Fallen One (Book three of Alfireán age)

- What to Do? -

Alf's mind twisted in turmoil as the group reemerged from the store and out into the smoky night air. Harold was like a father to him. Hearing that the butler had left to find Danarc and had never returned felt as if someone had stabbed him in the chest.

He stared up into the sky, looking for light in the darkness, but the haze of smoke blotted out the moon and stars.

Feeling slender fingers brushing against his, Olivia took his hand, and he looked down at her worried face. Their troubled eyes met; Alf wasn't the only one Harold was like a father to. Staring into Olivia's cinnamon-gold eyes, he swallowed hard. "I'm sure he's fine... wherever he is," Alf told her, trying to convince himself as well.

Livy nodded and her eyes misted. "You think we can pray just in case?" she asked him while the ocean roared mournfully at their backs and the moist wind tugged at their clothes.

"Sure," Alf said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. As Olivia rested her head against his chest, Alf once again turned to look up into the starless night. "Heavenly Father, we ask that you keep Harold safe and bring him safely home. He's like a father to us and everyone depends upon him for guidance. He's always helped us stay in your will, so please help him stay safe. In Jesus' name, we pray, amen."

"Do you know something?" the grand champion said abruptly as the prayer came to an end.

Alf glanced up to see Zaphaniea staring at Rex with accusing eyes.

Avoiding her gaze, the vice-champion peered at the crumbling rock at his feet and ran his hand through his brown hair as his jaw twitched.

"You do know something," Zaphaniea exclaimed, suddenly standing to her feet from where she'd been leaning against a broken structure. "Spill it froggy!"

Rex finally looked up at Alf. His young face contorted in guilt, and his mouth turned down as he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Several days ago, I rescued a man, a blonde-haired woman, and a little boy with bi-colored eyes. I escorted them safely back to Glandledale and I'm pretty certain the man was Harold."

"Then he's safe?" Olivia asked, a hint of hope in her voice as she let go of Alf and stepped forward imploringly.

The vice-champion turned away from her. "Not exactly," he answered. "They were surrounded by dead monsters when I arrived, and they looked like they put up quite the fight, but Harold and the little boy were unconscious. The kid woke up soon after I got him back, but the man is still in a coma. Gerhard told me he's in a bad way."

"Why? What happened," Olivia demanded, her raising voice mimicking the distant cries of seagulls returning to their nests in the cliffs.

Rex collapsed on a charred stone bench with his back to Olivia and rubbed his fingers through the streaks of dirt on its blackened surface. The smell of burning wood and stone drifted in the inky darkness around him while Drake and the maids listened quietly on.

"What's wrong with him?" Alf asked softly and sat down on the city bench beside the vice-champion.

"It's not good," Rex admitted without lifting his eyes. "Some ancient relic messed his brain all up," he said as he picked random pieces of dirt off his fingers. "Gerhard says it looks like someone set off a firecracker inside his head. And," Rex finally looked up, "she doesn't think he has more than a week left."

Olivia looked at Alf, her eyes troubled, then glanced back at the vice-champion. "The death ability?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Yea," the vice-champion responded. "Pa said it's as close to dark magic as you can get without being it."