A Gorgeous White

It felt strange.

The foreign touch was inexplicably different from the usual back claps and shoulder patting as friends would have. The fresh scent of lavender and honey wafted into Jagra's nostrils. He stared at Moulin processing those gentle, simple words, and he could do nothing but watch. The hand on his cheek felt wistfully comforting, and so, he stood, unmoving.

Moulin took his silence as permission and without hesitance, he let his mana flow from the veins of his fingers to the cold skin of Jagra's cheek. 

Suddenly, the whole world is washed in darkness. Painted in fearsome black. Moulin was blinded. He secretly learned this technique of searching into souls during his interactions with Malyana back in the beast city. However, he could not control his mana well. It flickered like a candle's flame perched on an open window. Moulin's soul floated in the vast space of darkness like a leaf carried by an aimless breeze. 

Then there's a sudden pressure surrounding his lungs. A vice-like grip enclosed around his throat. He's grabbed by the neck and yanked into the fluidity of a soul's memories. But before he could assess his surroundings, the hand fisting his nape plunged him black into the dark murky waters within a stone basin. He's successfully linked himself with the endless nightmare. There was no strength in his body. 'Drugged', Moulin thought. 

Then he's drawn out and then drowned into the water once more. Over and over. Moulin could feel the bitterness slipping into his nose and his throat. The air slowly left his lungs until he was choking on water. Without the strength to resist it, he was helpless against the torture. It was excruciating. 

"Agh!" A sound escaped his lips once he was pulled back. However, with the grip constricting his throat. Blocking airflow, he suffered to gasp for breath. 

A chant entered his ears, muttering endless foreign words. But Moulin could recognize the crafting of a spell when he heard one. The man, his torturer, kept whispering into his ear before he'd plunge Moulin back into the water. 

'So this is what haunts Jagra…' thought Moulin, 'This is the nightmare… a memory…'

Finally, when he was pulled out of the water, the man behind him paused his chanting. Moulin could feel his breath against his cheek. If only Jagra had turned his head slightly, Moulin would try to recognize the man. Fortunately, his wishes were answered. In the next second, Moulin felt his head turn. He glanced, peeking at the corner of his eyes. 

Moulin stopped. 

His consciousness froze as he took in the man's features. Elf. 

Moulin skimmed through his memories and it didn't take him a few seconds to immediately recognize the man. Gaile, the elf from the village. When Jagra had fallen ill during their first assignment as sentinels, there was only one person who took care of him aside from Moulin. And it was none other than this elf. 

But why? Why would he do this to Jagra?

Lost in his thoughts, Moulin was once again back in the water. Darkness filled his vision and he floated back in the space of Jagra's consciousness. A voice, soft, dripping with regret and pain, echoed. 

"If you're hearing this… please tell him how sorry I am… It is unforgivable… cruel… I did not mean to hurt him but this is the only way… the only way I can help… This spell shall last for years and it will feed on his fears… I am sorry, I can think of only this… Perhaps, in the future, you will understand… He will understand… Please, treasure him for me… Do not let him look for me…"

When his words ended, glowing red lines materialized around Moulin, illuminating the darkness ominously. Symbols are created, they are arranged strangely, intersecting with each other to form new characters. 

Moulin's heartbeat quickened. These words looked too familiar... like the ones he saw in the underground basement of his estate's home as well as the altar room under Gaclan City's red palace.

'Gaile?' Moulin's mouth opened. However, the link was forcibly interrupted. Gravity swirled around him sucking him back into his real body, forcing him out. A significant amount of mana diminished and weakness overwhelmed him greatly. 

Moulin blinked, snapped out from his trance, and met Jagra's confused eyes. His friend's worry-filled face somehow lightened Moulin's heart. Even when he was suffering, Jagra would care about others first. It was indeed kind and heroic of him. However, after what he has witnessed from the nightmare, Moulin wished Jagra would care about himself more. He wondered if Jagra had even realized that all of it was real and he did almost drowned to death to perfect a damn spell.

