Septerra Inframagus: Claim Of the Invictus. [REWRITING]

[4] A Weird Dream and Untold Mysteries

I studied my hands, small and soft, my fingers like rising green saplings. A handsome man, who looked just a little older than 25, with brilliant blue eyes, jet black hair, and a frown on his face was holding me in his arms. We seemed to be hiding behind a wall, trying to overhear a hazy sound coming from the other side. The worried man inched closer to the edge of the wall. The voices rattled through more clearly, and with more depth.

"Magnus, my friend, you know that I cannot offer you what you ask for," said the first man.

"Yes, I know. But what if I said your life depended on it Aamon" said Magnus.

"I would tell you to grant me death instead" said Aamon, his voice heavy.

"What do you want? I'll give you anything" Magnus asked through clenched teeth.

"The last time I let you see through me, Magnus, you let the magic turn your actions against you" Aamon replied.

Magnus replied almost immediately without hesitation, "And I need your help to reverse it. If you cannot Aamon, I will gladly tell the rest of your kind what you've been upto".

"You would certainly dare. Very well. However you must remember Magnus, it will do you no good" said Aamon.

The man shielded my eyes, against the searing light, his warm fingers cold against my own skin, as I absorbed the last of a flash of golden light that set the place aglow. The wall towered over us it did not provide us comfort nor safety, and the freezing winds surrounded us.

"You have seen it, now Magnus, erase what will come to erase you" said Aamon.

The young man lifted his hand from my eyes, only to swiftly cover his mouth. I watched as the blue eyed man's jaw shivered. He tightened his grip around me, and suddenly there weren't just two voices anymore, as my loud cries shook the air.

"Who's there?" boomed Magnus' voice.

"We must get to the grove of sacred tree, amigo, I will keep you alive at any cost" whispered the man hastily, looking directly at me, his eyes soft and his touch gentle.

"I know that it is you Marco! Do not run if you wish to protect your life!" he yelled again.

Marco inhaled a sharp breath and quickly held me to his chest. I heard his breathing get increasingly rapid and his heart seemed to be racing a hundred miles a minute. We started moving, as Marco held me tightly, rocking me from side to side, which ironically was very comforting and I snuggled into his arms, as we fled from the place, before Magnus could catch us.

The scene dissolved.

I was still a baby, but this time I was lying in the arms of a person I recognized. In the arms of my mother. She was wearing a tattered white dress drenched in water and small drops of water often fell from the tips of her hair onto my chest, yet her eyes still had that sparkle, her kite face glowed in the moonlight. Near us, I heard the crashing of the waves and beside where we were standing, I saw a thorny bush. I reached up to feel for her face, in the hope that I would get just one more sweet forehead kiss, when a fuzzy, loud beeping sound blacked out the dream.

I blinked my eyes open, my head pounding. I stretched my arms out and took my phone into my hands, and turned the alarm off. When I saw the time, I sat up with a jolt. Shit. It was 6:30 AM. The sun was out and I still hadn't gone home or texted my dad or anything. I quickly opened my messaging app. 45 texts and 26 missed calls. Oh no. My fingers moved masterfully across the screen as I typed out a reply.

"Im sooo sorry. I slept outside. I'm coming over".

I packed up my things into my backpack, leaving the NASA photograph, next to the CN tower and made my way out of the room, the library and subsequently the school, carefully, and rode back to my house as fast as I could.

I thrust my cycle on the front porch, walked towards the door and knocked thrice.

"Coming!" I heard my father's voice. The door opened and my father quickly captured me in a hug. I hugged him back.

"You scared me Ish," he said.

"I'm sorry I went away like that," I said.

"I'm sorry I didn't give you some space" he apologized.

"It's okay dad," I said. The word felt so lost now, so drained of meaning.

"Don't do that again..." he said, frowning.

"I won't. I promise. I was just a little confused and mad" I patted his hands.

"Do you still need some space?" he asked. I nodded. He squeezed my hand in agreement.

I walked past him, towards my room on the second floor. The familiar smell of petrichor from the scented flowers, intoxicated me. I flumped into my bed, stared at my ceiling.

There was a stubborn awareness in me that the dream had been a memory.

If so then who was the man who was holding me? How was I related to him? Or. . . was I related to him? Who was Magnus Prognatus? Who was Aamon? I didn't know. What I did know was that they were doing something wrong and they seemed to be against this other man Marco, the man who held me in his arms.

"Dad?...Dad???!!" I called out.

"I'm in the kitchen Ischel...what do you need?" he yelled.

I went downstairs and into the kitchen. My dad was standing there, his shirt dirty and his phone near the stove, playing a cooking show. I walked up towards him.

"Dad, I need to talk to you...do you have a moment?" I asked.

Startled by me, he spilled the pan of sauce he was mixing all over his white shirt.

"Ooohhh Ff that's hot! That's hot!"

"Shit. Sorry. Here" I said and reached for the red cloth near me and dabbed his shirt.

"Thanks. Big help. Cooking by the way is not easy. I have no idea how your mother managed to do it three times a day. God, I respect women" he said.

I laughed, "I guess so".

He took the red cloth from my hand and as it unfolded, in an instant both our expressions changed. It was mom's apron.

"That's...oh god..." I said.

"Yeah...yeah it is... " my father said, stifling his breath and holding it close to his nose, inhaling what was left of her, and then he put it away on the countertop, like even the scent had been snatched away.

A funeral would have held more grief but when the body was nowhere to be seen. Floating around us, stood mountains of stories, all but a fraction of her presence now. As those mountains pressed over me, I could not move. In that moment, I had become the ground holding everyone and everything and not knowing how to break to let them fall down. I pulled the apron back to my chest, clutching it tightly, and held it there, as though it would somehow bring my mother back, and it did, even if it was only for a mere few seconds. The scent infiltrated me, ruling every part of my body, and I almost drowned in it.

But, if there was a reason everything happened, then I ought to find out why.

"You wanted to talk..." my father asked, his voice lacking the enthusiasm it had before.

Should I have just asked him? He carried the weight of it all and yet refrained from letting us see it. Did pain not deserve to be seen?

I needed answers. If I was going to find my mother...I needed answers. This is where I had to start.

"Yeah. Dad, remember the story of how you met mom...I think....there's more to the story...than you're letting on. Can you ...will you just please tell me what exactly happened...?" I asked.

My fathers face became a stolen jewel, his amber eyes had nothing but darkened. Chained into his seat, the irons only let him breathe and not speak. I stood there expecting him to answer knowing well what it would be. However a part of me, clinged onto the hope of hearing it was just a dream and that there was nothing more to the story. I waited patiently, the tension in the air growing as the time passed.

Until my father finally spoke, "When I saw her, she already had you in her arms...Ischel I know nothing about your mother's past life...all I can tell you is that...Ischel...I...uhm

...Ischel I'm not your real father."