Luke

Another day, another silver.

I wonder what that means, thought Luke.

He would hear it every so often from the villager folks when they pass nearby. They would wake up early in the mornings and recite that phrase to themselves or others. It would seem to be a regular greeting of sorts. There were a few variations such as "Hey! [email protected]$$** ****" or the more common "Son of w****, how you doin." He figured the former was a more polite greeting due to the warmth he felt radiating off those who used it. While the latter, more colorful, greetings seemed to inspire either destructive actions or rough rapport. He's still not sure there was a difference.

Goooo...

"Fine. Fine. Fine. I'm not actually trying to stall if that's what you're thinking." Luke arched his brows and spoke to no one. "I'm just preparing myself. Who knows what goes on in the Strangers' lands."

He was naked from the waist up. Wearing only a dirty pair of rags that covered to his knees. His skin tone had gone a bit more tan and his hair a shade darker. But he was still slightly pale but not to the point of emaciation. His hair still a shade of silver but no longer blindingly lustrous. He had opted to travel through the smaller forests, but the trees would not allow it. He was tasked to visit a nearby village to gain "benevolence" toward his "kind."

Whatever that means.

Luke has lived in the forest for as long as he can remember. His first memories were of chasing wildcats through the base of trees and hollow grounds. The wrestling of giant bears. And his cahooting with the mischievous aves.

Now, though, he was a man on a mission.

Puffing up his chest Luke declared loudly, "And I'm off! Say bye to Deke for me!" He began to walk out of the Dead Forest. His home.

His haven.

His place of adventure and livelihood. He's never left his home before. Sure he roamed the outskirts, but never actually left the confines of the greens. His new adventure will start here. Walking this path. Toward a more exciting escapade. He walked until he found the first dirt road. Seeing one is as good as another he took to it and followed it away from home.

Luke was still close enough to sense his home, but far enough he would dread the walk back, when he smelled it.

Smoke. Lots of it. Where there's smoke, there's fire.

Luke quickened his pace up the road. Not a sprint or a rush, though. Only speeding up his walk to sate his curiosity. Being far enough from his home had diminish his concern of fires. Since he had nothing on his back or person, there was no harm in checking it out.

As Luke neared the last bend of the road, he saw what was causing the extensive smoke. Homes that caught on fire. Quite a few by the amount of smog coming out of the village. It was a small village. Enough to make a close knit community where every neighbor knew one another by name, if not, then by association.

When Luke came close enough to the village to see the blazing homes, he was confused. He'd have thought the Strangers would be working together to put out the fire like his family when they had forest fires. He recalled more than his fair share of those memories.

Stupid Strangers for trying to put his home on fire!

The folks around the homes were staring at the fire in a trance. It seemed like the whole village was here. Men were standing idle with buckets held loosely in their hands. Women embracing and covering others' eyes. Even children stopped their unceasing wails to stare at the monstrous inferno. Blazing back and forth as if the demons of old were running amok. The crisp wood and stones shook and shattered to pieces. Each burnt offering led the villagers into truly believing, nothing good lasts forever.

"What do we do Grayson?" a villager asked. "The waters not working!"

"Forget the house! What are we gonna do about his wife and son!" another villager cried.

"Just give them what they want! Please Grayson!" a woman screamed.

Grayson looked up from his perch. He sat on the dirt against a nearby wagon. He looked to his right arm. Broken by the elbow. He may never use it again. His left leg. Twisted at an odd angle. He may never walk either.

"Leave me alone," Grayson murmured. "Let me die here with my wife."

"No you don't you big oaf," a villager ran to him and held him by the cuffs. Breathing in his face. "We've come too far to throw it all away! If we can't save your wife then we'll sure as hell save your boy!"

"Just go! Dammit!" Grayson yelled abruptly. Rage on his face for a moment. He stared at the other man's eyes. But then, he deflated. "You're a good man, brother. But all of us here," he indicated with this only working hand,"would not... COULD NOT stop those monsters." Grayson looked to the skies. He tried to stare through the heavy smoke. The clouds. The despair he's brought on to himself and his family.

