Hollow Daylight [Part 3]

Kaltain will only give an inch of what she truly feels, so that in the end, she doesn’t regret the mile it would’ve been. 

However, as she stares at the lively festival lanterns shaped in letters floating above booths, Kaltain couldn’t help but thaw into the warm scene.

“Wow.” Kaltain exclaims, unable to contain herself, smiling widely as she looks around with a fascinated expression. “It feels more angelic here than the southern.”

Ishaan chuckles. “You’re not the only one with that opinion.”

The pair stride out of the woods and onto the streets. “People sometimes mistake the western continent for the southern,” Ishaan says. “Many also compare Sun and Star Clan a lot for their similarities, with Sun Clan an embodiment of cruelty and Star Clan a symbol of brutality.”

“I know.” A sheepish grin raises Kaltain's mouth. “My father rambles off about that type of stuff.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. He—“ Kaltain cuts herself off as she spots a mouthwatering meal, aching her parched throat. Suddenly, her stomach growls.

Ishaan's lips twitch as he holds back a laugh. “Come on, my dear visitor, I’ll pay.” Tugging up his hoodie, he passes by her.

Kaltain's heart dances blissfully. 

She attempts to despise the sensation and trails behind him. Her identity did not need to be hidden because she rarely appears in the public, unlike him, though her appearance isn’t overlooked due to the people of the west tan complexion.

Kaltain may or may not have looked him up on everything; social media, school web, news sites. 

There was no limit to curiosity. Upon recalling, Kaltain mind churns in mortification, involuntarily replaying those memories. ‘My own person backstory of shame!’

She was so foolish to not know who he was upon first glance.

She could never un-known him.

As Kaltain's eyes wander, she notices Ishaan gesturing towards a bench planted near the perimeter outskirts of the woods.

Kaltain nods in response and strolls towards the bench, plopping down on the smooth oak in feign passively.

In the next second, her entire body goes still, finding the surface burning hot and leaps up, startled.

Kaltain resists the strong urge to rub her butt and instead fiddles with her red glove. ‘Why is it so damn hot here?’

To distract herself from the humidity, Kaltain traces her gaze over the happy folks participating in sword fighting, dress up, potion brewing, and shooting booths.

Her attention keen on the sword fighting of two men, watching with wonder. On a high silver platform, metal clashes against metal as they move fluidly and swiftly.

One of the man’s calm exterior falters into a wince as the other feints a lung to the left before slashing underneath, sending the fellows sword to the ground.

Clang!

Ishaan returns with the food, holding it attentively. His presence goes unnoticed by Kaltain as she continues to gawk around.

Ishaan found her innocent curiosity amusing. Diligently, he sits down, unfazed of the heat and extends his free hand.

A black cushion with long threads mounting the sides emerges. Solar construct, a skill under the sun path which allows one to create objects or creatures out of sunlight.

Because Ishaan has mastered the divine mark, he has excellent control over the temperature of sunlight used. He can erase the very foundation of his creation by absorbing the heat, making the object not an existence of sunlight, but simply an existence.

After a minute of Kaltain not noticing him, Ishaan is slammed with conflicted feelings.

Ishaan's disgust towards touching anything that doesn’t belong to him is somewhat an instinct of his.

For as long as he can remember, he hated contact with people period.

It made his blood freeze and heart drown, as if someone or something was wiggling and reshaping his essence repeatedly.

That feeling later evolved into a controlling nature.

The last time he voluntarily touched something other than what was comfortable was when he poked Kaltain.

It was a minor touch to most, yet to him, it was world changing.

People are exceptionally neglectful creatures that tend to secondary matters that they deem inconsequential. Whether it’s intentional or not, Ishaan wasn’t too sure.

‘You can live your whole life in a bubble should reality allow it.’

It was this actuality that widened Ishaan's perception of everything. Most of the things that happen in the world don't matter to the people they aren’t happening too.

