10 Years ago…
“Hnngh…!”
A young boy’s voice could be heard groaning out in frustration as he continued to push himself, his goal in arm’s reach.
“C’mon, I’m s-so … close!”
The Draiken boy, six years of age, had climbed up onto an open glass cabinet, adamant on retrieving one of the treasures on display. Using the small, dagger-like hooks of his juvenile wings for extra stability, he reached out for the framed photograph situated at the far back of the top shelf. He stretched as far back as his small stature could endure, praying his stability would hold long enough. Regardless of the outcome, he refused defeat.
For as long as the Draiken child could remember, he only had limited visibility of the photograph from below, vaguely recognising a group of five joyous silhouettes standing together in triumphant poses. His curiosity of the photo grew overtime, wondering about its context to the point where he was overwhelmed with desire to reach out and snatch it. And so, today was the day he would finally place his curiosity to rest – no matter the lengths he would take to satisfy his desire.
He was cautious as he climbed the fragile structure, constantly reminding himself that one slip or loss of balance would bring an abrupt end to his escapade – along with his alibi. On the other hand, his heart was leaping from his chest as he felt the tips of his fingers touching the photo-frame, edging closer by the second. His patience was diminishing rapidly, his tongue sticking out, body shaking, and breaths quickened as the boy pushed his reach beyond its limit. A burst of anticipation struck him, grasping the edge of the frame in one risky stretch of his hand.
“Ah-HAH! Gotcha!”
The boy's yells echoed out in absolute glee, holding the photo-frame close to his chest in triumph.
Creak…!
“…Uh-Oh.”
In that moment of elation, the Draiken boy felt his body sway back, realising that the display cabinet had finally lost its balance. The boy regretted his mistake immediately, his eyes stricken with horror as he lost control of the situation. His heart was racing, unable to hold back the panic as his body’s momentum rocked back uncontrollably. He had no time to think – no way of escaping without consequence.
He was in trouble.
Creak...! Clunk!
“Ngh! Wha-...?”
The boy’s body jolted as the momentum of the cabinet halted abruptly mid-fall. Due to the unconventional slant, the boy was left hanging from the edge of the top shelf, watching awkwardly as various objects from the lower shelves slid and fell off to the carpet floor below. What then followed was an ominous shadow looming over him, causing the boy to freeze in immediate terror.
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing … Zaron?” A disgruntled female voice then echoed ominously from the towering shadow, her darkened tone causing a shiver to crawl up the boy’s spine.
With his ruffled jet-black hair and large innocent bright-green eyes, the young Zaron peered up to the person standing over him. Glaring back as she held the cabinet firmly in place was his mother: Terra.
Her deadpan eyes and overall unfazed expression bore into her mischievous son, piercing through any attempt to feign innocence on his wrongdoing.
“Eh-heh-heh…” The young Zaron giggled in a failed attempt of a response, showing an awkward, guilt-ridden grin as he feared the impending doom set upon his soul.
***
Exiting the master-bedroom of the Nitro Residence, Terra led the way down the stairs and into the living room. She held the framed photo closely in one hand and an unbreakable grasp of Zaron’s hand in the other. Zaron himself was complying reluctantly, his face lowered and hidden away during to the shame. Both were silent, yet both knew that no words were required as the tense atmosphere surrounding them was close to suffocating.
As the two entered the room, they found the other two family members competing head-to-head in a fighting videogame, aptly titled: Blazing Fist 5. One competitor, perched cross-legged on the floor with controller in hand, was 9-year-old Denzo. The other competitor, lying flat against his front beside his eldest son with a firm grasp on his controller, was Virion.
With both pairs of eyes glued to the screen directly before them, it was apparent that they had reached the Final Round of their intense virtual battle. Denzo had taken on the character of Rin, a young martial artist on a quest to avenge the death of a beloved family member. On the opposition, Virion had chosen the character of Hazama, a veteran martial-artist cursed with unyielding powers of darkness as punishment for his past mistakes – who, ironically, was also Rin’s Father.
“Final Round ... Fight!”
The conflict on screen raged tremendously, each blow delivered by both combatants gradually rising to critical levels.
WHAM! Bash! Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh...! Whack-whack! Bang! BOOM!!!
The sounds of adrenaline-fueled Drum-and-Bass was heard almost in sync with every inflicted strike, pumping through the speakers in epic rhythm. Additionally, a plethora of particle effects and chaos within the volcanic scenery intensified the severity of the event. After the constant barrage of fists, kicks, parrying and guarding, the battle became was nail-bitingly close with the two players on the last 10% of their Health.
