Journey of Obtainment

"There's one thing that generally gets me." Al found his head turning as Joc made her comment; she held up the tome. "You said this was buried in the old ruins, until you found it. But didn't Michael put it there? Two thousand years-it was seriously left untouched?"

"A good point." The mage gestured towards the stone marker. "But Joc, remember this area hadn't been touched since then either. How could no one have found the resting place in two thousand years?"

"Lightning didn't threaten the area." Raph had been the one to answer; Joc wouldn't know this well enough. "The clans didn't need to chase, so they never stopped!"

"Another good point. There's a connection, though." His brother and his best friend looked confused; the lion familiar failed to hide laughter as he rolled around. "They haven't been known...until I found them."

"Protected, then." Realization hit the female musician, Al nodded. "A barrier was up, and you neutralized it when you passed by. A sign of the next Hunter. For both."

"Kamix must've been the one to spell this area, or at least, someone didn't interrupt his or Michael's work: it wasn't hostile to breech." Perhaps the crying and overwhelming emotion was the consequence. "The only way to the ruins of Old Tempest is through the spire of the old shrine: I made the path myself."

"But there was a barrier there too, wasn't there?"

"Michael set it up, but someone else used the spell to seal everything, not just the tome." He waited for it, waited for it. "Getting this myself-"

It happened; there was a sigh. "And you wonder how it is you keep getting into trouble. No wonder-"

"The fights are their fault, cheater. This was a test. If you promise to not interrupt, I'll say what happened. You too." He looked to his brother: Raph had jumped. Al knew the mageknight-to-be hadn't been told the full tale either. "There were rumors: Raph, Ashen, and I decided to finally check things out..."

--

From a distance, the spire seemed innocent: a pillar in the sky, marker of two thousand years; the reminder of the past. So close to the walls of the old shrine now, however...it seemed intimidating and fierce, wanting to topple over or lash out as the brothers observed it. Raph held out a hand, and yelped as a bolt of lightning tumbled too closely to where he was standing. "Whooooooooooa! They were saying anyone who tried to reach the old ruin would get struck, but I had no idea!"

Al was able to walk a few feet ahead, but soon a bolt struck the ground: he could feel the energy of this power, mere inches from his face. "The barrier's the same as the one around the resting place, but this lightning wasn't Michael's work..." It wasn't like the location of the stone marker, not with this tension that claimed every living being a villain and chased them away...

"He'd want to protect the only way into Old Tempest, since the book's down there." Ashen was glancing at his master, back the way they had came, back to Al, back to the way they came... "But maybe someone else make wanted to sure you couldn't get to it? You think this is related to the people who attacked us before!?"

"They must have descended from Thoracia, then...but did the Hunter's enemies really have such a grudge? Or such a power?"

There was a small pause, until the mageknight spoke first: "I think we should wait a bit, Al. Get mom and dad, the other mages. If we can find a way into the ruins, we can all look together!"

"I want to try and at least get a feel of things though. You go ahead." He waved his brother off, glancing at the tip of the lightning rod as footsteps tapped the ground, and quickly echoed away. He was a good runner when it came down to it.

When he knew it was he and the familiar, the mage took another step forward, deflecting the lightning that rushed to crash into his head-sure enough, it was able to bypass the barrier and strike the wall of the old shrine, leaving a black mark. Deflecting a second, a third, at last Al let himself back away; the lightning only able to slash the ground before him.

"Hey hey, what are you doing!?" Ashen, but the mage wasn't sure if the lion was talking to him or the spire.

He scowled. "Is this how you want to do it? Fine. Watch and see."

"Why is there resistance...?" Michael's voice almost sounded...forlorn. "It rejects me. Being of my blood, it will only do the same to you."

"And it's not like I can keep deflecting either, can I?"

"I can feel negativity, great in power; even one as attuned as yourself will find it hard to intake so much energy."

So that was out of the question: how could he go down if he was knocked unconscious by the sheer force? And even if he could just intake the energy without losing his mind, how could he get in the shrine itself? The windows didn't look trustworthy...if only there was a way to make his own way in!

Ashen pawed at the ground. "What now, Al? Should we wait for help?"

He glanced at the blackened spot: maybe if he called the energy and forced it into the wall? As if Michael could read his thoughts, the echoing voice made a comment: "I would suggest using a focus point other than your own body."

Maelstrom was metal, but non elemental in attachment, so that was out of the question. The Judge Star, lightning blade of old, however...giving the blade a positive charge would call the negative to him, to be deflected to his target point. If this was a test of strength, wit, and character, at least he'll succeed the wit trial.

Grabbing the blade with his right hand, unsheathing it without a sound; for years the blade was always negatively charged-it almost felt weird to be holding it in his right hand. "Ashen, cover me." A deep breath, sword held up at ready and a quick apology to Raph for going at this without him, Al walked forward, aiming the tip of the blade at the lightning rod's peak; the lightning lion stood at ready to offer support.

It happened so fast, yet the pain seemed to go on forever: lightning energy, appearing impossible to measure, surged into the Judge Star. He could feel his arm shaking, a slash of energy cut up from hand to elbow, and he swung the weapon to deflect the power that was coming, coming, rushing, rushing...a loud explosion, and Al was tossed backwards, sent rolling as the Judge Star flew out of his hand.

