Neowalkers: The Guardian of Vir

Chapter Three: Eyes of Time

The front door of a rustic cottage opened gently, allowing fog to cloud Darrien's reading glasses. He nonchalantly removed and cleaned them, but he could feel whoever just walked in beaming. He peeled his eyes away from his book to see his father's bright smile.

"What are you grinning ab—?"

"We just received an offer!" Darrien's father blurted before his son could even let out the last word of his sentence. He was tall and handsome. Darrien had his dark eyes and prominent nose.

"We start tomorrow!" said Darrien's mother, peering from behind him and grinning as big as her husband. Darrien had her smile.

"No way!" he jumped up to run to his parents, only to be stampeded by his siblings, Wicke, Charlie, and Shay, causing him to flop back into the chair.

"Congrats, mom and pop!" Wicke put his hand proudly on his father's shoulder, "How long will you be gone?"

"Shouldn't be more than a few weeks. We're on an emergency team responding to the faepox plague in the Fourth District." His mother bent down to pick up Shay. She giggled as her mother playfully tickled her, "We'll still be in Sector 3, so don't miss us too much!"

Darrien couldn't stop smiling; his heart fluttered with excitement for his parents, who were traveling medics with scarce work— no one wanted to be treated by the Benns and their unorthodox practice, using chemicals and medicines that were otherwise illegal or foreign to Sector 3.

In some ways, the plague felt like a miracle to Darrien— he's never seen his father so happy. The food rationing was getting harder and harder. He and Wicke had to start chipping in to pay for just about everything, and this job offer was the end to that. No more rations, no more overtime at Mr. Nyx's shop in Sector 4, no more dysfunctional family. He could finally spend more time doing what he loved— spar training with his brother using daggers he forged on his own, reading about tall tales of war and mythology, and perhaps most importantly, getting back to his studies. He wanted nothing more than to be an archaeologist. Everything was finally looking up.

Then he blinked.

The room was dark and messy. Flipped furniture and broken windows littered the floor.

"Hack!" it was his father, who laid on the floor before him, wheezing and coughing up blood. His skin was pale, and his eyes were sunken and covered in crust. His ribbed chest showed through his thin, white shirt.

"Dad!" Darrien rushed up to him, falling by his side, grabbing his hand, "Dad, what happened?"

"Darrien..." his father's eyes closed as his consciousness began to wane.

"Dad!"

"Darrien!"

"Dad!" Darrien shot straight up. His eyesight was hazy, but he could make out that he was in the small library once again. A splash of water brought him to his senses.

"Darrien, snap out of it!" Darrien's older brother, Wicke, was leaning over him.

"Wicke?" asked a dumbfounded Darrien, "How did you find me?"

Wicke connected his canteen bottle back to his belt strap, "Well, the screaming certainly helped. That alone probably alerted every Jenrir guard in Sector 5. We need to move. There's a vent passage—"

"—in the floor down the hall. I know, but—"

"Save it. We need to go. Now." Wicke commanded. Darrien sulked his shoulders: he knew better than to fight back with Wicke's unchangeable mind. Keeping his mouth shut, he took one more glance around the room. The bust wasn't where he'd seen it in his vision. His dream? Premonition? Whatever it was, Darrien left with more questions than when he entered. He checked his satchel to make sure the mirror was still there and tip-toed out of the small library behind his brother.