Swoop! Bap-bap! Fwoom...!
And then, the final blow was struck.
WHAM!!!
“...HAZAMA … WINS.”
“Wha-?! That not-! No…! No! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
The conclusion of the conflict caused Denzo to yell at the top of his lungs in absolute defeat, his arms thrown over his head in exaggerated fury.
“Ah-Ha-HAA! Seems you’ve got a long way to go until you’re on my level, Denzo!” Virion taunted his son with a gleeful smirk, embracing the undisputed glory as champion.
“I CALL FOR A REMATCH!” Denzo then demanded as he pointed at his father in detest.
Virion continued to scoff at his son’s denial for failure, “Remember these words well, Denzo: ‘A true man knows when to walk away from the table.’”
“Oi.”
Before the two can continue with their bickering, Terra firmly stepped in and interrupted – mainly as she was unable to tolerate the nonsense spouting from her husband’s mouth. Both Virion and Denzo switched to her in an instant, only just realising that she and Zaron were in the room. Denzo’s brow raised in sudden intrigued, noticing his younger brother hiding away behind their mother – avoiding eye-contact purposely with everyone else in the room. Even without the need to question, Denzo came to the swift conclusion that his brother was in an abundance of trouble – and it amused him.
“Whilst you two were busy beating the living daylights out of each other, this one decided to get a little curious.” Terra then announced with a sigh, tugging the reluctant Zaron by the arm and exposing him to judgement.
The young Zaron was trembling on the spot, his cheeks flustered immensely as embarrassment overwhelmed him. He refused to utter a word, desperately attempting to avoid eye-contact. Noticing such a prevalent guilt-ridden expression, Virion sharpened his glare as though to read his young son’s mind. He then switched to Terra, eyeing the framed photograph held tightly in her grasp. After a few seconds of eerie silence, a small sigh escaped Virion as he expressed it dissatisfaction.
“Zaron, I’m disappointed in you.” He murmured at the boy, rising to his feet and claiming the framed photo from Terra in curious observation. “Why try to steal a dusty, old photo? Why not go for something more ... worthwhile?”
“That’s what you’re disappointed about?” Terra grumbled lowly to her husband, resisting to desire to pull his ear in sheer contempt.
“I wasn’t going to steal it!” Zaron then burst out to his parents abruptly, consumed by his overwhelming emotions. “…I just wanted to look at it, that’s all.”
Both Virion and Terra glanced down to him, taken aback by the sudden outburst. Denzo rolled his eyes in silent disappointment, switching away due to lack of interest over the conversation that he predicted would follow. Zaron stood his ground as he continued to face his parents, his body trembled fearfully and large eye on the verge of tears. He refused to run, mentally preparing for the discipline he would soon endure. However, after a moment of silence, both Virion and Terra broke into amused smirks and snickers.
“Zaron, why didn’t you ask one of us to get it down for you?” Virion questioned the boy.
“That would’ve been too easy.” Zaron admitted in a sly response, his eyes veering off awkwardly.
Virion froze upon hearing his son’s response, “…Of course you’d say that.”
He could feel his wife’s eyes staring over to him like daggers, accusing his side of the parenting silently for influencing the boy’s stance on the situation. Terra then decided to take the young, oblivious Zaron by the hand and pass Virion without uttering another word. Virion followed the two from behind unwillingly, a shiver crawling up his spine as he atoned for his flaws as a father. The three perched themselves on a nearby sofa, Zaron sitting in the centre with the framed photograph placed on his lap whilst Terra and Virion sat either side of him. At the same time, Denzo continued to sit cross-legged in front of the television screen, preferring to preoccupy himself with Blazing Fist’s Arcade Mode in obsession to improve himself over his previous humiliation.
With curious eyes perplexed over the photograph on his lap, the young Zaron was bouncing in anticipation to hear its origins. The photo showed a group of five warriors, posing vibrantly to the camera with a wide range of charisma. They stood within a citadel of momentous proportions, rays of heavenly-light breaking through the stain-glass windows in radiance. Between the grandiose walls that coated the enormous hall, the polished gold-tinted flooring too pure to carelessly step on, and the rows of towering pillars: the team stood proud in celebration of their victory.
