A few agonising days later…604Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOoHU6DQiti
From darkness, the sounds that began to amplify were without a doubt human, and its warmth was slowly being soaked into his cold, fragile body, but the clamour, once muffled, became deafening to his ears, and it was no longer possible to stay asleep in this dome of noise. Careful not to blind himself under the radiant light, he opened his eyes, and the colours of the world appeared once more, the hues and shades separated, and common shapes formed. His eyes were still misted, but as he took his time to readjust his sight, outlines sharpened, and he found himself lying under the untouched heavens. As if no calamity had befallen the world, the sky was pale blue, splattered with cotton-like clouds gliding across the canvas behind the exposed roof of the burnt-down church. Its arches were like ribs that clawed inwards, with parts continuing to break off to reveal centuries-old paintings dashed on the walls of the holy place. There were many such halls around Bristel and this was the largest of the lot, standing on the headland of the seaside for wayfaring souls to pray, but there was no more chatter of nuns nor the recitals of priests, as the devout had been devoured by the fires of hell also. The settlement had been burning for days with mere signs of slowdown as the crackle of embers and the occasional blazes terrorised the traumatised survivors, but in its wake was something worse than what they could see. One could smell the rotting air even leagues away from where the mass burial sites were, as the stench compiled over the days merged to form one atmosphere that contained the town. Luckily, the half-blood boy had lived through the worst in his sleep on a cloth sheet in tatters laid over the worn tiles of the church floor. A rough blanket hardly covered his body, which was tightly wrapped in bandages, keeping him from moving too much—not that he would want to pain himself even more, but as he looked around him, being wary of his straining neck, he understood why he had been brought to this sainted place. Volunteers, doctors, and nurses selflessly toiled away even if it meant their hands would forever be soiled by blood, day and night, shouting across the hall in emergency and concocting their homemade medicines, having drained the hospitals and pharmacies in the early hours after the attack. The church had been transformed into a military clinic, with troops from garrison militias and squadrons of the citizens’ watch patrolling the building, infrequently needing to break off squabbles between patients and healers wherever they could. However, the infighting would only become more violent as water and food stores dwindled. It would not be long before the government sent aid, but it was laughable how humans, having such complex morality, could revert to primitiveness in the face of temporary troubles.
Arminius averted his focus to the more pleasing skies when he felt the approach of a soul who was pure without deceit and benevolent without a false facade. He zipped down an aisle towards Arminius, who glanced over to his right and saw that he was the same boy who rescued him that night. Setting down his bag, which contained an arsenal of equipment, his saviour shuffled closer, casting a shadow over Arminius before pouring a canister of water into a steel basin that rinsed out the dirt and blood on a towel. The cool air from the selfless youngster, whose soft touch felt unhuman, was welcome to Arminius, whose wounds could do with a little cold as he held onto his arm and began unwrapping old bandages. Though the one carefully washing Arminius’s half-destroyed hand looked like any other boy, he seemed to possess more knowledge than the average child as he cautiously spread a medicinal paste on his hideous cuts and burns.
His eyes had pupils blue like stained glass, focused on changing Arminius’s bandages, so he had not realised he was awake, brushing aside his blonde hair stained by the ash in the air. Concentrating with concern, he began wrapping Arminius’s burns with a fresh layer of bandages when his necklace slipped out of his collar. Arminius was sucked in by the gracefulness of the charm that bore a whole sapphire, sparkling under the smallest instance of sunlight, refracting a dark blue glow onto the comely face of its wearer. The boy had an innocence that had not yet been spoilt by the advent of war, but his face had already been branded by the healing scar of a cut across his cheek, and although he seemed pesteringly familiar, any memories that Arminius may have had did not seem to exist.
“Did you bring me here…?” Weakly, Arminius asked the blonde-haired boy.
The foreigner paused and looked at him, appearing nervous upon finding out that he was awake, before giving a shy and gentle nod, which hid his face as he held onto Arminius’s wrist. “We were lucky that we were not far from a place like this.” Feeling relieved that he had come to his senses, the blonde-haired boy timidly spoke while continuing to wrap bandages around Arminius’s wounded hand. “Your injuries were plenty bad.” He quietly added.
His hands moved familiarly with every procedure necessary to bind Arminius’s dislocated joints and disfigured hand. From the rim of his boots, he retrieved a clip and attached it to the loose ends of the cloth, securing it in place before carefully straightening out every crease and fold. As his arm was being laid down, Arminius spotted a glass of water beside him and was reminded of his thirst. He tried to reach for the cup, but he struggled to move his arm, nor could he feel his two fingers, horridly mutilated, yet he stubbornly fought on while gritting his teeth.
Anxious about his wounds, the blonde-haired boy could not bear to watch him pain himself any more and brought his glass of water to him. “Here…” He said while holding it beside Arminius’s mouth.
Arminius gazed at his helping hand, and upon admitting defeat, he embarrassedly veered his eyes away and allowed himself to be fed. The foreigner tipped the water over his mouth with a hand underneath and watched Arminius be slowly revitalised by the sweet taste of water before he took away the glass and set it on the floor.
With his other hand, Arminius wiped his mouth and blushed awkwardly at the thought of having been fed water for all the things that could embarrass him. “Thanks… uh…” He expressed his gratitude, but when he attempted to recall the boy's name, nothing came to mind, as if he had become a stranger to his memories. “What’s your name…?” The wounded boy asked.
His saviour’s brow furrowed in confusion as he rinsed the towel in the water basin. “I thought you knew…” The foreigner mumbled, certain that he heard him say his name that night, but again, it could have been his imagination. “Never mind. That would be ridiculous anyways…” Shaking his head, he accepted reality as it was.
Arminius frowned, wondering if it had anything to do with what he said when he was standing before the gates of paradise, but before he could recall anything, his saviour shifted himself onto his knees and postured himself in what was always reserved for the most diplomatic of settings.
“I’m Julien Carlstadt.” In a shy voice, he uttered a name that stung Arminius, who felt every part of his soul compact with pain, but it was subtle enough that it did not seem to have been given too much thought.604Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8t1VAHRahe
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