Grayson remembered it like it was just the day before. When he and his son were so desperate they had to hunt into the Dead Forest. Their meeting with the Guardian. The gift bestowed upon them. He thought it a trick at first. A jest from the Guardian.

But no.

When he got home and planted the seeds he was surprised the next day. He woke up to an abundance of fruits and greens he's never seen or heard of. He was ecstatic. All shapes and sizes and colors. He woke up his son and together they gathered up as much as they could and took them home to sample. His wife couldn't be happier with their good fortune. Everything was mouthwatering. When he sold them to the villagers, they too, took to the delectable fruits and greens. News and rumors spread, by word of mouth, from village to village. Before long they were getting trade caravans coming to their remote village in hopes of trade arrangements or just simply to sample the unusal delights. Grayson made a fortune and bought himself the land and home itself. Next he moved to develop their community. Better carpenters to build their homes sturdy and better roads to travel. He was even abled to hire a few gifted and swordsmen to help teach the unlearned and better the men to defend themselves. However, when word of his success reached the duke, his downfall came shortly after.

The duke had issued orders to "share" his good fortune. He regretfully, could not. Grayson was not able to give up his secrets because even he knows not how they worked. When he tried to give the seeds to others to plant and grow, they did not. And when Grayson explained it so, he did not receive a compliable response. The soldiers returned not long after with a new order that "demanded" he give up his secrets or be charged of treason. Yet again, giving the same explanation to the soldiers. He could not give what he simply does not have. And the next time they came back.

They came in force.

They took his son and burned his home. With his wife still inside.

"Please," Grayson begged. "Just leave me be."

He bled tears then.

It was at this moment the villagers seemed to notice one not familiar among them. One who was in deep contrast to the hysteria circulating around. One who was extremely underdressed.

"Hello Strangers!" Luke called out.

The villagers turned heads by the dozen to seek out the strange hollering. When they laid eyes on the owner of the voice their eyes bulged. Each of them recognized him by the color of his hair, the pale like skin, and the stories Grayson had told of him. The rumors and gossip from nearby villages of his sightings throughout the cycles. The tragedies and miracles people have seen from the Guardian. The people knew enough about the Dead Forest to not excuse any rumors as baseless tales. The villages had decided to ward off any association with the unknown forest and its inhabitants with extreme caution. Most likely because of fear. However, what baffled and scared them most, perhaps, was the otherwordly aura that seemed to surround him.

Wherever he walked. Whatever he touched.

Life bloomed.

The dirt made way for seeds to ungrow unhindered. Plants that never had the chance to grow on the road, rosed from their despondency. Animals would grow lively and vibrant around him. Wagging their tails and calling out to one another. The sky would part ways for his sauntering. As if shining a light onto him alone.

"Why aren't you tryin' to put out the fire?" Luke asked to no one in particular. Looking from one villager to the next.

The village stood terrified. The rumors and gossip never mentioned the Guardian leaving the forest. They stood still and tense as if any movement would scare them away.

Grayson was the first to speak after watching all his villagers turn heads to stare at something behind the wagon. "What's the matter? Did those whoremongering pigs come back already?" he said trying to pull himself up with his good hand. Upon reaching over the wagon and seeing what everyone else was seeing, he rushed forward then. Hobbling and weaving his way through the frozen villagers.

"I would think if you don't put out the fire soon, it would eat all your homes, no?" Luke questioned the villagers again. His face a puzzle.

"Your Guardianship!! Please!" Grayson cried upon reaching Luke. All his energy left him then and he started to collapse.

"I've got you, brother," a villager bent a knee to hold Grayson under his arms.

"Please..." Grayson whimpered. "Save my wife and son," he mumured so quietly even his brother seemed to not have heard it.

Luke looked at Grayson. He peered into him. Moving his head ever closer to get a better look at the Stranger squatting before him. Trying to remember something.