"Are you alright? You are pale. Did you hurt yourself? Talk to me. Moulin?" Jagra held Moulin up when the youth's knees were too weak to stand properly. There were standing at the edge of the ground. One wrong move and it would be their demise. 

"I'm alright..." Moulin replied softly while he carefully drew himself away from the edge. "I got a little dizzy..."

"Don't lose yourself to such meaningless things." Jagra chastised.

"It isn't meaningless..." Moulin faced him seriously. "I... will help you overcome your troubles and distress. I promise you this... We need to talk after the situation with the swarm. I think you will need to hear what I saw."

"..." 

Jagra furrowed his brows. He is afraid to hear it but with the resolution in Moulin's silver eyes, the thick layer of fear around his heart crumbled in an instant. Perhaps, there is a cure for him. Maybe, Moulin found a way to rid him of all those nightmares. Yes... Hopefully, it will be something to look forward to...

The two men decided it was time to end their conversation. The skies have brightened enough to call it bright. However, it was still unlike the mornings of Corhan several years ago. It was time for the maeruthans and elves to assemble for the search for the remaining soul fragments. Before they left, Moulin took on least look at the gigantic bell. The huge clapper had fallen on the ground, embedding the floor and through the thick bricks. Web-like cracks surrounding it. There would be no time to repair something as heavy as that with the little time they have left.

Returning to the Maeruthan's courtyard, Moulin and Jagra are met with the desolate and serious faces of their fellow comrades. Even the warm breeze could not melt the cold atmosphere of the area. Moulin turned to ask one of the men and he received a short and quiet response. Moulin feigned surprise. 

"Ghana and the others already left?"

The man nodded. "The captain didn't even bother to say goodbye. Leaving without warning. How heartless of her."

"But what can we do? That's her personality. I shouldn't be surprised but here I am. Surprised."

"I bet she'd head straight to the liquor house when the job's done."

The men sighed in envy. They missed the scent of their homes and of course, the booze especially made from Helios's district. They wanted to mope around a little more. However, they did not have time to laze around. They were told that only one fragment was left to find. Hopefully, they would be able to locate it as soon as possible. Armed, the men set out to join the devastating search for a tiny plant that could be anywhere among the few islands in Artheia. Somehow, the mages weren't doing so well in locating the fragment while the Kron was eating up the island Tree. 

Mid-morning and Moulin returned to his chambers with Snow in his arms. Kier dutifully took Snow away while letting Moulin dresss into something suitable for riding. However, he wondered if Emlen would allow him to ride again this time. 

When he left the bedroom, his steps ceased. Silver eyes blinked and softemed. 

"Hadrian," He called the man's name. 

Hadrian walked, took the cloak off his shoulders, tossing them on the chaise couch carelessly. His eyes never left Moulin as he moved. "Are you well?"

Moulin scoffed as he approached the lord, "I'm not a delicate thing. And I must say, you have the skills of bathing an unconscious person. I have no memory of it."

"Only you have the privilege for such pleasures," Hadrian smirked. "You were quite tired, my bride."

Moulin flushed red. His eyes blazed, "Don't remind me."

"No tears this time?"

"That moment has long passed." Moulin frowned. He then joined Hadrian at the table where servants had already arranged a nutritious meal.

"The mages have found nothing. It seems the Kron, crawling at the edges of the island, is disrupting their perception." Hadrian opened, dutifully pouring Moulin a glass of sweet warm milk. "It will take long to find the last fragment."contemporary romance

"Just how long?"

When Hadrian didn't answer, Moulin felt dread creep into his spine. His face paled. "No, we don't have more time. We only have two days left before the invasion comes."

"That is why the court requests you to speak with Gala'En's God today. Would he tell you?"

Moulin furrowed his brows. Uncertainty filled his expression. However, there was no reason to refuse to try. Although Galadin was all-knowing about the world beyond his space, his power had limits. He's weak and could not even recover his own soul fragments. But perhaps, Galadin had clues of the remaining fragment's location. Right now, the search teams will not stop scouring the islands but without the mages' aid, who knows how long will they be able to locate the fragment. 

Moulin met Hadrian's deep golden gaze, nodding.. "I will speak to him."

done.co