Sariella

A tall man, with his head lowered, came out of nowhere. He was wearing a dull silver armour and a black hood that covered his shoulders and half of his face. There was a long, thin tuck sword at one side of his belt, and there were daggers on the other side. He suddenly raised his head and looked me in the eye, and I shivered the moment our eyes met.

His eyes reminded me of Nazar, the evil eye, a charm of Persian origin.

Suriyel scanned me from head to toe before he squeezed out a sick-twisted smile and playfully said," Not so bright, is she?"

My father encouraged me to shake hands with Suriyel, and we did.

"Alright then," before Suriyel took back his hand, he exclaimed, " let's try to be nice to each other."

"So, question one!" He gestured his hand towards the walls of collections of weapons, "the arsenal. Every key-bearer has access to this realm, and you can see the outside world here. This isn't merely an independent dimension, you can travel to different dimensions using the arsenal as a passageway."

"... Huh?"

"It's fine, later, one by one," the angel poked my forehead and pulled me away from my father as I was shocked with his explanation.

"You have access to half of this collection, as your father has just mentioned, the other half is reserved for your brother. As for your share, no one cares how you use them, you might even throw them away if you want to, ha!"

"...Papa?" I turned to my dad, who did not bother to reply.

"Next question," Suriyel continued, "your brother. I remembered that one, you were so depressed and hysterical, and you became suicidal for a period, at the age of nine. Your parents were so worried that they got help from a friend to alter some of your memories, so you got to grow up happily, until now."

It would have been better if he did not talk in such a playful tone, to be honest. I was clenching my fist when I heard such a sarcastic tone.

"Don't worry, we'll have your brain fixed elsewhere," he tilted his head to one side, observing and judging me.

"So, about doppelgängers. A bit of your soul forms into a figure itself, when requirements are met. Let's say, you can break down a bit of you, and use it as a mercenary of yourself."

"That's... abstract," I commented.

He pulled me aside and walked down the long corridor, and whispered into my ear.

"Wanna know why your dad's so mentally unstable? All because he's a key-bearer. That bit of soul carried your feelings, emotions, memories as well. All these years of battles had made him very sensitive, and the constantly emerging and breaking of his soul had made him weak, in a way. He's a sensitive fellow, you know."

"Oh..." I could not find the correct word to reply.

"Skip to the last question," he squinted his eyes, "the sceptre. You have a half of it, but don't bother thinking about the other half. Guard it properly and keep it a secret, for now, the Paladins might ask about it."

"Just tell them you don't know — — " my father said from far behind, "don't show the sceptre to anyone — — "

"Three things, right, Dominic?" Suriyel turned his gaze to my dad, who was hurrying to our party.

"The crown, the sceptre and the cape," my dad replied.

"Three things?" I repeated.

"The unholy relics," my father added, "I and my comrades guarded them for years, and now I pass this to you."

My father lowered his gaze for a moment of silence, then he turned around, exclaiming," This might be the last time I have access into this dimension, it's too much."

"...Papa?"

Suriyel gently pushed me towards my father's side, and he held my hand gently. He took a deep breath and led me along the corridor in the opposite direction.

"I can't come back anymore," he murmured, "I am passing the key to you."

"The key," I repeated.

"Yes, the key," he looked up to the ceilings, the watery reflections now became solid, but there was something in between these two dimensions, and the view of the outside world seems so distant, yet also so close, as I raised my hand from curiosity, I could feel the cold and the warmth of the outside world, within my grasp.

"Time to go," at last, my father announced, and he held the key sign again.

"See this sign? Holding a key..." and now, I saw a glowing figure in his hand, a quite large key indeed, the reason he had to stretch his fore and middle finger straight, "and turn..."

Waves of shadows engulfed us, and we were back at the spot, right next to the window.

"And now," my father placed his hand onto my right shoulder, his voice soft but solemn, "you hold the key to the arsenal."