Has he seen this Stranger before?, Luke thought. A hand on his chin seeming in deep thought.

Mehh...probably not.

Luke wondered maybe if this is what Terra was telling him about. His task out here. The reason for his adventure away from home. To learn "benevolence" and some other shenanigans. To teach him the values of other life. To learn the ways of others. To broaden oneself. To expand. To truly Live....

Or maybe Terra was just tired of his antics and wanted to be rid of him for a while. Either case seemed plausible.

"Why aren't any of you doing that then?" Luke questioned. He seemed to be doing a lot of that since he arrived. "And again, why isn't anyone putting out the fire?"

"We've tried," answered the gruff villager carrying Grayson. "But no matter what we do. No matter how much water we douse the fire with, it won't stop! It can't be stopped! It was made from a bastard gifted!"

"Have you tried asking?" Luke replied.

"W-what!?" both Grayson and his brother responded at the same time.

"Ya' know. Ask them to stop burning the house. I think it would work. They seem to only be small ones." Luke approached the blazing home.

Each crackle of fire seemed to burst forth and tried to whip at him. But each time they would sway away at the last moment. Steering clear as if he was a python and the fire, a rodent. Luke came within arms reach and layed a hand onto the burning home. It was cool to the touch.

Please...stop.

Grayson couldn't believe his eyes. He looked around and everyone had the same reaction. They were awestruck. They all thought the boy meant asking the gifted that started the fire in the first place. Not the fire itself.

The fire started to dwindle down to a small crackling blaze. Each crack of fire drew less life than the next. In time, the only sound was of the small twitches of the burnt home and rolling wind.

"See," Luke pulled his arms back. "I told ya' it'd work." Raising his hands in triumph.

"My wife, brother!" Grayson cried weakly.

Grayson's brother layed him down gently, "I'm on it." He rushed into the home then. Knocking over wood and stones that had fallen. Kicking and turning over furniture that was burned beyond recognition. The breaking and smashing noises broke the villagers out of their reverie and hurried into action. Each turning to a different section. Tossing over refuse and debris, the villagers looked for the likely dead woman burned alive.

"She's over here!" a villager yelled off on the second floor. Each of the villagers dropped whatever debris they were carrying and rushed over to the voice.

Grayson got on all fours and dragged his useless leg and arm with him. He needed to hurry. He could picture it already. Her face marred of its beauty. Her arms and legs burned to a crisp. Her body showing only charred meat and bones. He weeped and grimaced at the horrifying image.

Noticing the villagers bringing out a body Luke thought to stroll away with a job well done, until the gruff villager from earlier called out to him.

"Wait! Stranger!"

Luke stopped in his tracks and turned his head stiffly. "I am no Stranger," he replied evenly. His voice a mask of rage. A stark contrast to his earlier version. He slowly sweeped his gaze across all the villagers.

He stared them down.

"Never call me so again," Luke's voice betrayed an array of emotions.

Rage. Anger. Hatred at the mention that he could be like them.

Rage, at the idea of suggesting he could even be mistaken for the likes of them.

And anger, that he should be upset so easily.

Luke knew he wasn't a Stranger. He wasn't violent like most of their kind. He didn't know envy or jealousy. He didn't make wars when peace was but a chat away and he didn't make tools of destruction.

Luke was of the forest. He was of the earth. The sky. The wind.

He was of Terra.

The villagers felt the difference in pressure around them. The air seemed to still and the earth grew warm. Even the sky seemed to have darkened since their escapade into the homes. They grew confused at first. Not understanding Luke's change in nature. The gruff villager that called out to him stepped forward. "I meant no disrespect strang-"

A wind blew then. Knocking the gruff villager to his knees. Plants sprouting from everywhere and nowhere to grab and entwine onto his limbs. The more he struggled the harder it pulled.

"W-what is this!?"

Some of the villagers stepped back while some stepped forward, thinking of how to help.

