Fallen One (Book three of Alfireán age)

- A Subtle Shift -

Alf awoke, his body fully rested but his mind still weary; he hadn't had the nightmare of Vackzilian pushing Olivia onto the teleportation stone like he'd had the other night, but the dream still haunted him. But even without the nightmare, a new sense doom hung heavy on Alf's shoulders.

Something was wrong with Zaphaniea.

Alf couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before, but when she'd collapsed, he'd finally realized it was more than a simple heatstroke.

His suspicions had been confirmed when Drake had helped lay the champion to bed. At that moment, the prince had had the same look on his face as when he'd learned of his father's death. Which could only mean one thing; Zaphaniea was in serious trouble.

The grand champion had saved them when it was Alf's responsibility, and now she was paying for his incompetence. Alf's eyes trailed down to the Basanizos encasing his wrists. He should've been able to stop Vackzilian. He had sworn he would. But because of his lack of training, he'd failed, and now everyone was suffering for it.

Removing his cover and reclaiming his sphere floating beside his mat, Alf quietly crawled out of the tent, being careful not to wake up Drake. Closing the tent flap behind him, he hunched and gazed up through the shield he had placed several hours before, a mountain of guilt weighing him down.

The silvery moon was just starting to disappear over the horizon, and it wouldn't be too long before the sun started to rise in the east. At least he could get in a little bit of training, he thought to himself while he strode over to the edge of the camp. But as Alf raised his hands—mentally preparing himself for the pain—and opened his mouth to activate the torturous devices, he felt, rather than heard, a still small voice say, No, rest.

He lowered his hands and looked around. Alf knew God's voice well, but what he felt now didn't make any sense. I have to train; I have to get stronger or Vackzilian's going to kill more people, he thought, telling himself and God. Then once again, he opened his mouth to say the command. But once more, a still small voice inside said, No, rest.

Alf sighed, pulled his large sphere close, and plopped down on it. Its hard surface bruised his posterior. Yet another reason I need to train, he thought to himself as he ran his hands through his sleep rumpled hair. Unlike Drake and Zaphaniea, he couldn't even make the spheres soft yet.

Sitting there, the sound of softly moaning wind and fluttering wings reached his ears while the smell of burnt wood wafted into his nose. Heavy in spirit, Alf stared out of the blue barrier and at the charred black remains of his forest fire. Just through the other side of the protective barrier, Alfonso could make out the shapes of a handful of enormous birds as they picked through the dust of the wasteland, but other than that, all was still.

As Alf gazed through his crystalline shield, his stomach growled loudly, and he grinned begrudgingly. These days, Alf's appetite was voracious. Back when he'd been frail, and unwell, he'd had the appetite of a little bird, picking here and there. Now, it felt like his body was part dragon, constantly hungry and constantly looking for meat. Pony was right; they should start eating more of the creatures they came across. With that thought in his mind, Alf told his inventory to open and reached down into the medallion. Pulling out a chunk of cooked meat, he said a quick prayer of thanksgiving and started chowing down on it.

The cold block of meat had been prepared for him to eat throughout the day by the maids. They hadn't had time to smoke it or marinate it, so it was only lightly seasoned and was what Olivia referred to as dumb meat. That, however, didn't stop Alf from enjoying the taste as he took another giant bite.