R-a - Volume 3 - Chapter 37

R-a - Chapter 195 (In editing-v2)

Choices.

Starlight drifted down up on high, glorious suns hidden in the sky above passing judgement on those beneath them. This light showed through the truth of the night, chasing away the darkness that haunted the shadows.

Micheal sat in one of those dark shadows, back by a rather familiar lake.

The sounds of the tranquil night spread out around him, quiet chirps and hums from resting creatures, the rustling of animals that prowled the night, and a cool breeze that did nothing to soothe the fires raging in Micheal’s heart.

“Time travel.” He spat the words out as if it was a curse, his eyes hardening as he looked down at his hands. Small ripples spread out on the lake in front of him, his words scaring away a few nearby fish.

“How could I forget? I’ve gone back in time… and time isn’t just going to sit by and wait for me.” The words did nothing to soothe his raging heart.

He continued to look down at his hands, a flurry of emotions passing through his dark gaze. Anger, guilt, confusion, hope, a confusing wash of feelings that melded altogether.

What should he do?

How could he possibly react?

What was he supposed to do?

How was he supposed to react?

For the next two hours, he sat alone in darkness, questions and confusion flooding his mind.

The time passed by in what felt like a blink of an eye to Micheal.

He forced himself to not make an instinctive decision. Instead, he went over everything logically, examining every facet of how he felt and trying to take a guided approach.

Who wouldn’t desire a second chance to fix all of your mistakes? Especially mistakes that you could never take back, mistakes that would haunt you for years to come.

Hope that had bloomed in Micheal when he arrived on the Second Layer struggled to blaze within his heart, refusing to leave him. Memories of love, of loss, and of regret filled him, leaving thorny trails in his mind.

“Choices.” As the eve marched forward, Micheal’s voice echoed softly in the still night, a steady realization settling within him.

“…”

“Choices…”

He muttered the word again, a quiet voice that slowly died out, lost in the black abyss all around him.

“…”

“…”

“…”

He needed to make a choice. Emotions clouded his thoughts, ones he tried to shove to the side as he analyzed things.

There was what he wanted… and there was what was right.

He recognized, now, that he had arrived at a turning point in his life.

With either choice, he could still accomplish his goals. A slightly late start should still allow for his plans to work.

All it would take was a small delay, who could blame him for that? He wasn’t perfect, after all. He could make mistakes too.

No one would know but himself.

“Choices…”

The starlight that lit up the shadows surrounding Micheal gradually began to fade, thick clouds obscuring the sky above.

Soon, Micheal was left to bear the darkness alone, a solitary figure fading to obscurity as time itself seemed to leave him behind.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

Several days later…

.. .. .. .. .. ..

Clouds gathered in the sky above, bunching up en masse like a thousand white meteors crashing together. These frightening titans covered the sky, threatening the world down below as they hid the late evening Sun from view.

“A storm is brewing.” The Lord Justiciar of the Farian Race, Gregor Mantorel, frowned as he looked up at the sky.

Unlike his home planet, the weather of the Second Layer was known for its rather extreme shifts. The storms could deviate to absurd levels, something his people had experienced quite a bit of in their time here.

This was the ‘calm’ season for weather here on the Second Layer, so the storm shouldn’t be too fierce. But it was still a bad omen to see it appear at all.

He sighed and waved the thought away. He had never been one to believe in the omens, even if half his people did. Whether or not the future could be foretold based on seemingly random occurrences mattered little to him. He could see the truth of reality with his own two eyes, and that was enough.

“It looks like it will be a light drizzle at worst. It should clear up come tomorrow.” Myla’s warm voice sounded off from behind, causing the Lord Justiciar to turn to look at her.

They were currently standing next to a very large clearing that was located at the center of the Woolen Forest, roughly equidistant from each Tribe’s encampments, with the sole exception of the Kowalsi Tribe. That Tribe had long since split off from the rest, their entire Tribe moving up from the First Layer as one instead of moving up in waves like the rest.

The two of them, plus the several elite guards that always followed Myla around, stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the bustling activity that was unfolding before them.

Thousands of Farians could be seen setting up various wooden platforms, crafting large bonfires, festive tents, and putting together a variety of art pieces that had been prepared just for the upcoming festival. Laughter and merrymaking echoed out of the clearing, the Farian’s uplifting and positive atmosphere practically oozing joy.