"Stop!" Grayson clambered from behind the villagers. Leaving his wife covered in cloths on the dirt road. He was carried on either side by two young men. "He's my brother. Please," Grayson bowed his head. A difficult task in his current predicament. "Spare him."

As quickly as the plants sprouted, they were gone. Retreating and hiding away again. Leaving the gruff villager gasping for breath.

"W-what in the three-hells-"

"Forson. Let me do this," Grayson spoke sagely. He made a gesture for some of the villagers to help Forson up.

"Do not call me that again," Luke spoke with his otherworldly voice.

"Yes, your Guardianship. I'll see to it," Grayson attempted to plead his case. "Can you see to my wife? I've seen you do healing magic before." The rest of the villagers stared profoundly.

Luke stood squarely. Crossing his arms. He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not," he replied with his happy-go-lucky voice again.

"Anything helps. Please this way." Grayson hobbled along back to where he laid down his wife.

Deciding he might as well since he was here already, Luke followed behind Grayson. He ignored the stares. Upon reaching the woman, he grew contemplative. She was horribly disfigured. Her arms and legs charred to crisps. Her body was covered by cloths but he imagine it was in a similar state. Her face covered with soot and dirt. But despite the extreme damage to her body, somehow, she was still alive.

Grayson shooed away the young men suspending him. He was gently lowered to his knees and he cradled his wife into his one good arm. He tried to caress her face, but his broken arm wouldn't allow for it.

"Is there anything you can do?" Grayson pleaded. Slowly looking up from his position.

"Like I said," Luke shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."

Luke asked himself if he should help these Strangers any more than he already have or not. In his experience with them so far, he knew they weren't all bad. When he confronted Strangers in his forest for hunting his family or just trying to cut down wood most would leave with little to no trouble, albeit with a little persuasion. While others outright refused to do so. He made sure those ones paid dearly.

In the end, Luke decided he should. Seeing as how Terra already deemed this Grayson worthy. He hunkered down and placed a hand onto the woman's forehead. He closed his eyes.

If you will it, help me.

Help her.

Luke felt the tingle. Starting from the earth. Then to his feet. Then throughout his body. It was a merry feeling. Full of jovial laughter and a warm carefree embrace. He directed it onto the woman. Feeding as much as the earth would allow.

"W-what is happening!?" Forson cried. Trying to move closer to see the strange light.

"It's okay, Forson." Grayson gave him a heartfelt look. "It's gon' be okay." He cradled his wife closer.

The light continued to glow around Lukes' hands. Then encompassing all around the woman. The flakes of burned skin peeling off. The marred face returning to it's former glory. Each of her limbs regaining their healthy color. Her frizzled hair falling away to reveal a smooth baldness. When he felt the earth give. He stopped.

Grayson took to her immediately. Inspecting her from head to toe. Using his one good hand as best he could. He gently shook her.

"Martha, dear...can you hear me," Grayson whispered. "Just give me something. Anything to know your alive."

"...."

Grayson sat straight up. "W-what did you say?" Leaning his ear to her mouth.

"Yo....si....n...nd"

"She's alive!" Grayson yelped. "She's alive!" He repeated for the rest of the villager's sake. It didn't matter what she was saying. She was alive. That was all he cared about. All that mattered to him. The rest of the dukedom could turn over for all he cared.

"....."

"Shush, dear. Don't speak. I've got you. You're okay now," Grayson attempted to mollify Martha.

"I said you're crushing me hand with your oaf arse!"

Grayson quickly shifted from his perch to reveal that he was, indeed, crushing her whole hand underneath. "Ahh...apologies dear. Heat of the moment and all that." He blushed. Grayson fumbled with her half nakedness and tried to adjust the cloth covering her.

"W-what's wrong with you. Why are you...moving like that?" Martha struggled to get out. Flexing each part of her body. Turning her head to get a look at her surroundings. She noticed his lack of use in some of his limbs.

