Azrael - The End Cliffs

Azrael cursed as his boiling lunch tried to escape the cauldron towards the open fire below.

A sudden quake disturbed his lunch and the forest’s tranquility; he could see the trees in the far distance quiver at the onslaught of energy that came and went, like a bird fishing its prey. He shuddered at the thought of confronting a creature that possesses such destructive power. The idea of him getting out of the cliff through the forest didn’t look as good as he first thought anymore and considered living in The Exile Cave forever.

He decided to name the cave as respect for the humble place that received him in this world. The name was to remember his exile, that he can no longer return back to Ost.

‘Names have power, Azrael. They can be a source of energy with enough belief. It may be a lie at the start, but with enough time, it can become the truth that will change the world.’

Azrael thought that Nevan, his guardian, was just spouting drivel. He wanted advice on a good name for his feline pet, but Nevan proceeded with an hour long lecture about names and titles.

He did attempt a foray into the "Friendly Woods" when he first made his "Heroic Escape"; scouting the surrounding is one of the basics of survival after all. Climbing down was an easy task as he is adept at controlling the pull of the world, he just had to jump down from the cliff, reduce its pull, and land quietly to the ground.

And so he did.

Azrael slowly descended; passing through the thick foliage of swaying leaves, as if to welcome him into its shade below. The dimmed light reminded him of his secluded life in the castle, the towering trees resembling the high castle walls. The spatter of light danced in tune with the rustling leaves that whispered with the creaking branches.

Old. This forest was old and untouched; he didn’t know how to feel about that.

‘Something’s missing’

He observed his dim surroundings and tried to unravel the secrets of the trees hidden behind the bark of their trunk and roots of its feet. It was the absence of something; the absence of life, or at least the sound of it. The woods were too quiet to his liking, the creatures too silent, like someone stalking their prey.

He huddled with his Shadow, finding comfort in the cloak that embraced his body. That’s when he saw it; a black furred creature that was as tall as him and thrice as long. It had a long body and pointed head, it’s oversized fangs jutting from its mouth. But it was lifeless, its body was full of vines that pierced its skin. It was slowly being lifted from the ground, towards the mouth of something.

It looked like a tree but its branches were shaped like a mouth, leaves decorating it like pointed teeth; its trunk was quivering, seemingly excited at its new acquisition.

The thing actually had eyes; two empty holes as big as his head on the lower part of the trunk. Roots decorated below it, forming a twisted smile. It looked like a twisted imitation of a human face and it was looking straight at him.

‘Wherever you are, whatever you do, you must act like your station and handle yourself with elegance and grace’

Clearly, his guardian never had to run from creepy looking tree-things before as he had never scampered so ungraciously in his life; back to the cliff where he climbed for his dear life.

“Winter’s Breath! What Friendly Woods? Friendly if you mean the things in it want to make a close acquaintance with your guts.”

Azrael murmured in indignation towards no one in particular. He made it to the cliff top safely, thankful that there are no flying creatures in the forest. The Creepy-Faced Tree didn’t follow him; maybe because it was really a tree and couldn’t move or that it preferred the bigger prey it already has.

Azrael decided to recover his missing life energy before going into the woods again; no point in dying if he could survive by recovering to his peak condition. The most efficient way of recovering would be going to hibernation, he figured that The Exile Cave was safe enough for it.

He went back to the cave and prepared for a long sleep; thoughts of a prince coming to wake him up and save him humorously floated in his mind.

He didn’t know how long he slept; he closed his eyes and the next moment he is awake again. No prince woke him up but his Seer Instinct did, telling him that something’s about to happen. He wasn’t too concerned as there’s no feeling of immediate danger associated with it, in fact, he could feel hope instead.

So he decided to cook, as he was famished from his recent sleep. Azrael didn’t know how to cook, but Nevan was fussy enough to separate several ingredients in his Shadow for a cauldron of soup. He just had to add water, add the ingredients, and wait for it to boil.

‘Come to think of it, she didn’t know that I would be exiled to the abyss to be made a corpse. She probably thought that I’d just be sent off into some other world so she prepared my things for it.’

There he was, peacefully cooking his lunch on top of the cliff, the glare of the sun hidden above the clouds, when the first rush of energy made the ground quake.

Azrael thought that it’s one of the Friendly Woods’ not-so-friendly creatures and just proceeded on stirring his stew; slowly, as he had filled the cauldron to the brim. More is usually better so that’s what he did, however, the soup’s bland taste seemingly mocked his line of thought.

‘Maybe I’m supposed to let the liquid evaporate? No, then it wouldn’t be stew; the recipe clearly said that it’s a sou-- stew or soup?’ Too hungry and lazy to redo his bubbling creation, he resolved himself for a tasteless meal.

Azrael was in the middle of scooping when another commotion happened in the forest, almost dropping his bowl as the scalding soup sloshed to his hand. It was more subdued this time, but he could still feel the strong assault of energy. He abandoned his meal and stood at the edge of the cliff facing the forest, waiting…

‘Once is a chance; Twice, a coincidence; Third an oncoming storm.’