“I must admit: this sure takes me back.” Virion admitted cheerfully as he gazed on the photo, feeling a wave of nostalgia fill his mind. “This was taken around fifteen years ago, back when your mother and I had just completed our first mission with our team. We were formed as an elite group of individuals named the ‘Xaphire Ultima’.”
Zaron’s eyes dazzled as the word ‘elite’ was highlighted in his mind, straightening himself up to fully engross himself in the photograph.
“We were standing in the main hall of the Royal Citadel of Aeris, not long after the ruler of Humesa – Her majesty, Queen Sera – thanked us personally for our contribution to Xaphire.” Virion continued to gloat in detail, indicating to the centre of the photo where a young male Draiken in his early twenties stood in triumphant glee. “As you could probably tell: that handsome chap in the middle is me. I had the daunting task of leading our miserable band of misfits on deadly missions. However, with my tremendous leadership skills, we completed our missions without issue.”
“…Aside from that one time you almost trapped us in the collapsing Mythrenia Mines.” Terra murmured under her breath in a sly tone, as though sabotaging Virion’s heroic image. “Oh! And let’s not forget your finest achievement: unleashing an army of Peravox to the world singlehandedly, all because you forgot the one golden rule of ‘look, don’t touch’.”
Virion and Zaron jolted instantly upon hearing Terra’s small inclusion to the tale, although both for different reasons entirely: Virion’s expression turned sour as the naïve mistakes he buried deep in his thoughts returned to haunt him; on the other hand, Zaron felt a shiver crawl up his spine as the word ‘Peravox’ echoed through his thoughts.
The Peravox were known to many as paranormal entities that roamed long-abandoned areas and buildings, diminishing the life of those unfortunate enough to cross their path. They are considered extremely rare in appearance by current statistics, their confirmed numbers waning over the past few millennia. With that said, they were deemed invulnerable to physical weaponry as detailed by centuries of research and documentation, only inconvenienced by natural ultraviolet light and unique mineral stones.
Upon hearing the specific identification of the Peravox, the young Zaron vowed to avoid any potential encounters for the entirety of his life. As he cast aside the horrifying thought, the young Zaron returned focus to the photo on his lap, intrigued by his father’s younger appearance. Initially, the boy was unable to notice any significant changes when comparing his father’s past and present appearances, believing the two versions were almost identical outside of his younger self sporting ruffled light-brown hair – compared to his neat, combed hair of the present – and battle-worn attire. However, Zaron came to a sudden realisation upon second inspection of the photo.
Firstly, he noticed the lack of visible scarring, giving the boy a sense of ‘uncanny valley’ when compared to the current day version and his many prideful scars. Furthermore, there was a notable absence of his battle-worn yet matured expression, emulating a more fresh, adventurous aura in the process. Finally, the Artoria blade that rested over the younger Virion’s shoulder had no scuffs, scratches, or marks whatsoever, as though it had only been released from the forge. Observing his father’s transformation between then-and-now, Zaron wondered curiously if he would go through a similar phase in the future.
As the thought crossed his mind, his eyes then shifted to the right of his father’s position, noticing a young yet familiar female Draiken a neutral, deadpan expression. Admittedly, her expression and long, jet-black hair alone was all Zaron required to identify this female mercenary.
“Whoa … Mum, you look awesome!” The young Zaron yelled out in ecstatic compliment, his imagination running rampant.
Terra’s eyes widened upon hearing her young son’s compliment, brows raised and a soothing smile breaking through as she felt a sense of warmth in her chest. Glancing down at the oblivious Zaron, she stroked the top of his head subtly in silent gratitude. The young Zaron glanced up to her in unexpected curiosity, his large eyes staring at his mother in wonder of why she was scratching his head.
“Heh-heh…! Yep. She was certainly awesome, my man.” Virion agreed nonchalantly, “Believe me when I say: she was one-of-a-kind in her field of expertise.”
Upon hearing his proud claim, Terra switched to her husband instantly with an irritable twitch in her eye.
“Virion, dear … what do you mean by ‘was’?” She questioned him in a low murmur, her chilling glare striking her husband at the core.
“Urk-?! I – err … well, I was merely agreeing in context of the photo.” Virion assured in swift defence, panicking at the realisation of his reckless oversight.
Terra continued to glare, unconvinced by his worthless attempt of an excuse. Virion shuffling back to his side of the sofa, unable to speak another word in fear of digging his own grave. He was desperate for an escape, thinking on how he could change the subject. And then, his son was there to save his skin.