"Oh dear Ultor, what happened to your arm and leg!" Martha cried. She turned her head this way and that. "And where's Harrison..."

"He's gone...I'm so sorry honey," Grayson lamented. Bowing his head. Unable to bare his shame of being unable to protect either of them.

"What do you mean he's gone?"

"They...took him away...and burned our home."

"W-what...?" Martha gasped. "NO!" She tried to stand then. Causing the cloth covering her to slip away revealing her semi nakedness.

"Martha please, cover yourself. I know how you feel. We'll go after-" Grayson spoke quickly.

"NO!" Martha yelled. "We need to go right now! My clothes be damned!" Once again trying to shrug off the cloths. "They have my boy." Martha weeped then. Heartbreaking sobs followed. "My only son." She collapsed onto Grayson. "P-please. We need to get him back." Martha continued her deep sobs. Sniffing her heart out.

Grayson turned to Luke. "Will you help us?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Luke stared at the display. The woman was clearly hysterical. The healing he done should have put her whole again. However, she seemed unstable. He did it the way he always had though. Maybe she was always like this, Luke thought.

Understandable. Nobody's perfect.

"Who are you talking to Gray," Martha asked from his shoulders. She looked up then. Into the shines of a mysterious body bathed in light. She noticed his skin color. His odd hair. His choice of rags. She gasped.

"The Guardian?"

Luke didn't care that all the Strangers called him Guardian. He's heard it enough times and stopped trying to correct them. It was either that, or a monkey's bastard.

He liked Guardian a lot more.

Martha stared at him. He was used to the stares now. That's all anyone has ever done when they saw him for the first time. They just stare.

"Please, help us," Martha beseeched. "I know we are not the friendliest neighbors you have, but we only make do. We keep to ourselves and never bothered you since my husband intruded on your home." She bowed her head. "If you can help us once again. We would forever be in your debt."

"Mmhm."

"I-is that a yes?" Martha querried.

"Yes. Yes," Luke decided.

"Yes!" Martha exlaimed.

"Okay....I think that's enough yes', what are you planning to do Guardian?" Grayson asked.

"Can you tell me which direction they took him?"

"Forson?" Grayson called out. "I was outcold for that bit. I didn't see. My apologies."

"You have nothing to apologize for brother. If anything, it's those bastards that burned your home and took my nephew away that should be on their knees begging for forgiveness," Forson seethed.

"Forson, I'm grateful for you indignation, but please. Which direction did they take my son?"

"Yes...of course," Forson pointed to the way towards where Luke was headed. "They took to that road and if I had to guess, making their way back to the castle."

Grayson looked to Luke. "Can you help us?"

"Sure. I already agreed didn't I." Luke replied casually. "Now let me see if I can do this before lunch."

Luke faced the direction Forson pointed out. He closed his eyes. Steeling himself. Rooting himself onto the ground with impeccable nimbness. Sinking into the earth up to his shins.

Hear me. I call for redemption.

Hear me. I call for retribution.

Hear me...if you will.

Luke felt the earth's awareness. Increasing his own. Wrapped in its warm embrace. Coddling his being. Caressing his soul. He embraced it.

Leagues away. Metal soles tapped the earth. The continuous drum of travel. Among them he felt a slight distinction. The soft tappings of bare feet. Slower and less controlled. Luke can only assume that this was the boy. He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, coiled his muscles, and then, he let go.

"What in the name of Ult-"

"Ahhg, my legs-"

"I'm sinking!"

Soldiers, some leagues away, screamed and panic in various situations. Some sunk only to the knee while others, to their hips. Some made grabs for the road around them to pull themselves up. And others were pushing and pulling the rest for a sip of sanity. A fruitless effort.

Luke softened the earth all around the soldiers. Encasing them in what was essentially, quicksand. Eating them up. He didn't plan to kill them. Just to submerge them long enough so the boy can get away. The soft tappings of earth following behind the metal soles seemd to have panic and stopped moving.

