June 8, 2024. 7:18 P.M.
Room 6, Pagaduan-Encanta Apartment.
I am writing the last page of this diary. An old friend with sleeping problems gave me tons of wonderful gifts and I want to mention his cooperation in granting my wish.
I hope I'm in the same place with my mother and father when I wake up. I can't remember the last thing we talked about on that breakfast... but my father and I were so rowdy that my mother scolded us. Maybe it is good to ask them what it was and continue where we left off.
I'm sorry... for the first person to find me, but I hope these long-lasting fragrance oils will keep my body from becoming too... I forgot the word to describe it. I'm feeling sleepy now so I'll end it here. Please take care of me.
Adolph.
A sloppy signature marked the end of the notebook entry. Noticeable circles of wet spots were scattered across the lower part of the paper. A sad literary farewell to the unknown. The name of the one who signed it... was Adolph.
Were it not for his parents dying in a car crash, he would still have a hopeful smile. Were it not for being diagnosed with heart failure, he would still have plenty of time. Were it not for his friends turning their backs on him, he would still have a tomorrow to look forward to. The money left in his wallet was nothing but fleeting pieces of paper. The strength left in his body was nothing but an illusion of life he would soon lose.
It was a losing war for him, but he saw victory in the idea of a never-ending sleep. Yes—death. So, he claimed it.
Slumped on a bed covered with wrinkled black sheets, Adolph's hand lay motionless above his head. His eyes blinked, each blink lasting longer than the one before. Blink, blink, blink... and then they closed for good.
"Death would be a mercy," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
His voice held neither pain nor relief. It was lifeless. "Neutral", if that could explain the emptiness of his tone. Yes... a farewell. His last words were devoid of grandeur nor was some sort of an honorable quote. It was nothing but a simple testament to his whole, damned life.
Suddenly his chest felt weird. As if his lungs contracted and refused to take in air. Heavy—his heart became too heavy. His breathing grew labored, but he was too sleepy to make a struggle. Blood flow slowly came to a halt. His veins hardened then his complexion paled from its usual hue to a ghostly white. Right after, his whole body froze stiff. With a final exhale, the last breath escaped his lips. The end arrived swiftly, and it was a bittersweet release.
His life finally came to an end—or so he thought...
First Passage, The Boy Blessed By Death
His mind floated for what felt like an eternity, like a leaf breezing through a steady wind. It drifted for a time he wasn't aware of, nor would even care to know. Slowly, the haze of being unconscious began to clear, like a drug losing its effects. His sense of self revived, and his consciousness escaped the trance of nothingness.
He gradually reclaimed one of his physical senses: his vision. At first blurred, the world slowly came into focus around him. Then after a few seconds, his sight fully returned. What greeted him was an antique mirror directly in front of him. Its elongated oval shape was framed by intricate wooden carvings. It rested beside the stacks of wooden crates whose contents were full but way too messy to be determined.
Glancing around, he realized he was in a small, unfamiliar room, similar in size to his own but vastly different in atmosphere. Flickering embers from charred firewood crackled inside a pot placed at the room's center. A cylindrical brazier pot. The feeble sparks danced in sync with the gentle night breeze, casting fleeting shadows across the dirt floor.
The brazier cast a faint glow, barely illuminating the interior. Adolph recognized the structure he was in. A tent. Fashioned from thick cloth draped over wooden poles, its sides gently billowing in the night breeze. Inside, makeshift beds of hay lay covered with tattered, dirty blankets. A table cluttered with various tableware, empty wooden bowls, a chunk of white bread, and a small pouch was situated on one side.
His attention returned to the mirror before him. Reflected in its antique surface was a suit of black leather armor, enveloping his entire body from head to toe. The mask atop the armor was particularly striking—a fierce one. It was black, its hue far darker than the night sky. Long, pointed ears, sharp and serious slanted eyes, and a mouth stretched into a jagged-toothed grin. A fearsome wolf incarnate, to say the least.
Adolph examined his hands clad in leather gloves, raising them to inspect the armor further. For a moment, he tried to think of something to describe such armor he was wearing. But he couldn't come up with anything. It wasn't long until questions began to surface in his mind: Why was he wearing this armor? Where exactly was he? Most perplexing of all, hadn't he died earlier?
He had read many stories like this one before and only one word could describe everything that was happening to him. A miracle of rebirth. Reincarnation.
Adolph tried to make his way towards the mirror but his feet bumped into something. He looked down and saw himself standing inside an empty crate. With deliberate steps, his feet silently walked over the crate and approached the mirror.
Upon a closer look at his reflection, he noticed something was off. The sharp eyes of the mask he wore glimmered faintly in gold. Intriguing. He reached out his fingertips to feel those glowing eyes. It was solid. He gently tapped it multiple times—expecting the glow to dissipate, but it didn't.
It was then that he noticed something else peculiar. He didn't blink. As Adolph tapped his finger against the solid surface of the mask's glowing eyes, he realized that he hadn't blinked a single time. Blinking was a reflex, a natural human response. So it was natural to do so, right? To blink? Yet, try as he might, he couldn't. His eyelids remained still... well, he couldn't even feel his eyelids moving. He was confused as to why he couldn't blink. Rather, it seemed that he had forgotten how to blink altogether.
Why?
He decided to take a deep breath to think things through. But then again, he can't take a breath. Strange... very strange. The sensation of inhaling and exhaling had vanished—it was like his lungs had forgotten how to do it. He has become clueless about how to take a breath. He was already standing there for almost more than a minute when he came to his senses. And yet, he didn't take a breath? Not even once?