“Who are the other three?” Zaron asked out in wonder, running his finger across the photo as he highlighted the remaining members of the team.
Terra broke her intimidating glare and returned attention to the photo, causing Virion to droop back against his seat in undeniable relief. Never was he so thankful about his youngest son’s oblivious interruption. He glanced over to the photo, a grin forming as he eyed one the man standing beside his past self.
“Well, the person standing on the left of me is a life-long friend of mine: Lucas Cobalt.” He stated humbly to his son, placing a finger on the beaming blond-haired, pale-blue eyed Human. “Back in the day, he saved my life more time than I can count. In fact, had it not been for his medical prowess, I wouldn’t even be here today. Admittedly, it’s been a long while since I last spoke to him ... but I’m certain he’s alive and well.”
Terra nodded silently yet wholeheartedly in ditto to Virion 's statement, feeling there was no need to add any additional input. However, as she watched Virion's finger placement shift to the next person, her eyes veered away abruptly as a cast of bitterness broke through her.
“And here, the Draiken girl standing to the right of your mother, is Rowena Alko.” Virion continued casually, as though ignoring his wife’s sudden avoidance. “The two of them were the best of friends and the most competitive of rivals, always attempting to one-up each other whenever the chance arose. Although, over time ... their friendship deteriorated, and their rivalry escalated to incalculable proportions.”
“Her fault.”
Both Zaron and Virion overheard Terra's murmur out lowly, feeling her tone engulfed in resentment. The young Zaron glanced at his mother, his curiosity thriving on the details behind their complicated relationship. However, as he switched back to his father, he realised it was best not to pry.
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“Yeah ... we’d best not get into that.” Virion recommended awkwardly, aware of the consequences for overstepping his boundaries on the subject.
As his father was about to shift to the final member of the team, the young Zaron took one last brief glance at Rowena Alko. Her sly grin and sophisticated stance emulated her confidence in her proficiency – even when it was to spite his mother. She had one hand rested on around the grip of an unguarded katana sheathed to her belt, emulating a professional image with the utmost importance. Zaron’s imagination was left to wonder of the competitive feuds between Rowena and his mother, curious to dive deeper into their peculiar relationship. With that said, a part of Zaron felt as though he recognised Rowena, his gaze caught on the vibrant-red, shoulder-length hair and the unguarded katana. He was unable to determine the reason behind the sense of familiarity, yet he could recall someone of his age he had met with similar attributes.
Finally, his sights shifted to the final member of the Xaphire Ultima. The fifth member was a Human, slender in height and stone-faced in expression. He gave the impression that he had no intention of including himself in the photo, only accepting reluctantly so that he could proceed onto his next task. The young Zaron awaited a description of the man eagerly, wondering what importance the fifth member had to the team. And yet, he was met with silence from his parents.
He glanced up at the two, conscious of the odd silence that filled the room unexpectedly. It was then where he noticed expressions never shown by either of them: resentment and regret. Both Virion and Terra avoided eye contact with the image of the fifth member, acting as though they were adamant on avoiding the subject if his identity entirely.
“He … that man…” Virion spoke out, struggling to form a sentence due to his loss of composure.
“He was a gifted warrior … one of the best.”
Zaron switched to his mother as she murmured the answer firmly in her husband’s place, her jaw and body tense. Virion also switched to her, although his expression was filled with uncertainty and confliction. He was appreciative yet struggled to hide the guilt brewing within his heart. And yet, he had no choice but to follow through.
“That’s right.” Virion nodded with a wavering grin, forcing an upbeat persona as he continued to answer. “I mean ... he was a complete stick-in-the-mud, but I can't deny that he was one of the most skilled warriors I’ve ever met. His priority was always to honour the human-code, no matter the situations.”
(The ‘human code’...?)
“His proficiency with a halberd was nothing to scoff at, either.” Virion then added in admittance. “I've sparred with him many times only to have my backside handed to me on a silver-platter.”
With his eyes shifted back on the photo, Zaron nodded away as he continued to listen to his father’s nostalgic recollection. The more he observed the man with the stoic expression, the more he was able to take in the specific aspects that fleshed out his character – particularly his spiked silver faux-hawk hair and his sharp maroon-iris glare. Everything about the man seemed genuine, from his resolve as a warrior to his achievements as an elite member of the Ultima.
“What’s his name?” Zaron asked out, his curiosity overwhelming his hesitation.
