A Gorgeous White

"What in the world is this?"

The once poised Elven king bent his back. Knuckles turned white as his fists clenched tightly. Nothing could describe the heavy pressure crushing his consciousness as though a fist was squeezing it tightly. When he glanced at his sides, he realized he wasn't the only one feeling the intense oppression. However, it seems not all of them was painfully enduring the brain-pounding experience. Unlike his pained and groaning councilors, the High Lord sitting at his side bore dark, terrifying eyes, frightfully drilling on the still white-haired maeruthan speaking with a different voice.

Lord Hercullio looked as if he would draw his sword from his sheath and point his merciless blade on the snow-white neck of his beloved one. Nordehl was confused. However, he didn't have the time to pay attention to it. He stiffened, throat constricting when Moulin's unfamiliar glowing eyes turned to meet his gaze.

"Although you are king, you are not chosen by this land. How distasteful..." Galadin ridiculed. The people winced, feeling pure dissatisfaction with his voice reverberating within their minds.

Outside, knights and servants clutched their heads, clenching their teeth, bearing the pressure within their minds. Objects within held within their arms and hands helplessly fell to the ground.

Nordehl's pupils constricted. "You are..."

The youth's eyes narrowed slightly. He raised his hands as if presenting himself to them. "I am Galadin, the Fruitful Bearer. And in this Tree, I am kept within. You have sent numerous before me yet not one of them is worthy enough to see my presence." One of the corners of his lips gradually rose. "Well... except one."

"Y-Your Holy One!"

The councilors, despite the effects of the telepathy, had the urge to run down and kneel until the ground crushed their bones. However, it was as if something was keeping them in their seats, gravity yanking them downwards. They could do nothing but gape with horrified faces. It was true! It was all true! The young master was telling the truth!!

Galadin ignored them as their thoughts ran chaotically. "Everything that occurs within Artheia, I have known. Gala'En's deterioration is the product of my broken soul. Fortunately, this young aphrodite maeruthan was able to communicate with me. If not, then no matter how many purifiers you sent me, everything you cherish will fall along with the remaining lands of Artheia."

Nordehl was dying from the tightness in his head. While the deity was talking, a drunken sensation gradually seeped into his mind. However, he was persistent and forced himself to keep sane, or else he'd be lost to the painful punishment the god had bestowed upon all of them. With a slightly trembling voice, he spoke.

"Your Eminence, forgive us for our ignorance. How can your servant serve you?"

His words hooked a smile from Moulin's lips. Galadin was satisfied with the king's response. "Then I will trouble you..."

A few moments later, as the air grew heavier in each passing second, two councilors, particularly Ardathna, fainted halfway during the exchange of words between the god and the elves. Nordehl's nails creaked, digging into the table as he continued to bear the weight of his mind and the god's aura. Even Na'El, who was forced to keep silent to maintain the connection between Galadin and the vessel, began faltering.

Not long after, Galadin grinned in satisfaction. Then his eyes accidentally met the smoldering gaze of Lord Hadrian Hercullio. For a moment, he paused, and the feeling that he had not experienced for so long returned to him, slamming into his soul. The feeling of vulnerability washed his whole being. He was a defenseless creature, exposed before the daunting jaws of a monster. Galadin had never felt such a thing even before the Red War.

A golden-eyed dragon. Its shadow, looming over the terrifying demons of the lands. In one scorching breath, they were wiped out from the face of Corahn.

However, he sensed something else.

'This man's soul is tied to another...' Galadin thought. Then Moulin's bright silvery eyes flashed within his mind. Galadin's soul trembled in the realization. 'Ah... their hearts are one.'

"You..." Galadin spoke. His eyes deeply met Hadrian's grim and fearless ones. "You have the eyes of a conquerer-"

"If you are finished, bring him back."

Hadrian cut him off with a disinterested and threatening glare. His anger and concern rose higher than the pressure within his mind.

"Ah..." A chill spreads throughout the god's soul.

The rest of the people within paled as they stared at Lord Hercullio in shock and disbelief.

"Worry not. I will bring him back safely..." Galadin's gaze softened. He promised that no harm would come to the youth.

Finally, the god returned his gaze to the startled Elven king. His voice began piercing their minds excruciatingly, and they could do nothing but accept them. "Now, where were we, young king?"

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

Floating within the lonely vast space of his own mind, a particular youth slept with closed eyes. He is a delicate petal carried by the gentle spring breeze, curious of where the world will take him. In truth, he is lost in a dreamless sleep and could not care about the world happening beyond the walls of his own mind. There are times one can find comfort from solitude.

