Garden Of The Abyss

Being assisted back to the bed, he laid down as his head was caressed by his lifelong companion. She brought him a glass of water and a wet towel, placing the rag on his forehead as he sipped the cool water.

"...Seriously, why not of all times?" He muttered.

"Maybe it's a sign."

"Is that a joke or are you being serious?" He looked at her.

"--"

"We're keeping to the mission," he told her, "nothing's changed."

Though she gave him a questionable look, she let out a sight, laying beside him once again as she kept close.

"If your condition gets worse, we're pulling out, alright?"

"Fair enough."

By the next morning, after filling up with some breakfast, which he sparsely ate due to his sickness, the group ventured out towards the capital itself, boarding their next carriage.

"You don't look too hot, kid," Brahmi said, looking right at him.

Though it was a cold and refreshing morning on the trails of Mastorn's wilderness, being trudged by the carriage's sturdy, ever-moving wheels, he was in a swear, sitting there and nodding just a bit.

"...Yeah," he replied.

Iris looked at him worriedly, holding his hand and fiddling with his thumb with her own. Even though she was right beside him, he could hardly focus on anybody's presence or input as a ringing filled his ears, periodically shifting to a subtle hum.

"Ren," Tristan said.

"--"

"If you're not well enough to do this, speak up now," Tristan told him.

"...I'm fine…" He answered quietly.

Tangible sweat dripped from his chin though all he did was sit there, with a half-opened eye that swayed in its vision.

"This isn't about toughing through anything. If you can't operate at one-hundred-percent, then you're putting everybody's life at risk here," Tristan said, "Don't grit your teeth and move forward if you're blind to your own condition, Ren."

"--"

Not even Iris tried to defend his decision at this time; it was clear by the way the three looked at him whilst the carriage rolled that it was a unanimous choice felt by the group.

"...It looks that bad, doesn't it?" He chuckled wryly, breaking into a cough immediately after.

"You're not exactly looking in top condition, no," Tristan replied.

"I'm not doing this just to seem tough," he assured them, "...I know I can still handle myself right now–trust me. Let's just continue to the capital…if I start feeling that it's too much for me to handle, I'll tell you, alright?"

He looked particularly at Tristan, who through his experience and wisdom, took on an unspoken leadership role among the group of four.

"I see," Tristan said, "If that's what you want, then I don't have a problem with that. But…if I think you're pushing yourself, I'll drag you back to Old Treyna myself if I have too."

"Be my guest," he laughed a bit, still sweating.

His body was hot, as if sitting inside of a sauna this entire time, yet it was a brisk morning.

He knew it himself: his condition wasn't exactly something that would subside simply through waiting a few hours.

I don't want to back out just yet. But…I wasn't completely honest. I hardly feel as if I can muster maybe thirty-percent of my strength…let's just give it some time, he thought.

Iris held onto his hand, giving him a smile though he could see the worry hidden behind that reassuring expression.

Let's just hope…this isn't a sign of things to come, he thought.

While the wheels of the carriage moved along, he could feel his temperature rising as he watched the verdant pastures swing by in the carriage's swift travel.

"Ren…" Iris said his name quietly.

"Yeah?" He placed a smile across his lips, though he knew it was hardly doing anything to alter the state he was in.

Iris looked at him worriedly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I already told you…I'm fine," he assured her with a smile.

"Well, if you say so…" Iris gave in with a small sigh.

With the prospect of going towards the capital, he felt an unease swirl in his stomach at the thought of what laid there.

It was one of the first places I came to when I was brought into this world…It was when Althaus "purchased" me…I totally thought he was some sleazy freak, but I was wrong. They were good to me…Althaus, Norbert…Meinhard, he thought.

Such memories were bittersweet to him as he watched the beautiful landscapes of Mastorn pass by, listening to Brahmi and Tristan discussing some old missions they ventured through together.

Whenever remembering Meinhard, fond memories were intertwined with nightmarish ones. He could remember that twisted grin belonging to the Argonaut responsible for it all–

Rouge, he thought.

Such thoughts made his feverish body flash between being cold and hot as he gripped the side of the carriage with a swirl of emotions.

"Kid, just remember…" Tristan aimed his words at him.

He nodded without looking away from the window for a moment, "I know."