How?
He wanted to express his utmost confusion, but the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. Rather, he couldn't feel his mouth, nor twist his tongue. He couldn't even grind his teeth. Parts that should have been in there were all missing. The empty sensation tells him everything he has to know.
Where did it go?
His gut feeling earlier was that "something" was wrong. Now, it felt like "everything" had gone wrong. Well... Can he even "feel" to begin with?
He turned his attention toward the fire at the center of the tent. With a quick stride, Adolph approached and extended out his arms over the brazier. The weak flames flickered below his hands, but to his surprise, he couldn't feel the heat. Was his armor too thick? He drew his hands closer to the fire, seeking the familiar sensation of warmth. Still, he can't feel anything. Closer and closer, he moved his hand towards the fire. His fingertips almost touched the dancing flames but he still couldn't feel the heat. Wait—what was the feeling of heat again? He forgot. He strained to recall the sensation... to anticipate the feeling of it, but now he can't remember how it was.
Confused. Very. He didn't know where to start. Lost in thought, he failed to notice his left glove catching fire from the nearby embers until it was too late. Adolph hastily tore off the burning glove and tossed it onto the nearby table. He then immediately checked if his hand had been burned—his hand that should have been inside his glove. But that said hand... it wasn't there. There was nothing inside the glove. The leather armor in his forearm extended down to his wrist, but the hand that should be beyond that wasn't there. He took his fingers in his right hand to feel his left. There was nothing... His right fingers probed their way inside the armor of his left forearm. It was hollow—there was nothing inside. Like the armor just took shape with nothing but air inside of it.
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It was not just his hands, but his entire forearm—gone. No, maybe it even extends beyond that. His entire arm? His whole torso? Even his legs and toes below? Maybe... his entire body?
Adolph became reluctant to find out. Retrieving the glove he had tossed towards the table, he held it in his hand. With the small burn extinguished, the glove hung limply from his right hand. Puzzled, he didn't know how to put it back for there was no hand to put it back into.
With desperation fueling his actions, he just shoved the glove in and connected it to the armor in his forearm. To his astonishment, the glove took the shape of his hand. Magically? Amazed, Adolph was surprised to witness his hand come back to life. He clenched it into a tight fist and then stretched it wide, as wide as he could. His hand was back, he could feel it—but he knew that it wasn't there.
From then on, Adolph finally accepted the hunch he had long denied: he had been reincarnated, but not as a person. He had become... an armor.
A living armor.
Adolph couldn't fathom how it had all happened so quickly. Aye, everything happened so fast. What he lacked most at that moment was something important. Information, that is. Why had he become armor? What purpose had brought him here? Where exactly was he in this new world?
All he knew was what was inside the tent he was in. The world outside was all but a mystery and something must be done.
Adolph began with the items on the table before him. The pouch resting atop drew his immediate attention. He lifted it, feeling its weight, and then carefully opened it. Inside lay beads of blue stones, each of uneven size, gleaming with a rare luster. He took one out and observed it further. Its hardness resembled that of a rock, yet its surface was smooth like that of candy. The bead's beauty captivated him, reflecting the warm orange light emanating from the fire behind him. Maybe it was a gem. A treasure of someone. Someone who lived inside the tent.
"Hey! Who are you?" Adolph froze on the spot. It was a voice—a rough-sounding voice. Adolph could hear it. Surprised. He was enlightened that he could hear, after all those things amiss in his body.
But the elation of discovery wouldn't last as it quickly soured into a dilemma. Here he was, caught red-handed inside someone else's tent, clutching their prized armor and treasure. In their eyes, he would be nothing more than a thief.
"Hand over the Blue Destiny." the man demanded.
"Blue Destiny?" Adolph mused to himself, finding the name rather fanciful.
He glanced toward the source of the voice. A man stood there, dressed in a dirtied shirt that hung down to his knees. A thick cloth was wound around his waist like a makeshift belt. His build was on the thinner side. Perhaps a sign of malnourishment. A stark reflection of the impoverished environment within his dwelling.
"What the... why are you wearing that armor?" the man again rambled, his words tumbling out in confusion.
Adolph put back the gem he took out inside the pouch and offered it back to the man.
"Forget those drugs. You're Hodum, aren't you? Have you finally lost it? Take off that armor before you damage it!"
Hodum? Drugs? Adolph was perplexed once more. Who was Hodum? Were these gems considered drugs? If so, then this person was involved in something illicit. Yes... A bad one. Adolph grew cautious around the man and hesitated, withdrawing the pouch he had intended to return.
"It seems the effects have taken a toll on your thinking, Hodum," the man said as he slowly closed into Adolph. The man clearly mistook him for someone named Hodum and judging by his words, Hodum must have been a customer of these "drugs." And this man towards him... was visibly angry.
"Leave the pouch and take off that armor. Now." Adolph could comply with the former, but the latter was impossible; he was the armor itself. Adolph shook his head—a silent refusal to the man's demand.
"You seem confused, Hodum. This is not a negotiation. It's an order." The man then brandished a short knife and waved it around in the direction of Adolph. Its blade flashed faintly as he waved it menacingly before Adolph.
An ultimatum. Adolph understood that reasoning with this man was futile. After all, some problems couldn't be resolved peacefully—and this, unfortunately, was one of them...
.
.
.
Adolph braced himself, knowing trouble was just the beginning.