a rude awakening

Lee.

And I woke up.

The pickup truck shook sidewards as it rounded a blind curve. I was lying at the back, so I was nearly crushed when one of the crates slammed me into another. What was inside these boxes, anyway? I pushed the box away, putting a bit of space for me to take a stand and get up on a crate to sit on. The sky was a vast purple with hazy smudges of grey clouds lazing along and far-flung stars flickering like fireflies. Lining the road were a series of small crystalline tetrahedrons that floated high above and gave off silvery-blue light, bathing the highway in a soft glow.

“You okay, Xavier?” shouted Old Harold, his head peeking out of the passenger side, red and gray hair dancing violently with the wind and a hand cupping the side of his mouth to better help direct his voice, eyes squinting from the glare of a nearby light-crystal. “I’m fine,” I replied, and he sunk back inside. I heard Lola Leona’s voice, muffled somewhat by the rushing wind, no doubt scolding her husband on the proper etiquette of riding a moving car under the night sky.

This twisty leg of the route was sandwiched between a series of limestone cliffs, deep ravines and large hills. I was told that in the ravines were small tracts of farmland surrounded by coconut trees and sparsely dotting the hills and the cliffs were small, wooden houses with thatched roofs, but being that only the roads had lighting, it was hard to confirm whether any of that was true. I was also told that housing here has been like this since even before the Anabasis. I wondered if back then, the entirety of contemporary Filipino architecture was just wooden huts and similar designs—a harrowing thought. Although now, if you look up, you would see two black, semi-transparent orbs spaced a significant distance from each other, which were precisely Connection Spheres, the objects that brought the Internet and electricity, replacing cables and towers and whatnot.

Behind our truck was a larger truck. You know the kind that hauled shipping containers—more than a shitload what an ancient Chevrolet like ours could carry—and behind the larger truck were more trucks and some cars. This ‘caravan’ was en route to the northern countryside (which Typhoon Felion passed through about a week ago), delivering some much needed goods because the typhoon had demolished most of the towns there, leaving a quarter of a million people homeless and fighting with each other over what remaining resources there were. Adding to the insanity is that the mana-density in these parts is extremely low—so low in fact that at best, you could only puff up a quick fire before it goes poof which was odd, considering that northern Cebu is one of the most mana-rich, resource-abundant areas in the country.

Then again, I’m more of a craftsman, an alchemist, an artificer, an artist, a maker, a creator and several other words that mean tangentially the same to those that were mentioned. So, I’m not much bothered by the lacking mana-flow, I do things with my hands and my tools. At the very least, the Internet connection here was still okay, a bit slower, but still okay.

We had now passed through the snake-road, and we were now between cliffs of darker stone and greater vegetation, and larger houses that had concrete walls and metal roofs. I took a look at my phone and learned that this was barangay Tikang of Santiago, a young town of only thirteen years—I’m older by a year… which was weird. Most of the structures were spaced half-a-house apart, making way for nature to grow uninhibited in several of the areas.

The car slowed down, took a short turn, eventually settling into a halt in a gravel lot—presumably a parking lot, if the other cars were any indicator—beside a wooden structure which I assumed to be a local eatery. I jumped off the crate, landing beside the truck. I looked at the road and saw the rest of the ‘caravan’ passing by… looks like we were the only ones not in a hurry. Old Harold came out of the car first, followed by small Lola Leona.

“Are we eating?” I asked the most obvious predicament.

Lola Leona nodded, brushing graying hair behind an ear. She was wearing a dark blue, three-button, skirt suit and a pair of—I might say uncomfortable—black heels. Draped on her shoulders was an elbow-length, red, velvet cloak fastened by a clasp made in the shape of the Mages’ Alliance for Greater Interests, or MAGI as they were called by the masses. It was a stark contrast to portly Old Harold, who was wearing a white, dirt-stained shirt, equally dirty slacks and a pair of slippers. Both of them were retired members of MAGI, still pretty high-ranking as far as the general populace is concerned.

The restaurant had a floor of cement, uncolored, untiled—a bit slapdashed—with wooden tables and chairs arranged around a central, concrete pillar that had a non-electric water dispenser, a sink and beside it, a small table with upside-down glasses on a tray. The aroma of deliciously cooked meat wafted in with the help of a set of ceiling fans from the open kitchen that could be seen outside at the back of the restaurant.

