm over her shoulders. "Sweetie, all is fair in love and war."
"Especially when housework in both teams' quarters are on the line." Nicomaine chimed in, pinching her friend's cheek. "Don't be too sad, I'll make you milo dinosaur every day. Promise."
"You better put extra whip in that." she grumbled.
"Milo dinosaur with extra whip. Got it." She smiled a smile that would fool anyone into thinking that she was just a regular 21-year-old girl and not the actual human incinerator that she was. A smile she rarely wore on her face – not that life gave her opportunities to be a regular human being but hey, she's not complaining... most of the time.
"Faulkerson. Mendoza." A frantic colleague burst through the gates, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. They both knew what was coming before the words were even out of the poor soul's mouth. They knew why he was trying not to faint on the spot, why he was such in a hurry to get to them. They knew who was calling, and why they were being summoned.
They knew.
Frankly, they should be used to it. Disappointment and dread should not be felt anymore whenever a recruit was sent to run as fast as their scrawny legs could go just to get them—
But like fart, both emotions demands to be let out.
"Sensei wants you both in his office ASAP. Class S code red."
