Ruin Maketh Me

82 - Asier Salaben and Eirwen Salaben

THUMP.
THUmp.
Thump.
The boy nestles his head deeper into my abdomen, little arms hugging me tightly as if I was the only one left in an apocalypse. And perhaps, in this deserted, lifeless place, that's exactly what I am. A breath rasps past my teeth, and the onslaught of roaring winds hurl higher inside my heart. Warmth cascades through every fibre of my limb until everything seems soft and gently tinted. My mouth falls slightly open, and I half-raise my arms towards him, half-raise my arms away. What should I do? He...He's my, no, Elijah's son, and I, I—
     "Mama." The boy raises his large grey eyes to me, chin resting on my belly button.
     "Ah, I, I'm not exactly..."
     He tilts his head, eyes winking even in the dull greyness of the fog, "No, you are my mama."
     A fullness expands the chambers of my heart. Is this what happiness tastes like? My hands slowly clasp the boy's warm body and stroke his back softly. Even if this is fake, I don't mind living in this lie. I'd known, but I hadn't thought that it'd be something quite as strong as this, and if only that woman had felt something as clear and taunt as this, I wouldn't have died. 
     Elijah, me, both, squeeze the boy's shoulders and laugh quietly, "Yeah, you're right."
     My son quickly grasps my hand and hops besides me, lifting his head to look at me with bright wonder in his eyes, "Mama, I really, really missed you." His smooth fingers tighten, "You saw this day coming, didn't you? That's why mama called me Asier."
     A tingle answers to the three syllables, and I slide the letters over my tongue. A sliver of knowing bursts through my mind, Asier, the beginning. A new beginning to everything again. I scan the dense grey obscuring the entirety of our sight. Had Elijah seen this coming?
     "It's a good name." I say, "Asier."
     He nods, tugs me forward as if he knows the ways hidden behind the fog, "Papa will be so happy when he sees you! Come on."
     "Your papa." An irritating itching scratches down my heart, "How has he been?"
     Asier' s golden strands fly through the air like an inextinguishable beacon, "He was really angry when that fox took you away, but he'll be happy again when he sees you! Then, we'll all be together like a real family."
     A stone lodges in my throat. A real family? Even when I'm just a cheap imposter? My feet stumble, and a flash of pain courses up my back.
     "Uh." I take in a sharp breath.
     Asier stops immediately and turns around, eyes watery and full of worry, "Mama, you're hurt! I thought..." His gaze lingers on my temple, "Have you run out of mana? I have enough! I can heal you." He reaches out a palm.
      I quickly lay my hand over his and pull him forwards, "It's ok Asier, I'm not that hurt, let's go and meet your papa. We can't have you wandering over here all by yourself. It's not safe."
     "Ah." He smiles sweetly and skips besides me, swinging our linked hand in the air, "Ever since the magic warp, papa's been sending me out to find food."
I tighten my hold on his soft hand, "You've been doing this all by yourself? Your father should've sent someone along with you, especially in this situation." I try to pierce through the gathering fog, "I didn't think that the effects of the magic warp would be... so severe."
"Mama doesn't need to worry, I can protect mama! I have a lot, a lot of magic, look." He stretches out his other hand, and a blinding ball of lightning blue light bursts outwards, seemingly burning all ashen fog from view.
My mouth falls open, fingers twitching. Wow. Ok. Sure, my kid's stronger than me. Will he blast me apart too if he finds out that I'm an Otherworlder? A shiver worms its way up my spine, and goosebumps rise unbidden on my arms.
Asier bunches up closer to me, cheeks stained red with enthusiasm, "I found a lot of food today, potatoes, carrots, peaches, even fish! Papa can make us a delicious meal when we get home." He grips his chin with his pearly fingers, "I don't know what mama likes to eat."
My heart grows colder with every vegetable he utters with his tinkling voice.
"Without the Voights, we'll all die in the magic warp."
     I'm in an apocalypse situation, and I have a ten year old kid, and I don't have any magic, what are the chances of survival?
     "Mama?"
     I glance down at Asier's round eyes, "I don't have any favourite foods."
     His gaze seems to grow a degree more frigid.
     My mouth dries, "I like whatever Asier likes. Hmmm, what does Asier like to eat?"
     "Potato soup!" He pulls me forward with a renewed vigour, "Papa's potato soup is absolutely delicious, I'm sure mama will love it as much as I do!"
     "Yes," I murmur after him, "I'm sure I'll do."
     The rush of wind kites between the strands of our flying hair, and grand cream-stoned townhouses whirl in and out of sight. From the corners of my eyes, dubious splashes of crusted iron brown paint streaks along the flawless walls. The grey pavement, the white mortar between the bricks, stained red here and there, still in the form of groping liquid.
     "Where's your papa?" A tremble steals soundlessly into my voice, "Is he safe? Not injured surely? He kept you safe?"
     Asier tips his head towards the overcast sky, golden strands tumbling up and down like floating feathers through the humid air, "It's not far, just another street to go." He turns his head and smiles, teeth shining, "It's completely safe Mama, don't worry, we're completely fine. Papa's killed most of the monsters in this area, and the warp's clearing off a bit too." A childish laugh rings through the empty street, "Did you forget? We're Salabens, nothing can hurt us."
