Familiar Faces in New Places: Part 2

Kuria had been slinging her shadows around the corridor, slicing up random objects and parts of the castle itself. She recognized the rods now protruding from Mana’s body; they were from the chandeliers, the same rods that anchored them to the ceiling, turning them into unconventional, cylindrical swords: one had pierced Mana’s abdomen, luckily avoiding any major organs. The final two were the problem: one had likely torn through an artery in her left thigh, gushing blood. The final rod was substantially more problematic, however: it had lodged itself between her neck and shoulder—one end protruding from her upper back, the other dangerously close to shredding the soft tissue in her throat. Trying to remove any of them could cause more harm than good; Aria wasn’t even sure she could remove them.

“There’s only one way we can fix this,” Aria said, nervously, “but it’s going to take time. I think I could heal the internal damage, but I know I can’t remove the rods. Unless you have other ideas, the cryo-sleep is the best I can do.”

Mana bobbed her head, something akin to a small nod. “I have to trust you.”

Aria clasped Mana’s hands in her own. “I’m sorry that this is all I can do. Until I can get you proper medical treatment, this is the best solution… Sleep well.” Frost crept its way onto Mana’s body. “I swear on my life that I will save yours. It’s the least I can do to make up for what I’ve done,” she sniffled from the cold. “After all, I’m partly to blame for everything that’s happened thus far…”

Moments later, Mana was asleep, body covered in thick, permeating frost. Placing two fingers on her neck, Aria felt for a heartbeat, ensuring Mana was, in fact, in cryogenic sleep. She was frustrated, though. Kuria wasn’t what she’d expected, and her ability to manipulate her form like she could was troublesome, and that didn’t even account for her speed.

While she was glad she’d been able to fool Kuria, forcing her to think she could manipulate time, it was only just a simple trick: she’d manipulated the light in a way that had caused it to refract against herself—an explanation for why the devil hadn’t seen her when she arrived. As for the dust particles, they hadn’t actually stopped moving. Rather, the lingering dust had been slowed by her use of the frost, causing the molecules inside the dust to condense and therefore slow its descent—another simple trick with a simple explanation.

It was ironic. Kuria talked a lot, thinking Aria could control time or use some sort of chrono-based magic. If she could, she wouldn’t be in the predicament she was with Mana—she’d just turn back the time on her wounds, or better yet, have frozen Kuria in time from the start. Still, it was almost easy—too easy—to fool her. The frost wouldn’t last forever, either, but, for now, she decided it was best to address other, more important, matters. Mana would die if she didn’t figure out how to get her proper medical treatment or figure out a way to remove the rods without damaging something else in the process.

Gently, Aria lowered Mana’s hand, allowing it to rest at her side. “Alright… This is the only time I’m going to ask you for help, got it?” Aria muttered under her breath. “We still need to talk more, later, but for now… Please, save her. I’ll do whatever it takes. Anything you want—it’s yours.”

She closed her eyes as the icy battlefield around her faded away, devolving into a misty white. The air grew light, the chill of the castle’s corridor left behind somewhere in the strange dimensional rift. She could feel herself being called by an invisible force, not dissimilar to the pull of the ocean’s tide. Whatever happened next, she knew it would hinge upon her negotiating skills.

Aria’s consciousness slammed into a material body like she’d been strapped into a bungie harness and dropped from the side of a mountain but, somehow, she knew where she was. She tried to open her eyes only to be met with air so dry her lungs felt like sandpaper. Her eyes stung. Innumerable questions surfaced in her mind, but they would have to wait for later. Still, she wasn’t sure if what she wanted was power or if it was just an overwhelming sense of guilt. It was a penance for something, but what? Forgiveness?

“I enact a high price for what you’re asking of me,” A disembodied voice snapped.

“I understand that,” she said unflinchingly. “Like I said—anything.”

Aria’s eyelids fluttered as the voice crept closer, whispering hot breath in her ear. “What are you willing to sacrifice? All to save another human—a creature of which you detested just two years ago.”

She hated this part: the condescending remarks, the overwhelming atmosphere of dry air and steamy breath. It had been a little more than a year since she’d stumbled upon her old family home, littered with old books, dust-covered furniture, and sun-shaded windows. In that time, one book in particular had told of an ancient magic, a magic handed down through the Miruna family, though she’d never been made aware of such a power prior to her discovery.