We took seats near the entrance—the only table that was free as the restaurant was somewhat full—with me sitting across Old Harold, close to the door while Lola Leona took our orders.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Yanno why we're stoppin ere?” Old Harold asked suddenly while I was staring at a young girl staring at me, older than me, manning the counter—“MAGI’s got a hit ere,”—it was hard trying to maintain a staring contest from across the room while also listening, but I did my best—“rumors ‘bout Ordo Draconum lookin fer dragons and scamperin about.”—she was dressed, weirdly. Or at the very least, she was much updated with the current fashion trends: a single streak of hair dyed with neon colors—hers was a sky blue; a dark grey, band-collared shirt that was loose at the bottom but tightened around the chest area and a pair of loose jeans and leather loafers, a slight difference to my large, hand-me-down shirt, checkered shorts and a chewed-up pair of flip-flops.

My eyes went wider and I broke my gaze from the girl first, destroying the budding connection that we were making—or at least, destroying the delusions of sad fourteen-year old me, but on to pressing matters: “Ordo Draconum?” That only meant one thing—Dragons. My heart now focused on that terrifying thought was beating faster. The Ordo had been making headlines all across the world, its members inciting the awakening of several dragons, and when dragons woke up, you know that something bad was going to happen. Memories of blackened soil from miles around, the acrid stench of burnt life, smoldering ruins and smoked skies resurfaced in my mind, before a gruff voice snapped me back into activity.

“Aye,” grunted Old Harold. His eyes darting from side-to-side and up-and-down, keeping an eye out for any eavesdroppers. “Not solid evidence though, but darn close. The Simulacrum’s pretty sure that it’s Draconum but the Clypeum ain’t buyin it.” The Simulacrum and the Clypeum were both Sects of MAGI, respectively its Espionage and Security divisions.

“I’m guessing Lola Leona does?” He nodded. Old Harold wouldn’t be coming here if she didn’t. “Are there any dragons here? Aren’t dragons supposed to be… not here?” I tried to be stoic, but my voice cracked at the end.

Fortunately, or not, Old Harold didn’t notice because he let out a chuckle, a very hearty one at that. “Dragons can awake from anywhere, child. They are beasts of nature… even this town can be a dragon!” he said, “provided that you poured in obscene amounts of mana to the place. I’ve fought with a dragon only once, and it didn’t end well for me or for me companions.” He sounded a bit remorseful.

Lola Leona had arrived, placing a tray with three plates between Old Harold and me. It looked to be that lunch was pork adobo, steamed corn-on-a-cob and, of course, rice. “Harold, dear,” said Lola Leona. “You go and wash your hands.” She gestured to the sink at the central pillar, and a grumbling bearded man stood up and walked away.

“What did you two talk about?” Lola Leona asked as she took a seat beside Old Harold’s, and started eating.

“Why we’re here.” I dug in.

Lola Leona locked eyes with mine briefly, and then sighed. “I’m sorry that my husband is an insensitive man…” I smiled at that. Both of them new what had happened to me. “He never thinks of what he’s going to speak, probably why most of the Simulacrum hates him.” She laughed and gave me a smile. “What do you think about going abroad?” It was then that Old Harold came back from washing his hand.

I stopped eating and looked at her. “What?” I almost spat out my food.

“We were thinking of moving to Italia…” she said.

Isn’t Italia in Europe? I wanted to ask but refrained. “W-why? Isn’t going to Europe, a bit dangerous this time of year, or any year afterwards?” I had seen from the net that the situation near the Sovereign Bastion, a magical structure that walled off most of the Arctic Ocean and a good chunk of Old Canada, was getting rather tumultuous, to say the least: more and more rogue akhray—angels as we called them—incursions were happening. In the countries around the Bastion, some of the people—humans—took to the streets, rioting, and pushing for the expulsion of the ahkrayii and the solvarac—demons as we called them—from ‘human’ lands, while the most xenophobic of the lot argued for their total execution, complaining about the two-hundred year old London Accord.

Old Harold scratched his head. “There’s no easy way to go ‘bout this,” he said. “But MAGI is gatherin’ every able-bodied mage they can…” He leaned on his chair with his arms crossed, and let out a huff. “They likely think a war’s a’comin. And with the general state of affairs, who can blame them?”

“What about the twins? Surely, you’re not going to bring them to a probable warzone?”

Lola Leona waved a hand as if dispelling the thought. “They’ve already started living in the Scholomance dorms under the guidance of some acquaintances, of course,” she answered. “I want you to come with us, Xavier… or if you like, we’ll send you to Scholomance as well. And before you say that they won’t accept you because of your… physique: you’ll be there as an apprentice in Arcanology—wouldn’t you like that? Of course, only if you don’t want to come with us.”

Was there any need for thinking? Of course not! “I’m going with. School’s not really for me.”

Lola Leona and Old Harold both looked happy as they took turns ruffling my hair.

And then...

***