Both Virion and Terra froze up in their seats, their bodies tense as dread entered their minds. Even though they had hoped to circumvent the question entirely, both knew it was inevitable based on their son’s eternal curiosity. The two met eyes, questioning silently whether it was appropriate to inform him.
Eventually, Virion sighed out. He realised he drew the short straw between the two, watching Terra turn away nonchalantly with a betrayed expression. Denzo, who was engrossed on his fighting game, pressed the pause button silently as he listened to the conversation.
“Strada.” Virion then answered with a clear yet severe voice. “His name was … Strada Hydro.”
***
Present Day…
The looming darkness was forever reaching, consuming all that entered its domain unknowingly. There was no entrance. There was no exit. Only a vacant void; infinite and timeless.
Within this void was an unconscious Zaron. He was floating within the vacant abyss as though he was forever falling, frozen in time. He was damaged, dormant, and in limbo, stuck in a lifeless body that refused to awaken. He had no strength or sense of feeling left whatsoever, not even the energy to open his eyes. All he could recollect was the immense pain from his many recent injuries, surging through his body like a parasite refusing to leave. However, his sense of hearing was still functional.
Initially, he could only hear the faint, atmospheric noises engulfing the surrounding void. And yet, the sound of nothingness transformed gradually into voices, conversing with one another over undisclosed topics.
“…seven broken ribs ... a moderate abdominal contusion ... numerous cases of deep bruising ... and a bullet wound in the back of the neck...” The deep male voice described in clear detail, baffled by the extent of the described injuries. “I’m surprised his body is still intact ... his spine should be mangled after all the trauma he endured.”
Zaron’s dormant eyelids twitched in faint response, realising he was the subject of the discussion.
“Hold up, old man. That ‘bullet wound’ was from your rifle, if I can recall.” A second, sophisticated younger male voice then responded in a critical tone, picking apart the flaws in the previous statement.
“That was merely a tranquilizer.” The older voice defended, scoffing at the other for insinuating such a lack of trust. “Perfectly safe.”
“What type of tranquilizer would create a deep hole like that, Dad?” A third, outspoken younger male voice then blurted out, pointing out the obvious issue before them. “I have no idea what type of bullet you used but it sure as hell wasn’t a tranquilizer!”
The older voice – the dad – fell silent momentarily, acting as though he was considering the arguments.
“I would say ... it was a strong enough dosage to take down a rampaging elephant.” He responded in a quiet mumble, adjusting the subject for his own benefit.
“Urgh...!”
“A-are you serious...?”
Loud, frustrated groans were heard echoing from the two younger voices – in other words, the two sons. They were pushed beyond the tipping point of their patience, finding their father’s excuse barbaric and excessive.
“Hey! Don’t give me that!” The dad argued to the two brothers in self-defence. “Do you two know how thick-skinned a Draiken can be? A normal tranquilizer dart would bounce right off them.”
“Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain the huge bullet hole in his neck!”
“I still can’t believe we’ll be housing a pair of Draiken...”
The three continued into petty bickering, arguing in debate over each other in belief that they hold the final say over the matter.
Eventually, they fell silent. The aura surround Zaron grew eerie, reigniting his sense of feeling as a sudden shiver crawled up his spine. His teeth chattered, his breath quickened, and what felt like beads of sweat seeped from his brow. He felt as though numerous eyes were bearing down upon his dormant body, observing him and considering the next set of options.
The sophisticated son then spoke his mind in disgust.
“If anyone finds out we’re housing these ... things, we'll all be sitting in next level shit!”
“No one ... will know.” The dad assured him calmly, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. “At least, not until the time is right.”
“How can you be so sure?” The other son wondered, more open and curious than the other in the subject. “And what do you mean by: ‘until the time is right’? Are you planning to expose them to the world or something?”
“NO!” The dad spat in detest, acting insulted by the mere suggestion before proceeding with a mellowed comment. “...I wouldn't dare.”
“But you said-!”
“I know what I said.” The dad then interrupted in frustration, believing the conversation would get them nowhere. “Let’s not think about that right now. All that matters is their recovery.”
There was a moment of silence between the three, the two sons unable to respond whilst the dad continued his statement.
“Listen to me, both of you: what's essential at this point is that we establish a bond of trust with these two. I may sound melodramatic, but these two could flip Humesa on its head if they play their cards right.”
“You must be joking. There’s no way I’m befriending the likes of them.” The first son groaned out in response, growing evermore agitated. “How are they going to blend in without anyone noticing? Their wings stick out so much that anyone can spot them in a crowded street from a mile away.”