Although seclusion was tempting, Moulin was no longer that kind of person. He has cherished people at his side, and he would even prick himself so he could open his eyes from his endless sleep and look at them. His eyelids twitched and trembled, and not long after, he slowly opened his eyes.

But what he saw wasn't the image of his beloved people, nor was it the vast space of his consciousness. Instead, he saw white. Pure white snow blanketed the whole mountain. The cold breeze carried fluttering snowflakes and the wondrous view of a prosperous golden city in the distance. The snow clouds rolled in the vast blue sky, giant coils of softness. One could see the trees, each carrying a roof of snow upon their crowns.

Moulin could feel the freezing flesh-biting cold against his face. It caressed him like delicate silk running down his face. Strange. He could never felt this much cold before. Even the harshest winter was tolerable for him. But now, it felt as if his abilities had disappeared, leaving him an ordinary body. How familiar it was...

Not long after, bright light flashes within his vision. This time, he saw a cave sitting before the magnificence of the wide untouched waters of the lake. The towering trees around it whispered amongst themselves as the breeze came. It looked so familiar. Moulin had the urge to investigate it.

His vision drew towards the cave, entering the dampness of its surroundings. The moist morning air dampened the rocky floor, and water dripped from the dark ceilings where numerous insects dwelled. Closer and closer as Moulin looked, he saw a small green sapling growing within the crack of the cave floor. A tiny beam of sunlight entered from the ceiling hole, bathing the delicate green leaves of the plant with warmth. It looked healthy and persistent despite the significant probability of its demise within the poor dark cave. Several days passed, but it seemed to grow even healthier.

One day, a faint beam of light fell upon the mountain where the cave was located. The light scattered before it could even reach the earth. Tiny bits of it fell all over the murky ground and over the mountain slope. However, a tiny bit of it slipped into the little hole where the sun entered the cave.

The light bounced on the leaves of the green plant within the dark, damp cave and tumbled on the black ground, left to dissipate. Its essence seeped into the ground like rainwater soaking the soil of fertile land.

'Ah... A friend.' A leaf trembled.

A familiar voice spoke. Moulin recognized it in a heartbeat.

'Can you talk?' Galadin asked. But no one answered him.

Several days passed, and it all happened with flash before Moulin's eyes. Galadin kept asking for its name. However, it only seemed as if he was talking to himself. The tiny sapling, Moulin realized, was the god himself. A weak newborn birthed from the very essence of the world's earth spirit. They were countless others like him, and most could not survive.

He hadn't yet formed an entire true core and was only one of the odd creatures of Corahn. Loneliness and solitude seemed to be the only thing known within this young one's mind. However, he knew there was another newborn just like him within the cave—a wounded, shattered soul.

'Hello...' A meek voice spoke.

'Ah! Finally!' The joy within Galadin's voice was unmistakable. 'Please don't ignore me. What is your name?...'

'...'

'...Do... you not have one?'

'I...'

'Yes?...' Anticipation bloomed within the god's voice.

...

'...I am Morhas.'

As this single word entered Moulin's ears, a forceful suction pulled Moulin's consciousness back to the vast space of his mind. His eyes snapped open, burning in fright and confusion. Weightlessly floating within the blackness, he shook his head, eyes quivering.

Just when he was about to question the things he saw, a sudden chill spreads out all over his body. He stiffened, feeling his hair rise.

Suddenly, a dark scaled hand curled around the side of his neck. Sharp nails punctured his skin, drilling into his throat. Blood burst out! Pain exploded around his neck! Moulin's eyes widened, and he struggled with all his might. Lips parting in a silent scream. The hand tugged him back, and a hoarse, cracked voice spoke against his ear like a fork painfully scraping against a plate's smooth surface.

"A... Little... More... A... Little... Longer...."

Moulin's heart quickened. Eyes frozen open as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Fear clawed against his insides, punching in his guts as he felt extreme pain so excruciating as if he'd die at the next second. No! No!

"Succumb... Child..."

No!

Out of the blue, a burst of light flashed before his vision, dyeing his once pitch-black world white.

In the next second, Moulin found himself rising from the soft covers of the bed. His eyes were wide as saucers as he panted heavily. The white translucent curtains fluttered gently around him. His eyes darted around him, and it took him one long minute to finally realize that the frightening experience was all a dream.

However, he felt as if it was still there—the cold, deathly touch around his neck. Slowly, his hands unconsciously touched his throat as if confirming that there weren't four bloody holes grotesquely decorating his flesh. Moulin shivered, shoulders trembling.

He would be a fool to say that he wasn't scared of a mere nightmare.