Luke whispered to the wind. His eyes still closed.

"What's he doing?" Forson quietly whispered to Grayson who was struggling to cover Martha with the cloths.

"I don't know." Grayson replied succinctly.

"Stop it!" Martha yelped suddenly. "I can do it myself." She began to wrap and tie the cloths around her. She looked to Grayson's arm and leg and she softened. "I'm sorry."

"No. It was my fault. Everything was-"

"Stop it!" Martha hissed. She engulfed him then. Bringing him into her arms. "I am okay now. And our son will be too....I think."

"Shouldn't we gather our men to launch a rescue or..." Forson asked.

"No." Grayson spoke fervently. "We wait."

"Okay. I'll trust you," Martha pecked him on the lips and returned to holding him.

"I don't know brother. He's not doing anything...aside from sleeping on the spot," Forson spoke worriedly.

"Trust me brother." Grayson tried to convey his reasoning to trust the Guardian. Somehow he knew the Guardian would not fail. "Trust him."

Luke opened his eyes. Stretching his arms over his head. He shook himself a little. Doing that always made his body stiff like a tree. Yawning, he felt famished.

"Alright! My job is done here folks," Luke called out. Twisting and turning his body.

"W-what do you mean?" Grayson asked. "You've rescued our son?"

"Sure did," Luke smiled brilliantly.

"Are you daft-" Forson started.

"Enough Forson," Grayson commented. He looked to Luke. A solemn vision crossed his face. Grayson nodded.

"We wait," Grayson spoke firmly.

Luke just realized he can smell something delicious in the air. Aside from the smoke that is. It had a heavy huff. A bit of sweet tangyness. Some sour dew as well. He abruptly followed his nose to wherever the aroma was coming from in the village. Unconciously skippping away. When he could practically taste the smell he reckoned he was in the middle of the village now, considering he was surrounded by stalls and wares of all kinds.

He breathed in the wind again.

There!

Behind a couple of stalls he saw it then. Coming from a window. A house of stone and wood. A big chimney chugging the continous aroma. Luke dashed as quickly as he could. Hopping over and through stalls and wares alike.

"Where do ya reckon he went?" a villager asked. "He seemed awfully in a hurry."

"I don't know...should we be worried?" another asked.

"Relax, the lot of you. Calm yourselves," Grayson spoke with as much authority as he could manage in his tired state. "Wherever he went, he has done us a service already. We will simply thank Ultor and hope for the best now."

The forest started rustling then. Barely noticeable at first. Some villagers turned heads as if hearing something.

"........."

"Do you hear that?" a woman asked.

"I do."

"Me too!"

"What is it!?"

"Shhh!" Forson quieted. He listened then. Assuming at first, the rest of the villagers having lost their minds from the recent events. "I hear it too...."

"What is it brother?" Grayson asked from his perch. Still holding on to Martha for dear life.

"I...I'm not sure...it seems like...," Forson tried to explain. "The wind....is speaking..."

Grayson looked to Martha. Her face must have mirrored his own. They both helped each other to stand and slowly walked towards the sound of the wind. Making their way through the crowd. Listening intently. Weaving to and fro.

It first came as a tiny mumur. A soft whisper. A hushed melody.

Then, they heard it.

Repeating itself from ear to ear.

A vestige of a voice one couldn't be sure they were actually hearing it.

Everyone saw it then. A shape emerging from a speck through the woods. A rustling of the wind. A sound of brave joy.

Their boy, Harrison.

He's back!

When Grayson and Martha finally laid eyes on their son they rushed forward then. Grayson hopping and bumbling. Martha holding onto him and trying to hurry or else the vision be a trick of the gods. When they finally collided, they came into an embrace.

Son holding on to mother as if he's never known a mother so kind.

Mother covering son as if she knew him to be her life itself.

Father shielding them both as if life's misery could not take them away.

Holding on to each other and crying shoulder to shoulder, they now knew what the wind was whispering.

Come home.