The First Wielder

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

The warm morning of a new day.

The boisterous city with its people and cars running out and about.

The 9:30 A.M. rays.

The tall buildings opening their windows for ventilation and shops opening their doors for patrons.

The wind that comes and goes.

And the gray smoke rising towards the blue sky.

It was coming from the top of an abandoned building which, if it wasn't clear, should be abandoned.

However, no one took notice of the smoke or the building for that matter. It was old, vandalized, and dirtied from the outside. If the appearance was that unpleasant, who knew how horrible it was inside the building.

No one gave a damn about the place.
     
   
It was the perfect hiding spot.
     
        
At the top of the building, there was a small fire crackling not too far from the edge. It was strong and vibrant, orange and red hues dancing in the air. It smelled of all sorts of junk: a stack of papers, cloth, metal, and plastic, items that shouldn't be burned in the first place.

There was a figure facing the fire, standing two feet away from the burning items. It was easy to tell the figure started the fire. With their arms crossed over their chest and tapping foot, it was obvious they were impatient. Their eyes gazed at the fire, narrow and brows knit together. The figure drummed their fingers on their arm and continued to watch the items burn.

"C'mon...c'mon..." The figure would chant.

The papers were almost burned to crisps above a charred brown bag. An old electronic and ballpen were broken into half next to the bag, the latter object having the remains of hot sharp metal.

"C'mon...c'mon..." The chant continued like a broken CD.

The figure stared at the base of the fire, a brown leather briefcase, old and filled with scratches. It was there where the mentioned items were turning to ash. Where, after those, would be the briefcase's turn. Turned to ash like the rest and blown away by a passing breeze.

A sharp sigh escaped the figure's lips.

"C'mon...c'mon..." The figure pleaded. "I'm running out of time here. I gotta leave before--"
   
   
   
"What the fuck are you doing?"
  
   
  
The figure froze.

Oh god, she's dead.
     
   
Abigail closed her eyes pinched herself in the arm, hoping that the building's air was playing tricks on her. Her face scrunched as she bit her lip. The pinch hurt.

"Have mercy on my soul," she mumbled.

The girl spun, lips tugged to a strained smile.

The newcomer raised an eyebrow.
  
   
Five had his arms crossed at the girl in front of him, frowning. He eyed her from top to bottom, not missing the emitting smoke from behind her.

"Five!" Abigail exclaimed with her hands behind her back. "Fancy seeing you here."

The boy strode towards her, the sour look on his face still present. "What are you doing in a place like this?"

He stopped and stood a little too close to the girl. Abigail placed her hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away while whirling her head to the side.

"Getting...air," her voice was timid and suspicious.

Five didn't buy it, of course.

He moved to the right but the girl was quick to notice his action. She followed him, blocking his view.