“One can hope. The Life Festival should be a day of good cheer.” Gregor grunted, his face dour.

Over the past week, something extremely odd had begun to take place.

Nothing was going wrong.

The violent raids that had pestered the warriors of the Tribes had seemingly vanished into thin air. They had been bleeding strong warriors for months now, and suddenly, all of that came to an abrupt end as the Life Festival began its final approach.

It made Gregor uneasy.

If he could just catch the damned murderous rats with his bare hands, he would easily tear them apart. He was the strongest Farian that had lived in half a dozen generations at the least, even more so as he adapted to the energy-rich air of the First and Second Layers, growing ever-stronger.

Few warriors could take even a single blow from him and live to tell the tale.

The air around him began to tremble as he thought about this, red light fluttering as an Aura began to form. He grit his teeth in anger, his eyes flashing.

“Gregor!” Myla’s warning voice snapped him back to the present. Gregor looked up at her sheepishly before assuming his stern, prideful visage once more. The elderly female Farian simply sniffed and squinted back at him, ruining his attempt at restoring his image.

“Careful with that! The Lord Justicar will be speaking from there! Careful!” The voice of one of the Taskmasters in charge of setting up the Festival Main Grounds interrupted their conversation, helping salvage some of Gregor’s dignity as they turned to look at the speaker.

It was a burly Farian directing a dozen others as they set up a large, metal platform atop a larger, wide wooden stage. Dozens of poles with glowing crystals were in the process of being installed around these platforms, set to ward off the darkness when nightfall came.

“The Festival preparations are going along well.” Myla spoke aloud, changing the subject.

“Yes, it’s been too long since we had a proper Life Festival. It will be good for the Tribes.” Gregor rubbed at his jaw as he spoke.

His mouth was starting to grow sore from how often he ground his teeth, according to the Farian Healer he’d talked to. His gargantuan strength was sometimes a detriment when it came to how frustrated he was as of recently. Perhaps he should take up chewing the popular ‘bubble gum’ that a group of peaceful humans had sold a few batches of.

He immediately discarded the thought, grinding his teeth again as he thought of the race that was causing his own endless amounts of trouble.

“Have you made any more definitive progress?” He changed the subject to one that was more pressing.

“Yes, I believe we’ve figured out the most pressing bits.” Myla understood what he was referencing as she replied calmly,

“Tracking these Seeds over a large range is difficult, but it’s definitely possible. More testing is needed, however, but it shouldn’t take up more than a few weeks.”

Gregor nodded as he heard this, his eyes hardening.

“Good.” He, rather heroically in his opinion, resisted the urge to grind his teeth.

He turned back to look out at the festival grounds. A relaxing breeze swept through the open meadow, wrapping around the Farians as it danced by. Gregor closed his eyes as he felt it sweep over him, taking a deep breath.

He exhaled slowly.

“Good. As soon as you finish, Operation Wildfire will begin.” His eyes snapped back to glance at Myla, a frightening intensity settling within them.

“Don’t let me down, Myla.”

“Do not worry, Lord Justiciar.” The elderly Farian bowed her head, the very picture of stately calm,

“I won’t.”

.. .. .. .. .. ..

The next day.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

All around the Ancient World, as creatures of all kinds came awake, the morning dawn cascaded down upon the world like mighty beams of golden fire. This brilliant light came to be quickly overshadowed by a large layer of heavy clouds, covering the lands of the Silent Sword Sect and the Divine Might Sect, spreading outward like an unstoppable tsunami.

Within each Great Sect, the Byrens went about their business as normal. Disciples rose and began practicing their martial arts after eating, left out on assigned missions to patrol, hunt down enemies, or scout out Magic Beasts and Magic Herbs. Regular Byrens began their days in a more ordinary fashion, tilling fields, checking traps, preparing their businesses, all after a hearty meal of breakfast.

Humanity continued along its own path, the various Syndicates arguing over how many humans each one gained, fighting to gain the largest pick of new recruits. Human encampments expanded bit by bit as humanity grew ever stronger, hunting Magic Beasts to gain Points.

The Farians day started with more preparations for the great event that was taking place in the eve.

In Micheal’s first life, this day was infamous, known to the Farians by a rather sinister name:

The Night of Blood.

Once more, history had repeated itself.

Everything came down to this.

The eve of the Life Festival had finally come.

.