     I give him a strained smile and nod my head, but my eyes can't help but be drawn to the sticky brown black stains littering the pavement.
     "Ah, are those stains making you anxious?" Asier blinks several times, light lashes fluttering like little fans, "Those were made by Beastian when they got dragged into broken space, all the elves are safe."
     Sickness tumbles through my guts, but even so, the bubble of warmth spinning deep within me doesn't burst, "What about everyone else in this city?"
     His little fingers grip his chin again, "I'm not sure, even all the elves are scattered. I suppose most of them got lost in the fog and died. Papa hasn't been detecting any other life signals in this area."
     I gulp, stare at my running feet, slapping against the hard ground, one step and another and another. I'm lucky. I don't know how I got here from the car, but I'm lucky. But what about the others? Did they really deserve to die?
     "Mama, you're too kind. If they died, it must mean that they were meant to die, otherwise, they'd still be alive wouldn't they?"
     "I'm not sure." Words tumble from my mouth, and my gaze sharpens, "No one wants to die, and certainly no one wants to die in pain. Doesn't matter whether they were destined to or not. They still suffer."
     Asier's steps slow, and a coldness suffuses from his big eyes, but his pink lips tilt up in a small smile, and some intimacy returns to the tilt of his brows, "I see the crux of mama's philosophy."
     Sourness spreads through my mouth, "Do you really?"
     He doesn't answer, but his fingers tighten around mine, and his pull becomes insistent. My jaw tightens, but the softness of the warmth takes over, and a sigh whistles bleakly from my mouth. I had thought like him didn't I, when I was back on Earth? I had wished the world to end. After all, how can you save anyone when you're drowning too?
"Even if you don't understand, I'll teach you."
He stills, fingers flinching and slowly loosening, "Ok." Then louder, as if afraid that I didn't hear, "Teach me."
A pause as light as a net curtain floats over us, but before the silence can drag out into something lonelier, he pulls me forward towards a brick-red house, "Come on, papa's waiting for us!"
     Giving me no breath to prepare myself in any way whatsoever, he yanks open the front door and leads me through along with him. A resistance spreads over my skin, and like the time in Santana, the tingling sensation of breaking through water pricks along my skin. The door closes softly behind us, and when the light readjusts, I see that we're standing in a small entranceway with a narrow staircase a metre or so in front of us.
     "Asier, who's with you?"
     My breath sticks in my throat. His voice is like a coursing river, strong, infallible yet cool and couth and coldly refined, something not of this world. If gods could hear him speak, they would be jealous of this holy tone. The god in my heart sounds something like this, not the monotone, clash of Uhyls, but this.
     Footsteps clack from the doorway on the right, one step, two steps, three, right on my heart.
And he emerges.
Threads of spun gold frame his face, and when his eyes meet mine, I'm swallowed whole. Those eyes, their silver, they're not full of stars, they're whole universes spinning and clashing together and away. And those lips, their faint red, they're not blooming petals, they're a drip of water falling through a pool of blood. I die and live, and am reborn, and this heart catches on fire and bursts into flames, hotter, a thousand, million times hotter than the warmth swimming in my veins.
I love him so much.
Crash!
The glass in his beautiful, long fingers smashes to the floor.
His razor sharp, inhumanely cold features do not warp, do not change in any manner, but he stops. And can't seem to move forward. He takes a breath, I take a breath, and he steps towards me. Each step lands on my heart, again. Again. And now, now I know, if Salaben was a man as divine as this, there's no way Elijah or I could've run. If it was me ten years ago and not Elijah, I would've loved him too. Perhaps, I would've sacrificed myself for his child too.
None of this was Elijah's fault.
"Don't cry." He says, cold fingers wiping away the tears drowning my face.
I choke, swallow down the euphoria, lift my hands to the wetness on my cheeks. Was I crying all this time? I had not detected it, not in the slightest. Perhaps they came when I first heard his voice, or maybe when he appeared in front of me, or when he stepped towards me. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.
"Asier, go set the table, dinner's ready." He says, eyes not straying from mine.
Asier's small arms wrap around my waist once, and he steps away, past our figures, somewhere distant. My eyes cannot move away from this man, at least, not now.
      He takes a step back, draws his eyes over every inch of my face and extends a beautifully formed hand towards me, "I'm Eirwen Salaben, it's an honour to meet you."
     The symphony in my mind grates to a halt, and in an instance, I'm torn into two bloody halves. Relief, happiness, calm serenity torrents through the broken gap in my heart, this man, at least he knows I'm not Elijah. But pain, frustration, helplessness crushes these newly grown wings, and again, they grow, and again, they're clipped. Elijah, Elijah, all Elijah's pain and anger and weakness and that disabling, overwhelming sorrow.
     I can't bear it. Not this despair after such great joy.
     "Please excuse me." My voice scratches from my throat.
     And before I, myself can form my actions within my mind, my hand whips out and crushes into his flawless cheek.
     Slap!
