Hunting the past (Kit Keith)

7: The Death of a Son

Haggar

Time ticks on slowly, a horrible thing I'm all too familiar with. We've lived long lives though, and compared to this, it is nothing. Meaningless in it's limits. Yet at the same time, this is everything in the universe to me, so much significance packed into the limited time frame. It's startling, and if I weren't in my right mind, I'd say I was scared. 

But I am not. I am fierce, a warrior. I have endured the destruction of Daibazaal. The destruction of Altea afterwards. I have survived impossible exposure to quintessence. I have helped conquer galaxies. I serve directly under the emperor of such a steady empire. 

I am Haggar, the witch, a druid, a magician, an alchemist.

My eyes dart immediately to the sounds of the clock ticking. The transformation is almost complete and I stand to my feet once more. A shiver runs up my spine, but this one isn't because of fear, nor is it stress, not the anxiety or dawning epiphanies that come to me at random during the day. This one feels pleasant, almost. As if I know the outcome already. It's preparation in its own way.

Finally I am ready. I must know if it is him or not. On that note, I must also consult Zarkon about the update. Moving towards the doors of the observatory, I begin to walk to Zarkon's study.

My fingers rap against the large doors of his office but no noise answers back. Although I don't understand why when I am quite certainly aware he is present. I don't need to hear his footsteps or breathing to know he is ignoring me. I can sense quintessence and he has the gall to pettily act like this? "Sire." Still he doesn't respond and this time I sigh then actually knock on the door, sure that the sound echoes in the silent room on the other end. A gruff sound escapes the emperor and then the voice grows louder. He is closer to the door now. "What is it now! You are to be scanning the youngling!"

"That is the thing, my lord." I am not the same from the past but my memories still hold firm. "I have been lead to believe that this youngling may be-." I do not care that I am cut off because the door swings open angrily and the emperor looks down with poorly concealed frustration. Well. It is a start. "Do not waste my time. Speak." Low, gravelly, his voice never changes in sound, but the pitch always fluctuates this way, doesn't it?

I can't stop the sly smile that's spreading across my face and I'm sure it's a taxing sight for the man to see. However, my confidence, and I have much of it, fades when my voice comes out a whisper. "He might be our youngling... this might be Antor. You must believe me, please believe me..."

Unexpectedly, his expression morphs into something close to understanding and then to amazement all in a quick flash. He's already moving past me as he bellows show me from down the hall. 

It is not quite a jog or run, but the official term for our movements would probably be something close to fast walking, quick walking, I can't be sure. The Galra do not have a term for this but grammatical skills have not much evolved since the destruction of Daibazaal. We stick with the language of old, our tradition. So yes, we begin speed walking to where I last placed the youngling. As soon as we arrive to the room, we both sweep it hurriedly to find that the kit is nowhere in sight. 

"Antor? Antor... where are you?" No response.

Zarkon takes a step forward. "Light the room, witch." I hold my palm up obediently, beginning to summon quintessence. The few sparks collect together and form a small orb of light, immediately grabbing the attention of the kit at hand. 

From a corner of the room, a head poked out from behind a table and a grin adorns his face. "Hyea! Sparkles!" And there the youngling sat. My youngling, my kit. I walk over to him to approach, arms out hesitantly, but he crawls forward with that same grin and beaming eyes of adoration. So I pick him up and cradle the kit to my chest. It's a foreign feeling but it also feels so undeniably right, like the universe has finally made sense after so long of questioning.