“You know that this is my domain, Miruna child, and yet you have returned. The power you’re asking for… Do you really think you can wield it? Harness it? You will have to give me something—”

“I will give my memories. There is nothing I can do with all of this pain and remorse. Do you know how many times I’ve wished I could just forget? You can have them all. I’ve started a new life, and I’m happy now. My only wish is to forget the pain of the past, and if that means sacrificing those memories, they’re all yours.”

“Ahh, no. That won’t do, I’m afraid. I must say, you are quick to discard that which does not please you.”

“What do you mean?”

“While your memories do sound quite satiating, what you are really asking of me is the power to defeat the devil before you, is it not? How can you be certain the devil you wish to defeat is not your own past?”

“No! My past isn’t… That’s not—”

“Give me a piece of your soul. That will satisfy me for some time.”

“My soul? But— Isn’t that, I don’t know, really important? How do I even give part of my soul, and are you saying that my past is my own devil? I don’t understand.”

“Are you asking for my help, or are you here to waste my time?”

Aria was conflicted. “I—” She gnawed the inside of her cheek. “I don’t believe I have the power alone to defeat Kuria—not without Mana, but can I really just give away a piece of my soul like that? You’ve never demanded something like that from me…” She continued gnawing her cheek. “It’s not that Kuria is a problem, for now. I want to save Mana.”

“Do you? Do you also want to erase the past and the mistakes that eat at your conscience? I am left to believe you desire power for your own selfish desires, so tell me… What is your decision?” the voice demanded.

“I don’t have a choice,” she realized. “If I die by Kuria’s hand, there will be no safe place left in the universe. The people I’ve come to love as friends will have to face the consequences of my actions alone.” Her voice began to quiver with anxiety. “I don’t care what you think, but I can’t let that happen just because I was too selfish to admit I was wrong.” She sighed, defeated. “Take it. If it means putting an end to the chaos and regaining the trust of my friends, you can take as much of my soul as you want.”

A slow exhalation rose from inside the mist. “A wise decision. Open your eyes, Aria Miruna,” the voice said, softer. “You have passed.”

Aria opened her eyes, revealing hazel irises as grey as the scene before her, but they’d stopped watering, and the tension in her muscles had also seemed to melt away. Wiping the remaining tears from her eyes, she stared into the thinning mist.

“What do you mean I’ve passed? Passed what?” she asked, confused.

The mist thinned just as she moved her hands from her face, allowing visible passage of a large, serpentine dragon. It coiled on the ground before her, several feet away, red and green scales shimmering in the strange, white light. Its whiskers were at least twice her height in length. Yellow eyes stared back at her, but they seemed… tired.

“You were willing to sacrifice something as vital as your soul, willing to sacrifice every last memory you owned, to save not only your friend, but everything that matters to you,” the dragon telepathized. “Such selflessness is far more valuable than anything else you could give.” The dragon lowered its head, staring intently into her eyes. “Open your hands.”

She held out her palms. A red and green flecked scale dropped into her smooth hands, warm and brimming with a mystical energy, yet there was a sense of loneliness imbedded deep within its core. The best way she could think of describing it was like undercooked food, still cool in the center.

“There must be something I can offer you in return for this,” Aria said awe-struck. “A dragon scale… From a god no less—”

“I do not require further payment nor offerings.” The dragon sighed, interrupting her. “I have imbued the last of my power into that scale. I am tired, as you have noticed, and have lived a long, long life. It is quite unfortunate I cannot see your battle through to its end.”

“Wait. Sorry, I’m confused. I thought you were the god of time, though? Chronyu?” Aria’s amazement vanished, replaced by an impending sense of melancholy. “I only managed to stumble upon this place thanks to an old family spell… I thought gods were immortal beings, unaffected by,” she paused, “…time?”

“You are half right, Aria Miruna. Though I am indeed the one who commands time, I am not a god. If you must know, your concept of gods is incomplete. We are only what you humans have made us.” Chronyu, uncoiled its body, resting its head on the floor. “Time itself is not without its limits. It has been a lonely life, confined to this infinite maze of empty space, affecting even myself.” The dragon leveled its head, now even with Aria. “That scale will grant you the last of my power as you must now be the one who rules time.”