     His head is thrown to the left, and when I remove my hand from the soul-numbing smoothness of his skin, a harsh red mark is left in the shape of my fingers, splashed across his creamy skin. The thousand knives of pain fade and dull into an ever-present ache throbbing through my temple.
     "That was the remnant of Elijah's anger. If I didn't do that, he'd never forgive me."
Eirwen turns his head back to me, and like before, there's no shift in his neutral features, but his hand rises to his face and touches the reddening mark gingerly with, almost, a breathless disbelief.
     I let a smile take my lips, and this time, I jut out my hand towards him, "It's an honour to meet you too, the name's Cynder Delphus."
     A gust of wind seems to blow through his silken strands of hair, and he takes my hand in his slowly. As his fingers pass over mine, my mind is whirled completely away again by the sensation of his hand against mine.
     "Welcome, and as for that slap, you need not feel anxious," The red mark slowly fades from his godly visage, "I deserved it."
     He lets go smoothly, hair still flowing besides his face in some invisible wind, and indicating to a doorway deeper in the corridor by the staircase, he starts forwards, otherworldly face still faced towards me, "I'm sure you're famished, let's have dinner first, before healing those wounds and discussing further matters."
     I nod, eyes wandering over his features and follow him into a small dining room at the back of the house. Asier's already seated at the round dinner table, but at the sound of our footsteps, he leaps up again and walks over to me with flushed cheeks and a renewed shyness.
     "Mama, papa." He calls, a small smile lighting up his face.
     My heart squeezes and another ferocious wave of heat rolls up my neck to my face.
     Eirwen makes no remark, only nods and leads me to a seat, drawing away the chair as if I was a lady and not a random guy in his ex-partner's body.
     "Ah, thank you." I stutter, the tips of my eyes burning in the cold air.
     A gentle breeze kisses the back of my neck, and both Eirwen and Asier take their seats diagonal to me with perfect grace. Taking up their spoons in synchronised movement, they look up at me.
     "I hope it's to your liking." Eirwen's pleasant voice rings out across the small table.
     I grip my silver spoon and look down at my bowl and... the saliva in my mouth dries completely. This, this is soup? Within watery brown grey liquid are clumps of uneven browny yellow solids that look half cooked, if not at all.
     " Mama, this is my favourite!"
     Glancing up, the image of my cute son and godly Eirwen scooping this shit into their mouths with great gusto sends a wave of nausea up my throat.
     I poke the substance with my spoon, and inching a corner of the solid onto my spoon, I send the 'food' into my mouth. The lingering nausea at the base of my throat shoots up majestically, and I gag into the bowl, spoon falling from my hand into the mush with a wet thump.
     "What... is this?"
     Eirwen's silver eyes flicker from me to the bowl, and he sets down his spoon, fingers interlocking, "It's potato soup."
     I stare down at the waterlogged grey and brown.
     "A potato is a root vegetable native to Beastian lands." He adds.
     Running my fingers through my hair, I look between the two, "I know what a potato is. But if you don't mind, can I re-cook it?"
     His interlocking fingers tap the back of his hands, but he gives me a sharp nod and stands up.
     I cup the cold bowl in my hands and follow suit, stumbling after his broad back into the corridor and the first doorway. A small kitchen with a sink and a silver fridge taking up the entirety of a wall squeezes into view.
     "This," He gestures to a glossy obsidian platform on the opposite side, "is the stove, and here," he places a copper pot on the platform, "Is a pot you can use."
     Firing him a look of guilt, I pour the 'soup' back into the pot and search the stove for knobs.
     "It's magic controlled, by the way." He adds, almost sulkily.
     I turn towards him and fire him a half bloom smile, "Could you please help me activate the stove into a small heat?"
     A gentle flow of air stirs his golden strands, and a thread of iridescent light flows into the obsidian surface from his finger. A ring of blue ignites around and under the pot. I grip the edge of the platform and use my spoon to give the substance a stir, evening out the consistency throughout.
     "When cooking soup, consistency is key." I say towards Eirwen who's gaze pierces into me intently.
     A whooshing squeezes through my skull, and the yellow, brown clumps blur in and out of focus. My grip tightens, and I force my spoon into the hard doughiness of the half-cooked potatoes.
     "Next time, try increasing the surface to vo—
     Black spots dance like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. The spoon slips from my grip into the pot, and my knees give out under me.
     Strong arms wrap around my waist and lower back, "Cyn—er—
     The white ceiling warps and twists like everything's made of wax, and gold and silver cascades in front of me, and...
     —ama! Ma—
     Damn.
      I fall away.

-

AN: Hope you all enjoyed Cynder's encounter with Eirwen Salaben! I'm thinking of opening up a Q&A for this book and myself as a 'writer'. You, my readers, can ask any question about any of the characters in this book and of course, myself (If haha, you're interested). Although I can't spoil the ending, I'll answer any queries about character interaction, psychology, mindset, hobbies, etc. (Basically anything). This novel's not particularly popular, but I still hope to get many questions! I'll post the answers to the questions the update after next. I was quite inspired by mya_colondres and her author interview, if you like transmigration bxb stories (Obvs), you can check her out too! >U< Love you all!