With this mindset, Ishaan subconsciously made everything in his life noteworthy, which unconditionally caused him to feel more than he should.

Maybe that’s why he’s a control freak. He can’t and won’t let go of anything.

Ishaan just wants to be friends with Kaltain. She’s like a radiant shadow destined to be more than evanesce history. He senses a depth of potential in power and fate itself in Kaltain.

Although he isn’t certain, he also feels a shared sense of kinship in their outlook on life, as if in some odd way they were one and the same. A soul trying to rewrite it all.

However, despite the reasons he had to converse with her, it was the fact that he didn’t mind her in his space as much as he thought he would.

With other people, it has to be two feet or more between them, but with her, he wants it to be inches.

For now, Ishaan blamed it on her smell—vanilla. 

Ishaan unhurriedly pinches the back of her hoodie and effortlessly hauls her down.

Or he would have.

The second he touches her, Kaltain grasps his wrist in a strong grip, on the verge of breaking his hand like a twig. Her other hand poised to strike.

Ishaan mouth parts slightly in a flabbergasted manner. ‘Her reaction time is at beast level already?’

Kaltain's vision registers Ishaan, the back of her neck rising in heat. ‘Oh my lord.’ 

“I’m sorry,” Kaltain blurts, sitting down in force casualness. 

Ishaan remains completely stiff even as she lets go. He firmly repressed the violent urge that pulsed within. The sensation gradually melts away as he inhales and exhales.

Kalatin belly knots in nerves. Her brows furrow and she shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how to act or what to say.

Internally, she curses her sister to suffer rotten food.

A mere second pass when Ishaan composed himself, the feat impressive and a little unsettling.

Ishaan hands her the food and extends his senses to colder areas, searching for stalls selling beverages.

“You’re not eating?” Kaltain asks, sounding too quiet for her own liking.

His response is quick and short. “I had plenty earlier.”

An awkward tension lodges in the air.

Kaltain stares at the creamy cheese meal, her nose slowly crinkling. ‘I never had chicken pasta wrapped in flatbread. It sounds good, yet….Damn. I can’t eat when I'm uncomfortable.’

Kaltain sighs in exasperation to herself, occasionally glancing at Ishaan and as she looks at him again, she finds the spot beside her empty.

‘The fuck? Where did he go?’ Kaltain sweeps her gaze around with jittery eyes when a cold sensation tingles her nape.

Spinning around, she sees Ishaan carrying a vanilla smoothie and two water bottles. 

“I knew you would be thirsty,” he says coolly. “Is the food not to your liking? Oh, that reminds me! What did you think of the sushi and tea?”

Instead of answering his questions, Kaltain raises one of her own. “Are… are you okay?”

Ishaan walks around the bench and calmly sits back down. He places the drinks in the space between them.

“Eat your food before your smoothie gets hot.” Ishaan's voice intentionally held an authoritative note, making Kaltain compel.

****

“Has Pope Yaretzi decided on his new saints?” A honey feminine voice asks as she strides to the left side of a short muscular man.

“Nope.” The other woman beside the man answers. “I heard he’s been begging the founders to let him hunt solely since all his saints have been absolutely trash.”

“I bet he wishes he had us!”

“Damn straight,” the man speaks through a wide grin.

As they chat, sauntering the Temple of Empyrean grounds, a structure made of pure white stone and black metal perches on top of a vast jagged mountain in the eastern continent, surrounded by watchful gray mist.

The trio round a massive courtyard of light yellow wildflowers tinted blue at the tips and kneel before a splendid statue of a four armed glamorous woman.

“We are honored to greet the harvest of souls, Reaper of Celestials!” They stated solemnly and sacredly. “We heed your call!”

The pond surrounding the deity’s statue ripples and splashes with each word uttered.

In the air, the purple water forms letters of an regulation from the heavens.

‘Follow the sun and embrace the bloody lights. His request will grant your advancement.’