When morning came, Luna stepped out with her few belongings and walked up the long stairs, wiping the crusts of sleep from the corner of her eyes. She grunted with every step, still sore from the evening before, but it was a good type of pain. As if she had climbed every stairs in Sitabee ten times over and now felt the restitutioning reminder of her journey.
The sun hadn’t even risen as she walked over to see Logan seated atop a crate, drinking from his scratched canteen. Next to him sat Abraham, but he looked distinctly different from before.
He no longer wore his robes, but a slightly oversized leather tunic over a dark set of pants. It was the first time she’d seen his thin eyes and his face in full without the hood.
He was no beautiful boy by any measure, but a handsome-ish man, she supposed. He would definitely have to snag a partner with a great deal of his cautiously charming personality, but that was something the two of them would have to work on. Logan wouldn’t be too much help - or so she thought, until she saw the congregation who had come to bid them adieu by the gate.
Her hand tightened around the butt of the rifle slung over her shoulder as Ethel extended something bright-red towards the crate. Such was their relationship at that point that she could see Logan question the item, but before he could take it, Abraham took it instead. By the red cheeks and Ethel’s wink, it seemed he had been the right recipient all along.
He broke from his sullen staring to a bright red. Wide eyes stared down at the underwear in his hands, as if they were crawling with the Monstrum, of which she had no doubt, but a flatter, more parasitic monstrum.
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“My parasite’s better.” she thought, smiled and stepped between the two.
“Departure day.” Isaac spoke from the direction of the monastery. Luna turned to see the priest approach with a pained, but hopeful smile directed at Abraham. His apprentice nodded, but he quickly averted his gaze to stare down at the underwear again.
“It’s been fun, priest.” Logan jumped down from the crate to shake the old priest’s hand. They locked eyes before the two grabbed lower arms and shook sternly - a warrior’s greeting, possibly for the last time.
“Take good care of my boy, Commander. When he comes back, I expect him to be as scarred and weary as the rest of us.” Logan chuckled. “I’ll do my best, old man. You sure you don’t want a mask of your own?”
The priest shook his head and looked at his apprehensive student with pity and sorrow. “It’s not for me - never was. I hope you can heal him, somehow. I’d say he was welcome back, but I don’t think he’d do well here.” The two nodded the silent understanding - that the boy was no longer a man of the cloth nor a citizen of Anza. He was a warrior, soon to be a Ghast.
As they arrived at the top of the hill, Logan stared out across Cradle’s sparkling rivers and the vivid greenery - the beauty of the red sunrise over the distant mountains not lost on him. In fact, it looked more beautiful than ever as Luna caught up to him and shared in the radiance of the scorching ball.
But it was not Luna’s red, glistening eyes on which his attention was fastened. It was Abraham, with his oversized nose, his black, crazed hair and the equally black eyes.
Finally, he had discarded the glare of a boy expecting there to be anything joyous out there.
Finally, he saw the world for what it was.
His hunting grounds.