The Darkened War

Ch.34

For the first time, Aaron understood what Aira meant by speaking to the wind. Up until now, it had remained silent, withholding from him the blessings and reprimands Aira always claimed to have gotten. It wasn't until the early morning, before dawn, that Aaron felt its sting; unspoken words like a slap to the face. In the breeze Aaron felt its tension, and the air was thick with anger. Perhaps this is why Aira always stopped to listen, although Aaron could never imagine the magic being as cross with her as it was him.

Even in the darkness, Aaron could see the river's waters had risen; it was higher than usual. Everything felt off, the magic was unsettled. In the rushing water and in the sounds of the leaves bristling in the wind, the laws of nature broke and from somewhere, he heard the words: Don't let them die.

Aaron shook his head. His mind had to be messing with him. Reluctantly, he bent down splashing the cool water up at his face and ran a hand through his hair. It was the guilt, it had to be; he was so worried he'd made the wrong decision in seeking Akuma's help that now it was eating away at him. He had sworn never again to talk to Cerberus. Ever since his friend had left their cult for a dark one, he had cut off connections entirely, and had promised himself he'd keep it that way. How could he have been so stupid to make a bargain with him? What possessed him to seek out the very person who had betrayed Antinanco in the worst way, and plot behind Analia's back? He had been a fool, and even his own magic was turning on him.

He had handed the lives of millions to the most bloodthirsty person he knew, practically wrapped with a bow on top. Leaving the river, Aaron headed back onto the trail in which he'd taken to get there, and heard a noise from a distance that sounded vaguely like a growl. Spinning around, Aaron clenched his hand into a fist and swung it against a tree at full force. His head was spinning, his thoughts foggy. Was it the pressure of the magic's fury, or mere grogginess from the lack of sleep that was causing him to act like this? He'd been awake the entire night. After it had been hours and Analia still hadn't returned, Aaron had gone out to look for her . . . and had gotten side tracked. His mind had gotten lost . . . though he knew not where, and his head was filled again and again with the same words on repetition: Don't let them die. Don't let them die. Don't let them die. But why? They were only ignorant people raised in a manipulative Kingdom; without magic, without purpose. What did the wind care if they died? Why was his own power turning against him for the deaths of people who didn't make a difference? But the words continued to come.

After walking for a while the sun finally began to poke its head out from behind the horizon, and the path back to his tent became clear. The darkness had made him question what road to take, and exhaustion had him dizzy and faint. The wind had backed off a bit, and if the voice by any chance was still speaking, it had grown at least too quiet to hear. But the memory remained, and it haunted him all the same, reminding him, again and again, not to let the people of Rayland die.

As Aaron returned to the tent and collapsed onto the floor, Analia's eyes grew wide and she dropped down beside him. Aaron laid there for a moment, before seeing the worry across her face and forced him into a sitting position, his face red and heated; from either embarrassment or dizziness, it wasn't fully clear. He hadn't expected her to be standing there this early; he'd thought she'd be asleep.

After she lifted him up, and set him down in the nearest chair Analia folded her arms, and a scowl formed on her face. Aaron lazily yawned, looking up at her with his wide green eyes, completely unfazed. She must have felt it was for nothing, her whole night up worrying; that it wasn't worth it now that Aaron was here, perfectly fine. Analia raised her hand as if she were going to strike him and smirked as he jolted awake. She'd been hoping to get a reaction from him, and before he had time to rise up from his seat she slipped her hand back into the pocket of her pajama pants and glared at him with something that crossed between fury and relief.