The scale rose from Aria’s hands. A dazzling array of reds, greens, and a sudden entourage of deep blues danced before her eyes as the scale shattered into thousands of miniscule fragments, each piece morphing into a morsel of light, shooting into her body—one by one. Was control over time itself really something she could manage? What did control over time even mean?

“That power is only in its infancy as you are its new wielder. It must grow and mature as you do. Do not be reckless and abandon common sense. It is easy to alter the flow of time, but it is a monumental task to restore the flow to its appropriate stream if you misjudge its power.”

Aria was stunned. She stared at the palms of her hands in disbelief. Power over time itself—a power like something she’d hear in a fantasy story. Dragons, gods, magical powers… She wasn’t sure if she’d just become the character in a book brought to life by a child’s unburdened imagination or if this was actually real.

“Yet here I am, the successor of time itself,” she whispered to herself.

“Have faith in yourself and continue to seek growth. In time, you will find time. Good luck, Aria Miruna.” Chronyu closed its eyes, head resting at Aria’s feet. “I wish I could have made at least one friend after all these millennia, but I am pleased you are the successor to my power. Yes… Despite such, I now can rest.”

Aria’s heart broke as comprehension eluded her. “Chronyu, I will be your friend. I will happily remain here until you take your final breath,” she said tearfully. “I understand how it feels to be alone, perhaps in a different way than what you’ve experienced, but still. Allow me to do at least this much.”

“Thank you,” the dragon said aloud, voice deep and methodical. “I would like that. It has been a lonely life, but I am glad this is how it ends—knowing that my time is in good hands…” The dragon’s breathing slowed.

Aria smoothed her hand over the scales on Chronyu’s head. Mixed emotions rebounded through her heart and mind, but they weren’t hers. She closed her eyes, embracing the emotional spillover.

“I can only imagine how awful it must be, to be alone for so long… No one deserves to be cooped up like this, all alone, without even so much as a friend. How can our universe treat such a gentle creature with such disdain and abandonment?” She shook her head. “What sort of decision is that? To isolate such a gentle creature…”

The dragon’s scales began to turn the colors of autumn leaves: burnt yellows, crisp browns, and rusty oranges. Chronyu had taken its last breath, soul hardened by loneliness; Aria could tell it dreamed of escaping such lonely confinement. Time was cruel and relentless, that was the reality of it, but she was sick of watching things fall apart: Lacia was still missing, and Mana was critically wounded; she assumed Brendan and Licht were trapped on Chiipha and Earth, respectively. Why did it feel like the universe was working against her?

“Would you like to come with me?” She could feel Chronyu’s soul withering away, longing for its last chance at freedom—an escape from a hell that forced it to look onto the outside world from afar. “I will happily bring you along. There’s a whole wide world out there. I mean, there’s technically more than that, but I think you knew that long before me.” Aria gave a soft smile.

She placed a hand on Chronyu’s scaly head once more. A luminescent, orange light enveloped the dragon, temporarily halting its withering decay. A fiery vortex sprang up like a geyser, but the flames were cool and pleasant to the touch as she absorbed them through her mana. She took a few steps back, beholding the mighty sight of the dragon one final time.

“Perhaps this isn’t so much a goodbye as it is a new day dawning,” she said. “You have a beautiful soul, Chronyu, and I promise it will get to see worlds you and your soul alike have always dreamed of.”

A gate of light appeared before the dragon’s body, swirling, fiery colors morphing into each other in whirlpool-like patterns as the final few scales were whisked away in a spectacular display of golden fragments. The air was imbued with a similar, colorful hue. It reminded her of the time she’d spilled yellow glitter into the box fan at a friend’s sleepover, covering everything in bright, yellow sparkles. She giggled, reminiscing on fond childhood memories.

“Let’s go finish this fight and bring everyone home now,” she said addressing the new companion in her heart. “Those memories I so conveniently tried to erase are more than just painful reminders of my past. Thanks to you, Chronyu, I think I can finally come to terms with who I have become.” She took a moment, permitting the melancholic emotions to wash over her before stepping through the shimmering portal.

“No trick of the light this time,” she smiled as she walked through.

Flames swept over her like wildfire, burning away the last seeds of imprisonment that had sealed her heart away, finally ready to come to terms with herself; she was tired of wondering whether her intentions were genuine, despite them being her own.