----------

On my way to the school gate, my father put me on phone with my mother, and she appeared absolutely calm.

A shiny, black range rover was just over the pavement. My father took my school bag and hurried me into the car before he said goodbye, and that was the last time we saw each other face to face, until months later.

Alright, then.

I got into the car and was then greeted by four men.

"Olá! Sariella," at the driver's seat was Uncle Fernando, a Portuguese descendent with long beard and shining brown eyes, a friend of my father, "Are you sure, you're ready?"

"Olá, Uncle, mais ou menos (more or less)," I shrugged as I made myself comfortable, "also, nice to meet you all."

A foreign young man sat next to me, and two teenagers wearing school uniforms were sitting behind.

(Breath, it's no big deal, these strangers seem friendly)

Michael Lang, the one with glasses had dark brown hair, brown almond eyes and a gentle smile. He could easily draw people to him, and when he nodded, I found myself comfortable with his presence.

The other one, Nelson Lok, had pure black hair and long, slim black eyes with single eyelid and a cunning smile. He playfully gestured as a reply to my greetings.

"It's been a while, Iam." Michale put on a gentle smile as he smoothly breathed out these words.

"...I beg your pardon? Have we met before?" I tried not to frown.

"It's been a while!" Nelson exclaimed with a laugh, "Of course we had met before, would you like to recall your memory on your own, or you'd prefer having Nikolai's help?"

"...I beg your pardon?" I frowned anyway.

"That's me."

Nikolai was the foreign young man right next to me, with his bleach-blond hair styled into a proper quiff. He had gold-rimmed spectacles that blended well with his aura, his long lashes bathing in sun, refracting the amount of sunlight into his clear sky-blue eyes.

He was very handsome, with his Slavic traits - - clear outline, prominent brow bones with two perfect masculine eyebrows, a slightly hooked nose which blended in with his cheekbones, his oval face outlined with strong jawlines and two deep-set eyes with the colour of a clear sky and greyish rims...

I lost my senses until I heard he out his hand to me.

"I'm Nikolai, the Joseph in the team, you may call me Zmei."

His hands were huge and strong, and his cold, stern masculinity made me uneasy for a second. Slavs are 'cold', I saw this phrase somewhere online, and I could definitely see Nikolai built up a wall for self-protection immediately as he took his hand back.

He was so cold but he was so polite, and I, an introvert, considered him an amiable introvert.

"We all have to make up another name, it's a tradition," Uncle Fernando took a peep of us from the rear mirror, "my code is Sombra Quebrada."

"Mine's Cavalier," said Michael.

"Twister," Nelson stretched his arms as he said.

"I'm here to help you recall your memories — — "he took out a small, translucent sphere from his pocket, "from this," then he held one finger and paused about an inch in front of my forehead, "to your confused brain."

"Very," I gasped, "very confused, that's true — — but, please, just start right away and help me have a proper mind."

Uncle Fernando laughed as Nikolai slowly grasped the sphere in his palm, and it disappeared.

"Now, close your eyes."

I did as he told and I felt Nikolai covering my ears, and I guess he placed his thumbs on my eyelids.

A warm energy surrounded me, and it soothed my anxiety immediately.

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Before leaning relaxingly to his seat, Michael witnessed Nikolai's crystal blue eyes turned green. His smile now weary, and his eyes blinking with overflowing emotions.

"Oh, by the way, the others are on their way to Seattle, right?" Nelson took out his phone and asked, "so, do we need to pick up Dynamite on our way?"

"Who?" Fernando took a glimpse of the young people from the rearview mirror.

"The Reuben that nearly killed us all," Michael coldly breathed out his words.

It took Fernando a second to say no, and the two boys in the back let out a soundless hooray, even Nikolai, who should not be distracted, by all means, had a light scoff on his face.

And for Sariella, memories came back to life as the transfer process continued, and what was meant to be forgotten, was then brought back to mind.