A muted thud resounded after a few minutes, and it wasn’t his imagination that it was getting closer.

It was then that he felt a faint presence, like the ripples of feather on a quiet lake, a glance by a stranger on the same street.

It was just a brush of energy on his own personal bubble and it had come and gone before he could even process it. Azrael didn’t know what to make of it so he ignored it as he has more pressing matters to attend to.

Whatever was making the commotion was heading for him but he didn’t feel any immediate danger; the impending arrival of the violent storm was supported by his Seer Instinct. After Azrael determined that his life isn’t in any peril, he decided to go back to his soup; wondering if he should share the bland meal with his visitors.

‘I hope they kill the Creepy-Faced Tree on their way here. I wonder if they would like my soup, they would probably kill me for the affront on all things that could cook.’ Random thoughts filled his mind as he waited patiently; filling his stomach with tasteless food as he might need the extra energy.

Azrael managed to finish two bowls of soup undisturbed when he felt three distinct energies below the cliff. He wanted to look down and check but he decided to wait for them in his current position; sitting in a chair with his legs crossed, hands resting on them. It was as elegant as he could get on a windswept cliff top without actually bringing out the tapestries inside his Shadow.

His skin tingled at the sound of their rhythmic footsteps.

‘Wait, footsteps’?

A human wearing a deep blue coat with hair the color of the deep ocean slowly ascended from the side of the cliff. He was ascending a stair, which confused Azrael as there had been no stairs on that cliff. The human was looking at him with a welcoming face, slight smile on his lips, and blue eyes that shine with the reflection of the sun.

A smaller man with red hair followed him from the stairs with the same expression as the first visitor, only that he could feel the man’s excitement about to burst through his eyes.

Azrael’s pupils contracted and his body tensed at the sight of the third visitor. He opened several dimensional cracks in the air around him; floating daggers slowly revealing themselves, ready to fly off at the demonic creature.

The demon’s tail made a whipping motion to the ground but stopped before it made a collision. She rolled her eyes and murmured something that he couldn’t understand but he didn’t like the tone of it.

Azrael cursed himself for forgetting about the language issue, he was debating his chances if a battle ever occurred but a sudden impulse to speak invaded his mind. He didn’t know where the idea came from but he decided to at least give the other party a fair warning.

“Why are you guys here and why are you colluding with a demon?” Azrael directed his question at the man with blue eyes who was still smiling, as if the revolving daggers around him didn’t exist.

“Please, we mean you no harm. Elira, our demon friend, is a peaceful one; as is most demon in this world.”

Azrael widened his eyes as the man just spoke the same language as him. He glanced at Elira who didn’t look like a peaceful creature as she was openly glaring at him.

“Would it be possible to sheathe your weapons? I would imagine a civilized introduction would be proper for our first meeting.” The calm of the man unnerved him, but he decided to withdraw his daggers and close the cracks in space.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is Serath Meshiere. Might I inquire your name? You are from Ost are you not?” Serath made a polite bow during his introduction and made an inquiry of his origin. Azrael wasn’t surprised that the man knew where he came from as Serath was speaking the same Ost’s Common Language; he was even speaking in the stiff formal way that nobilities like to use.

“Yes, are you a noble from Ost? My full name is Azrael Harken.”

It wasn’t his actual family name but there’s no reason to tell them that. The man was clearly no commoner and he wanted to avoid some confrontation if he happened to be from Ost.

“I see… Mister Azrael, would you like to speak in the Common Language of Lochley? My companions would like to join our conversation and it would be quite tedious if I were to translate everything.”

Serath pulled a tome from a dimensional formation and held it in front of him.

‘Wait, when did they get so close? No -- it’s me. Did I walk subconsciously closer to the four them?’ Azrael realized that he was no longer in his original position and was near enough to observe the thick leather book on Serath’s hand.

‘Wait, four?’

Azrael’s head snapped at the direction of the unassuming woman beside the demon. She had a free-flowing blonde hair; the tips that reached her waist slightly danced with the wind. Her robes were the color of gray, the same color of the cliff. She was wearing a strip of yellow cloth on top of her eyes that was decorated by deep black lines.

‘Did I miss her because of the demon? She probably climbed during my standoff with Elira.’ Azrael dismissed his thoughts and looked back the tome.

“I can see how a book would help me speak your tongue, but I’m afraid your companions have to wait until I actually learn the stuff.” He asked the man holding the heavy looking volume.

Serath laughed at his statement and replied, “There is still the need to finalize the enchantment on the book. I felt that I should inform you of it before proceeding as I did not want to startle you.”

Azrael got distracted by the man’s sudden laugh and just nodded.