It was likely because of the reckless way he had always done things in this world that the people around him began to doubt his own carefulness with his life.

I've got nobody to blame but myself, he thought.

He did his best to hide it, but the pain in his covered eye was something that seemed to only grow and grow as time went on; it was as if a fiery brand was pressed against it. Such pain would make the average man holler like a little girl, but he'd grown used to such pain, only quietly gripping his head as his teeth chattered.

"Ren," Iris gripped his hand.

"I'm fine," he assured her with a small smile.

It was becoming increasingly more difficult to simply chalk whatever he was feeling up to some passing fever; he could feel it swirling inside of him–an uneasy force, shrouded in enigma.

…I don't like this. This eye…It's the source of this. After all this time…is it finally coming? He questioned.

The sound of the carriage wheels rolling over the road became monotonous; it grated against his ears as his entire body ran hot.

Minutes felt like hours; it was impossible to have any sense of time as he had to focus completely on staying conscious through the mystical fever that enveloped his body.

"Ren…" Iris called his name with more concern than usual.

He tried brushing her off again, "...I'm fine–"

But, even he failed to come up with any more excuses as he felt a warmth streaming down his lip; blood fell from his left nostril, dripping down onto his pants.

Huh…? He thought.

For a moment, the interior of the carriage was silent as he wiped his nose, looking at the fresh blood that stained his glove. Exchanging glances with his wife, Tristan, and Brahmi, he found their looks to be perplexing.

Then, he heard it: the wind was whistling.

"Move!" Tristan yelled out suddenly.

Just then, that scream prompted each of the Outlanders to evacuate the carriage with utmost speed; Ren took Iris into his arms as he dashed through the shadows.

It came down not a moment after–a force from the sky, raining down like the judgment of God. There was no telling what it was in that moment, but space caved downwards from above the still-moving carriage, crushing it below the unseen force in an instant.

The impact from the unseen attack released a massive propulsion of wind, causing him to draw his sword from its scabbard as Iris and himself watched in utter disbelief.

"...What was that?" Iris asked.

"No clue," he replied, looking forward towards the massive cloud of dust, "Whatever it is, it wants us dead."

As the dust cleared, he could see Tristan and Brahmi on the opposing side of the verdant clearing, a good thirty meters away.

A clear view of the aftermath from the sudden attack was now visible to the four Outlanders.

No way, he thought.

It was a colossal handprint; imprinted into the field, having squashed the carriage into a flat floor of wood and the horses that pulled it into nothing but red paste that smeared the caved-in soil.

"My, you all managed to evade that one. I guess I really am past my prime."

An unknown voice spoke, drawing the eyes of the group, who were now all on guard and ready for a fight. It was a playful tone, belonging to a wizened tone.

As he looked over, he found his eyes laying on the sight of a man well into his years, looking to be in his eighties, at least. The mysterious stranger had a lengthy, snow-white beard that dropped down to his belly.

He was dressed in an all-black uniform, which was just baggy enough to hide his physique; it resembled the outfit of a karetka, though with semblances of armor.

"Not a single step forward, or I blow your brains out, old man."

The threat came from Tristan, who had already manifested his abyssal magnum, aiming it towards the enigmatic elder.

"Hoh," the old man laughed, stroking his beard as he stood between the two pairs, "You must be Tristan; the wielder of the 'Purgatory Arms'--ah, yes. You've made a name for yourself."

"--" Tristan narrowed his amethyst gaze.

Keeping his distance, though not letting his guard down, Ren held his sword up with Iris keeping a spell ready as well, standing directly at his side.

"Is he the one who did that?" Iris asked quietly.

"Probably. It's hard to imagine an old fart like him pulling off an attack like that, but…this world is full of odd balls like him," he replied.

The playful look present on the old man's face, who looked as harmless as somebody's grandpa, shifted naturally into an intense look of disdain and bloodlust as he spread his arms before bringing his palms together.

"To think vermin like you would have the gall to approach the heart of Mastorn…" The old man said with a burning anger, "...I, Godfrey, the first Argonaut, will see to it that you're all wiped from the face of Gaia."

It wasn't so much the proclamation of malice that shook the four that squared off against the mysterious assailant, but the title that fell from his lips.

"'The First Argonaut'?!"