Panic Mode

Prologue

2017

War. War was a tragedy. War ripped up homes and snatched children from their loving mothers. War, even in places like Flowersdale, sucked the color and life out of each street, house, and person. When it rained, it became even more dismal. Trash, wood, and scraps littered the street as the man trudged along the road. He was in a lost city, a forgotten patch of land tucked away amidst the rubble of the fallen.

The bar. Where was the bar? He had lived here as a child, but he was twenty-one now, having left at the mere age of fourteen. Well, he would be that old tomorrow, on his birthday, at least. Except, he didn't feel that old. He felt like he was simply existing, tired and worn from the rain of blood and bullets. Even while he walked down the streets, kicking a rock occasionally, the man couldn't help but feel dread and worthlessness settle into the darkest depths of his being.

There, there it was. Between the jewelry store and the grocery was the bar. He could vaguely remember his parents directing someone here on the way to a friend's house. The door was rotting on its hinges, and took a single kick to knock down. A faint wind came up the stairs, filled with the stench of fire, alcohol, and bodies. He gagged before entering, careful not to damage the stairs, he still wanted to actually leave.

Now that he thought back to his fourteenth birthday, he had never actually seen the fire. Why did the fire happen? Of course, he had already been answered that, all those years ago by the very person who caused it, but why here? Why on his fourteenth birthday? It seemed so long ago. The bar was probably one of the hardest hit spots. The man could tell from the scratches on the wall, created by the last gasping victims. The walls were charred, glass littered the floor, and chairs were strewn from their places. But the bodies, where were the bodies? He scanned the room quickly before leaving the bar. He would find nothing here.

"Go to the bar," she had told him, after the crash, as she was taken out of his trembling arms and away from this world. She confessed her love over and over again. Even when she breathed her final breath, he refused to move. Moving would mean taking his arm away, letting the twisted metal fall. It would mean admitting that shielding her was useless, that she would die, that she was dead. It was only when he heard the enemy's sirens that he left her, twisted and dead, his girlfriend from the wrong side of the war.
No, he was on the wrong side of the war. He knew that from the start. But where was he now? He was a criminal to one side and a traitor to the other, even if they hadn't yet realized what he had done. He had nowhere to go. He was on the run.

Standing here, in his childhood home, he realized that the innocence the city as a whole had always held was gone. Flowersdale was always a bit of a whimsical place in the eyes of his younger self. Each spring, the fields around the town were always in full bloom. Everything ranging from sunflowers to orchids to roses grew in the miles of fertile dirt surrounding the city. Summer was spent in the woods beyond the flowers. The shade the trees offered was often a perfect meetup spot for a friend or two, shielding the harsh sun and cooling you. An electric feeling always filled the air in autumn, with crackling leaves and withering flowers, and winter was quiet and serene. Especially when the whole countryside was covered with a layer of snow and there wasn't a sound to be heard. It was amazing how much could change in a matter of moments. The flowers no longer grew in the gray dirt, the air was smoggy and filled with dread, and the once noisy streets were abandoned and crowded with overgrown plants.

As he patrolled the street again, he scanned the buildings and found nothing. Eventually, he decided to go back to the bar, only to stop at the door. He couldn't bring himself to enter. It smelled too much of death, bringing back needless memories. He sighed and turned on the ball of his foot before stopping sharply.
Go to the bar and look, his girlfriend had said, and now he understood why. Across the street, there was an alleyway placed so that when the sun rose it shone into the doorway, letting the customers know it was time to go home, for they had been there, drinking and partying all night. Now, the man noticed, it had been walled off with some fairly new looking bricks.

The bricks stretched up to the neighboring buildings, making the wall two floors tall. There was something here, beyond the wall, he could feel it in his gut. But he had no idea how he would get there to get his answer. After all, how could he break it down without touching anything else? The buildings, although old and worn, were too precious to him. He hadn't been taught to hold back, fighting and solving with both his intellect and strength. If he just did what he'd normally do, the wall, along with everything within five yards would be destroyed.
Magic, he realized. He had magic. He usually forgot about his powers, but when everyone can use magic, it loses its importance. He rushed forward and placed his hand on the bricks, barely brushing his fingertips across the mortar. The newer bricks soon turned black and crumbled. After the display, the man felt more alert, more aware of what was beyond. However, nothing that could prepare him for what he saw, standing silently in the morning sun.

Graves. Saplings, hundreds, perhaps millions of them, filled the land. Each one had a ribbon with an embroidered name tied onto the thinnest of branches. Flowersdale always did have a large population, but if any other person were to stand in his place, they would be brought to tears. Looking across the golden grass, with thousands of graves standing up to the wind, one would truly feel the magnitude of the tragedy that had happened here.

For the man, however, it put him at peace. He had always felt guilty for leaving everyone behind with the other four survivors without paying their respects. He always thought that he shouldn't have survived on sheer luck. After all, spending his fourteenth birthday in the flower fields is what saved them.

Mom, where was she? He ran through the saplings, scanning each name as they fluttered in the wind. He stopped when he came to an amber sapling, labeled with her name, Amber. She was here, so close below, yet so far away. There was no last name, to further confirm her identity. They had always been a strange family. He walked to the sapling and crouched in front of it. To the left was Henry, his father, with a more common burial sapling, the oak.

There was a package in front of the amber sapling. This must've been what his girlfriend had meant. A letter was taped on top, and he ripped it off, tearing open the envelope to read it.

Dear Scarlet Messenger,
    While we buried them, we found this package with your name on it in the remains of your house, The others didn't notice this and I made sure to remove your true name and burned the label. I hope this can give you some answers that you've been looking for, and if not, some encouragement. I wish I could be there for you, but please remember that I love you.   
    -All of my heart, A

    There was silence as the ink smeared from his salty tears. So this was her dying message. The mere thought caused him to grip the letter and hunch over with a heart-wrenching scream. Why did his girlfriend have to die? Why did she have to go? He gathered himself and with tears still streaming, opened the package.

Inside was a necklace, a pocket dictionary, a pair of rings, and a journal. Ace recognized the necklace immediately. It was an ancient Trailblazer necklace, inlaid with drragon teeth and fire agate. The Trailblazers were a proud race, more demon than human. They were often tall, extremely strong, and had threatening physical traits, among the more common ones were claws, fangs, horns, and scaly spines. He knew all of this from his mother, who was a Trailblazer, herself. He also knew that he was more of a Trailblazer than his sister. What he didn't know was why his mother had a necklace meant only for the highest ranking Trailblazer, when most of them had been killed off a long time ago.
He placed the necklace around his neck. It was heavy, somehow making it more comforting. Next, he grabbed the journal, which had belonged to his mother, and snapped it open. He was only flipping through the pages before something caught his eye. He turned back to the page and read it more carefully.

Now, if the man was a normal person, he wouldn't have understood the code in the book, but this particular person happened to be the inventor of the Scarlet Period code, as it was named after his fake identity, the Scarlet Messenger. It was because of this, that he didn't hesitate to decode it. After all, it was strange. His mother was quite the prophet, but how would she use a code that was invented years after her death?

Once it was written properly, he glanced over the words before reading it again, then again for the third time. He stood up sharply and blinked, trying to make sure he was reading it correctly. After reading it for the fourth time, he let out a yelp of delight and grinned for the first time in months. He knew. He knew how to beat them. He knew how to stop the war. He let out a sigh of relief and basked in the glowing sun. Peace, peace was beautiful.