“That sounds a bit ... excessive to me.” The other son commented to his brother after an uncertain pause. “Especially with your eyesight, I'd be surprised if you could spot them five meters in front-!”
However, he was cut off abruptly by his brother, murmuring a malicious threat.
“Say another word and I’ll burn the ‘premium’ collection under your bed.”
“Don’t you dare!” The second son bellowed out in sudden fury, his temper exploding in instant reaction.
“Cut it out, both of you!” The dad yelled out irritably, splitting the two up before the situation escalated to a physical level. “I swear, you two better not start clawing at each other’s throats when these guys wake up.”
The argument ceased instantly, yet not without lingering resentment between the two brothers.
Jolt!
And then without warning, a spasm-like jolt shot up Zaron's spine, causing him to wince reactively as the remaining functions and senses suddenly returned to his body. Although he was still unable to open his eyes, he could at least twitch his body to a certain extent. It was a gradual process, yet there was no doubt that his consciousness was returning to him.
And then, the looming voices noticed.
“Oh! It looks like he’s coming around.” The second son announced in an enthusiastic tone, as though anticipating the occasion.
“No surprise there, he was the first one I shot.” The dad proudly exclaimed. “It shouldn’t be too long before the female wakes up as well.”
However, one member of the trio was not so keen.
“That’s my cue to leave.”
Footsteps were then heard drifting away from Zaron’s position.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The second son questioned in protest. “Can’t you show some decency for once and greet him.”
There was a pause.
“No.”
Slam!
***
Everything was a blur to Zaron as he opened his eyes gradually. His entire body felt heavy, acting as though the world of limbo was refusing his escape. Although his strength was limited, he was able to resist the urge to drift back to sleep. Through the intense blur, Zaron observed the movement of the two figures close to him. Based on their positions, one was sitting down facing him; whilst the other was standing up with crossed arms facing a door.
“Remind me again, dad ... how am I related to him?” The figure – the second son presumably – asked the other in bitterness.
“He’s your twin brother.” The dad – who was the figure sitting close to his side – answered with a grumble, an exhausted sigh escaping his breath as he soothed his brow.
“Dammit...!” The son scoffed resentfully.
Zaron blinked woozily, wondering about the situation as he attempted to focus his gaze. His sights improved by the second, distinguishing certain details through his gaze: identifying the fact that he was in lying in a bed with blank white sheets; the man sitting in front of him had receding light-blond hair and wore rectangular glasses; and the younger figure near the door had long, wavy blond hair and a tanned complexion.
In terms of the room itself: it was everything one would expect of a typical male teenager. The first and most glaring aspect of this bedroom was that the surrounding walls were consumed entirely of posters, their images difficult to determine from initial glance. To Zaron’s right was a small study desk with barely any room on its surface, stuffed with various random objects unrelated to studying and a laptop that was almost unrecognisable underneath all the mess. Above said desk were three rows of shelves, displaying a mixture of books, movies, videogames, and other trinkets. Shifting to Zaron’s left was a low set of draws, all stuffed with clothes that prevented the draws from closing completely. Sitting on the surface above the set of draws displayed a game-console and a plethora of wiring, all stemming from a large flat-screen television propped firmly on the wall. It was reminiscent to Zaron’s own bedroom, to an extent.
And then, he blinked. In that moment, Zaron’s eyes adjusted fully to his surroundings, recognising the remaining detail of the room. However, upon first glancing at the surrounding posters, he was met with a surprisingly glorious sight: Women.
The entire room was filled with images of women – most of whom were posing in various bikinis, lingerie, or general lack of clothing entirely.
(Maybe the afterlife isn’t so bad after all...)
“And so, after his long slumber, the male Draiken emerges...”
Zaron switched woozily to the owner of the exaggerated formal voice, noticing the dad grinning towards him.
“Come on, there's a time and place for jokes.” The son responded with an irritable sigh, rolling his eyes as he stepped up to face the Draiken before him.
Although still incredibly weak and dazed, Zaron was just able to sit himself up on the bed. Albeit, it was a struggle, his arms were shaking considerably as he forced himself into the sitting position and he felt like he was on the verge of death.
“Take your time, man.” The son commented in consideration, noticing Zaron’s struggle.
As he breathed out in a tired sigh, Zaron glanced to the two standing before him with a wary expression, realised through hearing their precious conversation that they were both Human. He was tense with uncertainty, his mind consumed with an endless list of questions:
(Where am I? Who are these people? Are they affiliates with the assassin? What happened to mum and Veena?)
