Chapitre 183: There Was Hardly Anything Else To Do
"Hey, let's just move on already," the girl said.
"Not yet."
"We've been here for weeks. He's not here."
"We know that. But he'll be here."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because she's here."
The girl groaned.
People passed by.
Hundreds, no, thousands of people surrounded them. Some in tents, some resting in open air, while others rolled around in the grass crying themselves to oblivion having lost everything.
Everyone avoided the two. And for good reason. These past few weeks, they'd made a name for themselves.
"I hope he doesn't come here," the girl said.
"Weren't you the one who kept on complaining about how he was taking forever, how he could be in danger, how-"
"Yeah, yeah shut up." She rolled her eyes, sighed and paused for a while. "Let's go explore a bit."
"Unnecessary."
"What do you mean?"
"Sol's here."
"There he goes again," the girl rolled her eyes, but followed the man's gaze anyway.
And she saw a boy and a woman. "That's not Sol; Sol's smaller, rounder."
"No, that is Sol."
She squinted her eyes to get a better view. It took her a second but her center of gravity lowered subconsciously and before she knew it, she was running at full speed, avoiding or throwing people out of her way, speeding towards the boy who hadn't yet noticed her.
"SOL!"
"Wha?" Before the boy could say anything, she tackled him and the two flew off into the bushes, rolling on the grass.
The boy coughed a couple of times. "Shia?"
"Sol!" The girl shook him a couple of times, laughing loudly.
"Hey, you're alive," Sol laughed. "Alustur!" He waved.
"Soler," the man walked.
"You've grown," Shia said, tears welled up.
Sol too found himself with moist eyes. "You too."
"I expected your mother to be… older," the woman, Methilda said, somewhat horrified of the implications.
"She's my sister," Sol said. "This is Shia. This is Alustur, my teacher." Sol's excitement slowly waned and within a moment his expression almost crumbled. "What are you two even doing here?"
"Well, we tried to find you and then got shipwrecked and would you believe it, we ended up here. Wars, drama, more drama, quite a drag I tell you. But it was fun, we got to see more of the island, we searched for you and your parents and-"
"And did you find them?" Sol said, almost pleading.
"We… uh, we, uh…" Shia didn't finish.
"We found your mother. Denkar had already left the continent by the time we got here and we're not sure where he's headed. But there's a chance he's headed for Slunten."
"You found mom!" Sol almost chuckled out loud, voice booming.
"Yes," Alustur said, his expression unchanging. "Come with me, we have much to discuss." He stopped. "But before that, what about you miss, who are you?"
"Yeah, who're you?" Shia asked.
"I am Methilda. He risked getting lost, so I led him here. But now that you're reunited, I suppose I'll take my leave."
"Hey, I know you don't want any thanks but. But Mom's a great cook. At least let me treat you to lunch before you go," Sol said.
Methilda shrugged. "I suppose I could always use some delicious lunch."
Meanwhile, the two hadn't spoken a word. They watched the excited boy with serene gazes and led him out of the camps.
There were all kinds of people here. Some perfectly fine. Others, not so much; crippled, maimed, distraught. Some were actively cursing; others were trying to beat people up, albeit discreetly. Some of them weren't even trying to hide their animosity and just attacked trees or random people and got dragged out by the soldiers of the masses.
Yet, Sol didn't seem to be the least bothered. He was just in the best of moods.
"By the way, what happened to the rest of the crew? And did Rexy make it?" He asked.
"They're fine," Shia said. "They're waiting at the port. We can't set sail, but they still prefer to be on the boat."
"I see," Sol said.
Before long they were out of the camps, and now they were moving up the slope of the mountain. Away from all the houses, towards the peak.
"Where are we even going?"
No answer.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Lots of walking and silence later, Sol reached a cliff of sorts. There was a stone there. And a grave.
"What are you guys…" the color from his face drained as he read the tomb. "Here lies a loving mother and wife: Lindell Borges." He opened his mouth several times, but not a single word came out.
Nothing.
He just sat there, on his knees, staring.
Sometimes he stared behind him at the people who brought him here, sometimes he stared at the sun in front, sometimes… he just stared at nothing in particular. He just stared, not even blinking.
"Why… you said Mom was here…you said," he mumbled, on repeat. He wasn't asking. He perhaps already knew the answer.
Sol didn't scream. He didn't even cry. He just stared. For hours. Eventually, he got up, and started walking. He didn't speak a word to anyone.
And no one spoke to him either.
It was a failure.
The journey- a failure.
His life itself… a failure.
He-
A failure.
"I want to die," he mumbled and not a second later jumped.
Alustur grabbed him, and neither spoke a word for minutes. They just stood like that. Hung in the air.
"Let me die."
"No. You have much to live for. Your mother wouldn't want you to kill yourself."
"I know but," his eyes moistened and then dripped.
"I'm sorry. I do not have the words to console you. But I assure you, there is much to live for. And if you kill yourself, who will avenge your mother?"
"Avenge?"
"How did you think she died?"
"Huh…" Sol stared, blankly. He hadn't even fully digested the situation let alone calmly thought about it. Why was his mother dead? Who could have killed that lady, the strong woman? "How?"
"She was murdered. By one of the seven. They were here. They hunted them down. Murdered her. That's why Denkar… your father left."
That's why the Borges… Sol bit his gums, glared and screamed, flailing his arms and legs and then settled down with a slow constant wail. "Damn it."
Shia tried getting close but she didn't say anything. Neither did Methilda.
Sol screamed and wailed.
There was hardly anything else to do.
There was hardly anything else to do.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
Nr_Yet1208
Nr_Yet1208 This chapter has been a reflection of myself and the death of my dreams.
I'm sorry I couldn't do better.
Thank you for reading.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone