Bab 61: Chapter 50 - Why?
The ground was rough... chiseled. The sounds of rushing water and heavy metal rubbing against one another was rife, as gears unseen turned.
A narrow path laid ahead around two meters across carved with black stone in the center, surrounded by rounded glass walls, like a circle, stretching along the tunnel endlessly.
Crystal clear water rushed past at breakneck speeds, occasionally having some sort of debris within, be it rocks, metals, or sometimes clothe.
Opposite the glass and the water, there were some sort of stone contraptions, that were pushing and pulling, the sounds of gears quiet, but ever present as they scraped against one another endlessly toiling, though for what, he did not know.
Was that how fast he'd been going?
His heart seized, and his mind grew hazy as his breathing sped up slightly, the cold sweat dripping down his back, he gripped back his sanity like a vice, gritting his teeth.
The floor felt rough as he pushed against it trying to get his feet under him, he found Constance standing still, staring, her jaw looked like a hungry fly trap.
He followed her gaze as naturally as falling water.
The warped glass walls. But it was something else. She was staring at... the roots?
Why?
He shook slightly, trying to shake loose some of the dust that was sticking to the blood that was drying on his skin, but to no avail.
Feeling his own fragility, he leaned against a wall, the rushing water jarred his mind, but he endured dutifully as he approached.
The girl was at his side, holding his hand.
While he might have liked to pick her up, he couldn't given his current circumstance.
"What is it?" Argo approached her, and looked at what she was looking at specifically.
Constance snapped back into where she was, and shut her mouth only to turn and look at him strangely, as if she was looking at a fool, her voice slipped out slowly, almost incredulously, "...You don't feel that?"
Argo's brows furrowed. He focused, when the ceiling shook again, stronger this time causing him to stumble, his legs nearly giving up.
Constance was quick to catch it, and caught his stumble. He reached up to push her away, but it was like pushing against a brick wall.
He caught her hand that was starting to gather hold power, with a solemn look in his eye.
She stared straight at him. And he returned the look.
Her lips parted, as she got under his arm, her holy power dispersing away without ever fully manifesting, "So you really can't feel that?"
"Can't say I can feel much of anything." He continued trying to focus, but the pounding in his head tore from him the ability to keep a coherent line of thought for a long time.
His ears were filled with the sounds of water loud enough to feel like it was passing straight through him. As if he was inside the pipe, and not on the path.
Aside from being totally drained, and having every plan he had tried to come up with, end up in failure, he was also still battling against the panic that was threatening to send him into a coma from the hyperventilation.
He could hardly feel a great deal of things.
"There's magic running through every inch of this tunnel," Constance looked ahead, but her eyes were swinging around, absorbing the wealth of knowledge that could be discerned from a close look, "I've never seen or learned of anything like it. The roots themselves are acting like the lines of a formation. I couldn't sense it from above ground at all, despite the ocean-like quantity of magic here. I can hardly inspect it either, without feeling like the breath is getting punched out of me."
Argo looked at the glass, to try and see what she was, but all he could see was the water beyond it, and yet, he still forced himself to look, despite what it was doing to his heart.
The erratic beating was like a runaway drum, beating and beating with no end in sight.
The roots were twisting together in some places, but perfectly aligned in other places. At a glance he had assumed that it was simply chaos, twisting to cover the gaps accrued throughout the ages... but it was not so simple.
It was reinforcing the glass, with magic insulted inside of the roots themselves, covering the signal that such an unholy amount would ordinarily emit.
Was this how the Lonely Flower controlled the light and dark above, and kept the floor and ceiling from caving?
It was controlling everything without ever making so much as a small wave, by using this titanic amount of magic, to maintain an equally monstrous formation.
A terrifying thought occurred to him, though he had no time to be terrified.
...They had been in the Lonely Flower's territory from the moment the first gate opened, and in the palm of it's hands since that very moment as well.
It had seen everything, and knew everything.
Argo didn't continue to look at it for much longer. He had to focus on keeping himself calm. Getting dragged back into the pipe, was not an option.
Though, what if the glass broke?
What if the glass shattered because of the vibrations from the battle above?
What if....
Drawn into that thought, he stood like a man in a maze, looking only for the exit, without knowing where it was.
And so, he simply walked.
It was all he could do as the tunnel shook again.
There was still work to be done, and an explosion at their back that could go off at any moment to escape.
As he focused on keeping himself in check, a pair of eyes examined him.
Her heart was strange.
She had not understood how deeply that near death experience in that pipe had affected him. And she had asked him to let it go, until a later time... and he had agreed.
He had put it aside, for her, and the girls sake, despite it. Even when he saw Marce back then, he had only flared for a moment, before returning to normal.
She had wondered, how a person could show such malice.
She could see it now, though, through her Insight, at his most vulnerable, as if it was all on display.
Rage.
Anxiety.
Malice.
Fear.
Worry.
Hatred....
...Resolve, Conviction, Duty, Love, Bravery.
Restraint.
She had been fanning the flames of emotion, in hopes of unlocking her aura, of awakening to the last discipline she needed.
But she could not in all honesty, understand too clearly.
While she felt emotion, of that, there was no contest, it was not like the emotions she saw in him. It was noting even close to their intensity.
She could not replicate them no matter how she tried, nor how big she felt the flames grow.
After observing him closely all this time, she had come to the conclusion that he should be a very emotional person.
But he wasn't.
He should be a wreck of a human being but he was often times the voice of reason in the room, and the one to take action, without being obnoxious, or reckless.
Watching his emotions battle with him, was like watching fireworks.
Their explosions however, were not simply theatrical, but as if trying to destroy one another, to find a winner, and yet, it was so devastatingly beautiful.
She wasn't sure she had ever seen emotions depicted in such morbid vibrance.
This was the same man, who had both gotten her to kill, and had told her to allow herself to feel.
He'd told her, to allow herself to feel, and make mistakes, to go out and try to find herself, whatever it may have ended up being, even if it was awful.
He had shown her death, and then told her to feel for the very dead whose lives she'd taken.
"Why?" Her lips moved before her mind could stop to contemplate what she was really asking, or if she should ask anything at all.
Perhaps she wanted to know, why he wanted to feel everything?
Perhaps she wanted to know, why he would do anything, when he could feel it so vividly?
Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps...
Argo, in a state close to vomiting, with his whole body in shambles, but walking, spoke quietly as he tried to gather his mind, "What?"
She was not a friend. And not an ally. She was barely friendly. A sword that swung against his enemies, by circumstance alone. He needed to hold his tongue and think carefully, but his body wasn't cooperating.
"Why continue?" Constance wanted to stop, but she couldn't, her tone was indifferent, and her eyes were cold.
She needed to know.
What was so worthwhile, that he would continue living in this hell?
What was driving him to keep going? How could see still keep pushing forward?
A memory surfaced in Argo's mind as that empty inquisitive gaze hit him, that temporarily removed him from his surroundings. Allowing him some respite.
A memory of Constance, that day in the ball, when he first saw her.
How indifferent her gaze was, despite the smile on her space, and cordial tone of her voice. How utterly disinterested she appeared in absolutetly everyone and everything.
The way her demeanor would change, from a girl with thoughts and feelings, to nothing but a mechanical doll like a switch had been flipped.
She had been a marionette.
He had made the mistake of revealing his strength in front of her back then, because he had misjudged her based off her demeanor, that she was just that.
A marionette, with no will.
She had so much power.
So much influence.
So much freedom.
And yet, this was her question?
Why continue?
He snapped.
"Why stop." Argo grit his teeth returning her question as the memory faded and the water felt like it was flowing directly through his head, the cold sweat making his palms wrinkly.
His breathing was ragged, but onwards he marched.
Constance didn't know what to say. Her mind turned inwards. Why stop? What...
Argo's jaw tightened, and he focused on the sensation of his teeth, and his dry mouth, a vein crawled up his neck, as his pupils shrank, focusing solely on the path ahead as he stumbled on.
He would drag himself by the teeth, if he had to.
"You don't want to live? I do." Argo felt the muscles on his neck taught, he gripped the glass wall, his finger nails scraping against it, as he pushed forward with bloodshot eyes, "-I want to have a big cottage, a huge cottage made out of wood that I cut down, by a lake... fuck it, by a pond is fine even. But I built it. And... it's quiet... Just quiet.... Just, damn, quiet.... Why continue...? What kind of dumbass question is that?"
He felt the water through the glass, and could only laugh as his body trembled viciously.
He pushed his hand against the glass, to stand himself, up, the girl held onto his other hand, trying her best to help, but he merely pet her head.
"I can see why you haven't manifested your aura," He used the glass wall like a crutch, despite the violent trembling, he refused to hide away from the sound of the water, or the feeling, he would be damned, if he was going to hide from some water, "Your afraid to even continue living. Your soul has already given up. Barely running on someone else's hopes and dreams."
He knew he was being spiteful. And he knew he had said too much. But he also knew it was the truth.
And in knowing that truth, he knew who it was he was picking on. Who it was, he had decided to take his pent up resentment on, for a question.
A bitter taste filled his mouth, holding him to reality. His back turned to that soulless gaze, and yet he could still feel it piercing him.
He knew who he had picked on.
He knew that person intimately.
His eyelids trembled.
It was cold.
His lips turning blue, parted.
His voice was firm, and solemn, despite it's slow, shaking nature, the dried blood, mixed with dust, and the inherent cold of this place filled with filled on either side, had caused.
He half turned, a little spite entering his voice, for the beginning, "Listen... I'm not god. I don't have all the answers. I don't know why we go on.... why... why anyone, goes on. But I know a boy who dreamed of better. And that... is reason enough for me."
He turned back forward.
He owed that boy a debt he could never repay.
He could never stop.
Not until he had made good, on that debt, and on that dream.
The tunnel shook violently.
An arm wrapped around him, keeping him steady. He looked over.
Constance was smiling brightly. He couldn't see the truth, like she could.
But at least, she was not catatonic, anymore.
He laughed a little.
It had only taken hell on earth, for her to smile. Truly, a heroes toll.
What a shame.
Her smile dimmed a little, and her nose scrunched up a bit, as they started to walk, "...Has anyone ever told you, you sound like an old man?"
He took a glance at her.
The path was long in this place that was his own personal hell, yet he could not pity himself.
Since longer still, was her path, that would have hell on it's heels for every moment of her life.
He could only look back ahead, trying to tune out the water, to no avail.
"...Respect your elders."
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA 
Wordlit_Sonata
Wordlit_Sonata Good evening.
A bird couple have decided to set up a nest on the wreath we have as decoration on our door. A surprise, it was not.
Last year, we had a similiar thing happen. The birds hatched into beautiful little sparrows (I think, they looked mighty sparrow like, but I'm no bird person).
Hopefully this year, they'll see success as well. Though, we'll be moving the wreath so they don't attack people who are simply nearby.
Thank you for your support, and as always,
Enjoy.
Hadiah
-- Hadiah diterima Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
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