The two humans noticed Zaron had grown wary of their presence, both cautious on their nest approach.
“My last name is Cobalt.” The dad then informed him. “I’m closely associated with your parents: Virion and Terra Nitro.”
Zaron froze up immediately. He stared silently at the dad; the name ‘Cobalt’ highlighted in his mind as memories flashed before him. He then breathed out in response; his wary voice hoarse as he spoke.
“Lucas ... Cobalt.”
At the sound of his name, the dad – Lucas – eased up with a long sigh of relief, grateful that the young Draiken had recognised his name. Upon closer inspection, Zaron noticed the man before him was beyond exhausted, his pale-blue eyes were bloodshot and struggling to stay open. The state of his work attire added to the sentiment: his white, long-sleeved shirt and plain-black trousers was unkempt and full of uneven crease-lines; a blank-white laboratory coat rested loosely on his shoulders with his arms separate from the sleeves; and a medical facemask was pulled underneath his chin as though it was an inconvenience for him to wear.
“Hey, dad? Do you think he knows my name too?” The son questioned with piqued interest.
As he switched perspective, Zaron noticed the son was the perfect likeness to his father from his younger days – including the distinctive blond hair and pale-blue eyes. From initial impressions, the son was similar in age to Zaron. He wore a typical loose t-shirt and jogger shorts, emphasising on the relaxed atmosphere of his own home.
"Hmm...?” Lucas switched to his son with a blank stare, “Oh, you're not that important.”
Acting as though he was struck directly in the heart, the son suddenly lurched back in betrayal.
Both Zaron and Lucas stared at him, listening to his inaudible mumbles with blank expressions.
“That was harsh.” Zaron commented to Lucas, feeling the irritating dryness in his throat as he spoke his mind. Lucas smirked amusedly before switching back to the young Draiken.
“Sorry about that, my son – Tobias – and I can be blunt to each other at times.” He explained casually, chuckling away. “It's all fun and games for us anyway.”
“Yep! And besides, this balding fart wouldn’t know how to insult me even if he was held at gunpoint.” The son – Tobias – then added as he straightened up unfazed.
“And there you have it.” His father pointed out in proof, “...Although I’ll be punishing him for that snarky comment later.” Tobias shuffled away from his father; his mouth zipped tight as he feared for his life. “I see...” Zaron murmured with a raised brow, barely a whisper from his parched voice.
Just then, Lucas leapt to his feet in sudden realisation, startling both Zaron and Tobias in the process.
“I completely forgot to grab you some water.” Lucas expressed in haste, stepping towards the door. “Wait here, I’ll grab you a glass.”
“Wait!”
Before Lucas could exit the room, Zaron called out to him.
“How ... can I trust you guys?” He questioned through his rough croaks, ignoring the feeling of scraping sandpaper within his throat. “Prove to me ... that you're not associated with that assassin.”
With his grip firmly on the door handle, Lucas switched to the young Draiken with a serious glance as he chose his next words wisely.
“So be it.” He breathed in confidence. “What would you like me to do? I can answer as many questions as you want; fulfil tasks at your request; and do anything you require me to do.”
Silence filled the room, the three frozen in place as Lucas awaited the answer. Tobias stood in silence, wondering how Zaron would respond. Alternatively, Zaron paused, his sights locked on the man with a piercing glare. With every aspect considered, only one option stood out to him most crucial.
“Veena.” He muttered quietly, a hint of concern in his expression as he mentioned her name. “There was a female Draiken with me during the night of the attack named Veena Alko. I want you to tell me where she currently is ... and if she’s safe.”
Upon hearing Zaron’s request, Lucas responded with a calm smile. “How about I show you?”
***
With Tobias’ assistance, Zaron stood peering into a separate room through a gap of the door. The three were situated within a small hallway, standing before a bedroom door beside the one Zaron had emerged from. The young Draiken was hesitant to enter, fearing that he could cause a disturbance. However, upon peering through the gap, his gaze automatically widened at the sight before him.
Veena was found sleeping soundlessly in a similar bed, oblivious to the world around her as her visible wounds were patched up with secure bandages. In comparison to previous bedroom, Veena’s room lacked any personality. The walls were painted with a plain-cream background, devoid of any significant additions such as patterns, insignia or other intricate designs. Aside from the bed itself, the room lacked any notable furniture with an exception being the vacant desk on the side and an empty cupboard.