The book suddenly opened and orb of lights formed around it, thick strands flowing through the flipping pages. Azrael was amazed at how the book was processing such complex energies and assumed that Serath was directly transferring the language to the book. He got too absorbed in the process and only noticed the man’s exhausted aura as the last orb of light merged with the book.

Serath handed the glowing tome and instructed him on how to use it. “Please insert some of your energy as it is needed for the tome to activate. The process shouldn’t take much of it and please rest assured that it’s completely safe.”

Azrael hesitantly received the book and let the energy from his core merge with it. He was about to ask when to stop when the book suddenly exploded, pages flying in all directions.

Thoughts of chasing flying papers filled his mind. Azrael was about warp the gravity around the cliff towards him when the pages stopped mid air and it started to form several layers of formation around him.

He looked in wonderment at the dancing papers; they shined in various colors as they burned around him, producing rainbow colored ashes that floated like fireflies. They flickered around him, adding various tint in the shade of the clouds that hid the yellow sun. They were so like the colorful butterflies from home, the dye of their gently flapping wings adding life to the white winter garden. It brought the truths of a language, and Azrael eagerly accepted all of it.

Just as the last piece of the paper burned, Serath spoke in a new language that felt so familiar to him, like the echoes of a past long forgotten.

“Yomire told me that the book would not take much of my energy. Apparently, she’s emulating your bad habits, Theresa. She also forgot to tell me how beautiful the tome would look once activated.” Serath berated in good nature at the blonde women as he watched Azrael’s teary eyes.

“Thank you.”

Azrael didn’t know what to say, so his first Lochley Language ended up being as words of gratitude. He summoned a silver ring with a black gemstone embedded on it and gave it to Serath.

“This is? You know, I did not expect to get a proposal just for enchanting a book. We were not expecting anything in return for the book so please don’t force yourself.” The man raised his eyebrows at him as he received the ring.

Serath also looked at Theresa who just silently shook her head at him.

“It’s a Dimensional Ring. I know it’s not worth much but it’s all I have right now that’s worth something.” Azrael just ignored the man’s obvious quip and wondered what Theresa shaking her head meant.

“Then we will graciously receive your thanks, though you belittle how rare artifacts with dimensional nature are. May I introduce you to Mr Gerund, I am pretty sure he is silently killing me in his mind for monopolizing you.” Serath gestured at the red haired man who went closer to him.

“Hello! I’m Gerund, The Wesh Enthusiast if you prefer titles. Do you have a title from your world? You’re from Ost right? There had been only one Ost traveler recorded before and it was a thousand years ago, she brought the very first dimensional artifact in this world that sparked lots of studies about it. Are you a nobility? You look like a nobility. Your cloak looks like a very powerful artifact too.”

He took a step back the old man’s aggressiveness. Gerund stood in front of him with shining eyes like a child that got his first weapon.

Azrael looked at the other three people for help who were all shaking their heads. It looked quite comical, even with the demon in the mix. He decided to answer each question before the man decides to invade his personal space.

“I don’t have any title. Yes, I’m from Ost and yes I am indeed a nobility.”

Azrael actually has several titles and he was royalty and not nobility. He didn’t want to lie when they just gave him a great gift but he didn’t know these people. Besides, the reason he gave the ring was to counter the gift and settle the debt.

‘You must always pay your debts Azrael, they can become a burden of the heart that will drag you down when you least expect it’

Azrael settled for a nobility as he had more knowledge about them compared to commoners. He figured he wouldn’t pass as a commoner with his equipment anyway. He decided to leave the last question unanswered.

“Why were you sent here? Did Ost finally decide to connect to other worlds?” Gerund immediately asked another question just after he finished.

“Exiled.”

Well, executed would be the technically correct term but that would probably raise a lot of questions he didn’t want to answer. He knew that Ost didn't like connecting to other worlds so exile seemed a fitting answer; it was partially true anyway as it was the publicly known information as his punishment.

“Can you tell us why?” Gerund didn’t seem surprised by his answer so he guessed he answered right.

“For dallying with a man.” Azrael simply answered; it was also the “official reason” for his exile. The demon seemed surprised at his answer.

“Hmm.. Yes, yes, as a nobility you would be required to produce an heir, and it’s true for most world that I researched. But getting a consort should suffice -- unless you refused?” Gerund turned a thoughtful look at him.

“Yes.” this time it’s the whole truth.

Gerund continued his line of question without a missing a beat. “So you got exiled and was sent specifically here?”

“Well, not exactly. I got sent in a random world.” Partial truth again, he got sent to the abyss but ended up here.

“Hey, I got a question too.” The demon piped up before Gerund could ask something again.

Azrael turned to look at her, less wary now but still unused at speaking with a demon without it trying to kill him.

“Why is your cauldron giving off black smoke?” Elira nodded at his back and he turned to look at his forgotten lunch.

‘Burning Birds! I forgot about my soup!!!’

End of Chapter 6

Burning Birds - Azrael’s self-made expression for his personal hate regarding bird creatures.