A set of translucent, golden steps appeared, floating in the air as they wound around an ornate stone obelisk. Looking around, she realized she was alone. The stoney, grey surface was smoother than the finest silk, though it seemed strangely out of place. She turned her head to an emergent sky, revealed through a break in what she had assumed was just a blank, grey ceiling. Catching the end of a sunset, she took a moment to appreciate the wonder: pink and orange clouds now littered the sky, emblazoned by the setting sun. She wished she could take a picture or scribble something in paint, but without either, a mental image would have to do.

The backs of her heels made a small pang as she jumped from stair to stair. It felt like a dream. She landed perfectly in the center of each step as if something were guiding her along—some unseen force. Ironically, even time felt different in this space. It seemed to flow faster than on Earth, or even Chiipha, yet she felt like she was gaining time—there was a lot to learn about Chronyu’s power, apparently.

She looped her way around the side of the obelisk to discover the top was covered with the same loamy soil and amiable flora as Earth. It was a heartwarming reminder of what life used to be like, serene and carefree, but also a painful lesson of a home she once took for granted. Despite her mixed feelings, she took one final leap onto the earthy plane as the sweet aroma of damp soil and floral life helped to calm her nerves. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a moment just for herself. For the first time in a long time, she felt like time was on her side.

As she inspected the obelisk further, she realized it was an altar of some sort—likely something used to worship a deity, she assumed, but why was it here? Was it used for Chronyu or something else? Looking down, she noticed a stone tablet half-stuck in the ground. Out of curiosity, she picked it up and began to read aloud:

“Here is where we pay homage to the one who watches over us. Here is where we pay homage to the one who provides. Here is where time rules over us, unabating and fair. We find comfort in our darkest nights through the one who soars above us in the endless skies. To you, the one who holds our time, we gift this offering.”

She placed the tablet down, examining the pillar further. The dark, grey stone was cool to the touch and smooth like granite. She peered over the edge, trying to judge how high up she was.

“It must be at least three times my height,” she said in awe. “I wonder if I can get a better look from the ground now that the mist has cleared.”

She leapt down the same stairs she’d used to climb up as she walked around to the backside of the structure. Small divots, just big enough for a foot, were entrenched in the stone. As she cupped her small hands in the divots, prepared to climb up the side, the final line of the tablet played in her head:

“Whomever you may be, wherever you may be from, please accept our most prized possession as it faces the sky, graced by the glow of our star.”

“As it faces the sky,” she repeated. “Is it saying there’s something else up top?” She continued the climb, hoping to find any extra minute details that could aid her in uncovering the identity of the obelisk. “And the part about it being graced by the glow of a star…”

The divots stopped short of the top as she peaked over the edge of a hollowed-out niche near the acme. There, resting neatly in the center, was a bracelet, ornamented with a series of lustrous sky-blue stones; it must have been hidden by the flora, causing her to miss it the first time. She reached a hand over the bracelet, scooping it up before effortlessly sliding it onto her wrist. It reminded her a lot of the bracelet Lacia had on after her fight with Lucifero, but she couldn’t place why the stones seemed so important.

“I believe… this was meant for me. I just wish I could thank whoever left it here. This bracelet seems like it was once a prized possession.”

Realizing she’d ironically spent more time than she’d intended to, she quickly scanned the vicinity for anything else that could be important. After scouring the tiny floral patch and obelisk further, she determined she’d found everything that was meant to be. She took a deep breath—one last whiff of a life she was ready to leave behind. As if on cue, another shimmering gate opened, this one depicting Mana and Kuria’s frozen bodies. She was relieved to see that Kuria had remained frozen, but Mana would need immediate medical attention once she was thawed.

“If I don’t have to use this power yet, it may be of benefit to save it, in case things don’t go as planned,” she thought. “Ok… Now or never, Aria. You made a promise. You can’t break it now.” She gave a deep exhale.

She stepped through the newly opened gate and grabbed Mana. “I could probably figure out how to reverse time on her body as a way to quickly heal her,” Aria mumbled to herself, “but I also think it’s time we both got the hell out of here. I’m spent, and Kuria won’t stay frozen forever.” She picked Mana up off the floor, holding her in her arms; she was surprisingly light. “I guess we did run, after all.”

A bright flash of light and small chant later, they were gone—free from the devilish influence of Kuria’s dark aura. If she never had to play the role of knight in shining armor again, it would be too soon.