Zaron assumed Veena was placed in the spare bedroom of the house whilst he had Tobias’ room. With the torment the two Draiken endured throughout their fight with the assassin, witnessing Veena in a peaceful environment set his heart at ease.
“Her wounds weren’t life-threatening, but they would’ve certainly become infected if left untreated.” Lucas exclaimed in honesty, his arms crossed and expression tense. “I’ve tended to the most crucial wounds, so they shouldn’t leave any form of visible scarring – at least not that I am aware of, anyway.”
“...Thank you...” Zaron muttered in gratitude.
“Don’t thank us yet.” Lucas then grinned. “You both still have a long road to recovery.”
There was truth to his statement. It was only when Zaron emerged from the bed that he realised the extent of the damage inflicted to his body. The first indication was his entire torso wrapped in medical bandaging, with his jacket and shirt nowhere to be seen. The second – and more distinguishable – was the sharp pains emitting from his chest and back, a trait that carried over from the battle. Zaron knew immediately that the recovery process would be long and tedious, much to his frustration.
“She’ll be waking up any moment now.” Lucas informed Zaron as he checked the time. “Whilst it’s not for me to decide, it's probably best if you’re the one in there.”
After glancing through the gap of the door once more, Zaron switched to him with a single nod. There was no need for him to question the man, understanding Lucas’ suggestion wholeheartedly. Without further ado, Lucas opened the door to the bedroom, stepping aside for Zaron to enter. Tobias was hesitant to relieve Zaron of his support at first, fearing that the Draiken would buckle instantly due to the lack of strength. However, Zaron reassured Tobias with a silent nod, grateful for the concern yet confident that he was able to stand on his own two feet. Trusting his judgement, Tobias allowed Zaron to stand on his own, watching him warily if he lost balance. Although he hobbled initially, Zaron held his ground.
“I-I’m okay.” He confirmed to them shakily, stepping forward in caution.
The two humans watched him hobble weakly into the room, both feeling assured that the young Draiken was secure.
“If you need us, we’ll be outside the door.” Lucas exclaimed cheerfully as he called out to Zaron.
Zaron nodded back without another word, wishing he could repay them for their care. He then watched as the door closed behind him gradually before switching to the bed where Veena slept. Feeling the strain in his legs, Zaron swiftly found a singular chair conveniently situated beside the bed, used by Lucas whilst he monitored Veena’s recovery. As he perched himself on the chair, he watched to resting Veena peacefully.
Her breaths were soundless, her long dusk-red hair splayed out freely against the bed, and her pure-platinum wings hanging loosely over the sides of the bed: she was in perfect comfort. Although it was difficult to notice at first, Zaron caught a small glimpse of the patchwork covering Veena’s injuries, indicating the varying severity of her injuries. He felt the sense of guilt overwhelm him, believing her injuries were a consequence to his mistakes. Had he listened to Veena when he approached the downed assassin, she would not be in such a dire state. Zaron then shook his head hastily, reminding himself that it was pointless to dwell on the past. He changed the subject swiftly, deciding to reflect upon the events that resulted in their pair’s current predicament. Countless questions continued to form in the depths of his mind, wondering about the circumstances that plagued the battle from the start. Whilst he assumed Lucas would enlighten him on a few questions, he dreaded the probability that other questions would be left unresolved – such as the fate of his mother.
“Mmn…”
Zaron switched to Veena upon hearing her voice, straightening up on his seat with rising anticipation. Her eyes flickered open gradually, consciousness drifting between the realms sleep and reality. She felt faint and dazed, her body shifting as she attempted to regain control.
“Good morning, Miss Alko.” Zaron greeted playfully with a casual grin, leaning back on his seat. “How are you feeling?”
Hearing his voice, Veena glistening eyes lit up, turning towards him with an elated yet woozy smile.
“Parched … very, very parched.” She admitted in a faint response, struggling to form any words with his dry throat.
Zaron gave out a light chuckle, empathising with her on the desire for water. Overjoyed to see she was not too affected negatively by the incident, he decided to act on her request. However, as he rose to his feet, Veena halted him in his tracks with a weak grasp of his arm.
“Where … are we?” She questioned him in a raspy voice, acting both confused and curious.
Zaron sat in silence momentarily as he considered his next words. Leaning forward on his chair as he took in a confident breath, he gave her a reassuring grin and finally answered her question honestly.
“We’re safe.”