"Son of a..." He observed the damages first: his right arm bore a long cut, but by the bleeding, it didn't look to be too deep; he could still hold his weight up with it, at least, even if it did hurt like hell. The coat sleeve was torn, but he knew he'd have to get a new one after all of this was done; it wasn't likely this was the only damage his clothing was going to take.

But he was alright, save for the arm-which could've been worse, and a little fatigued after forcing so much power to obey his will; even with his familiar nearby.

"Whoa man!" A nose stuck itself under his injured arm, an attempt to nuzzle or something? "That doesn't look good! You should get it looked at!"

"Hard to get it looked at with you in the way, though." He pushed at Ashen with his good left, the lion rolled onto his back as he slowly got to his feet and glanced at the old shrine.

The idea worked, Al couldn't believe it. Sure enough, there was a decently sized hole; if he crouched, he could peer in, and perhaps find his way down. He walked forward, almost cautiously, but there was no resistance-with this, Michael's barrier would be dispelled as well. The lack of light made it hard to see inside, but he knew of the sturdy branch in his sack, to strike a fire. "There are hand and footholds; looks like I get to climb down."

"Maybe we should let the others come back with a rope." Ashen didn't seem to think this was something he had to do on his own. "We're not in a rush, are we? If we just stay here and make sure no one gets here before Raph does?"

It almost pained the mage to lie, but he knew this was his best chance: even if the enemy didn't know where the tome was hidden, it wasn't worth giving them a chance to slip by, and start searching. "You go help him out, Ashen. I'll figure out the rest while I wait."

"Yeah yeah! We'll be able to do this together!" With a roar, the lion bounded off, muttering who to get, why to get them, and don't forget the rope!

Only when he was out of sight, out of hearing, did Al turn back to the shrine, trying to see what he could see despite the little filtering sunlight. In his sack was the stick for a torch, his other tomes in case he met resistance, spare bandages and a damp cloth-he knew he was good to go. With an apology to Ashen as well, he knelt down, and began his descent.

The going seemed easy at first: there were plenty of holds; it was just such a long way down! Three quarters of the way, when he could see the floor of the shrine, was when trouble would hit-the hold he was placing his foot on crumbled. Caught off balance, unable to get a bearing, his hands slipped, and down he would fall with a yell.

His head hit something hard, and consciousness was gone.

--

Raph and Ashen were sulking, which didn't surprise the mage, but Joc wasn't sulking, or staring, or looking ready to reprimand. Instead: "I felt that, you know. When you were unconscious."

All three looked at her in surprise, but Ashen would speak first. "Hey, whatcha mean? You knew he was in trouble, even all the way in Kioma!?"

"I couldn't tell that it was a shot to the head, but I knew he hit something hard enough, yes." The monk almost looked bemused. It was much better seeing Joc like this instead of in a rage. "I probably would've wanted to hit you the first time I saw you again, without really knowing why, but a good friend told me this was something that needed to be done alone. I suppose I blame the earth itself instead."

"I don't think that would've pleased Orion though. Isn't he Earth aligned?"

She waved her hand. "That is not the point." The mage smirked. From both their last letters, he was only sure they were family friends. Had something else happened without him being aware? "I'm sure the story doesn't end there, lagger."

"Such a cheater." He shook his head. "No, it doesn't. I woke up...I don't even know how long I was out. But something was wrong, I knew that much..."

--

His first thought was that he was fast asleep, safe in bed-all of before a dream of how to get to the old ruins. But the bed was too hard, and why was his pillow wet...? When he woke, he would find out why: it all had happened, and it was the ruins of the old lightning shrine, its life ending nearly two thousand years ago, that would greet his vision, not his room.

He got to his knees slowly, a hand going to where his head felt wet; even with the glove, he could feel blood. His sack was a distance away; no doubt it somehow came undone as he was falling. Or did he take it off himself so he wouldn't land on it? He had forgotten to grab the Judge Star, which he would've landed on if it had been in its sheath, and the Maelstrom looked alright from the impact.

Crawling for his sack, he withdrew the cloth; the bandages would be enough for his arm, which didn't like the impact, but not for his head. Wrapping his arm awkwardly, grateful that it wasn't his dominant side, he put the cloth to his head, ripped his coat for biding, and awkwardly tied the head wound. Reaching for the sturdy stick, he snapped his fingers for a small spark: the first attempt missed his mark, no doubt due to his focus being sapped from the head wound, but the second attempt sparked a fire, enough to get a better idea of what he was looking at.

Dust was everywhere, and filtering in the air because of his landing; it would only be after a minute of looking around before it'd make him sneeze and cough. The old shrine didn't have the exact same look as the new one, but there were old elements he recognized from here that he saw in the newer.

Something that the current shrine didn't have, however, was a small staircase behind an altar, leading up to a podium big enough for a large book. He blinked, and someone was standing before said podium, with a book in his hands; his back was to the mage, but they looked to be the same height, brown hair was long as his, tied into a ponytail instead of being left loose. He looked noble in royal purple and dark blue clothing, with a great violet cloak bearing the symbol of lightning dead center.

Al was sure he was seeing things, or was this Michael's work? He had heard stories of his great ancestor, and how he looked, but seeing him standing there, back straight and head bent with pride and confidence...it was so much different, so more...grand.

A leopard was standing near the bottom of the stair, looking as proud and noble as his master. So this was Kamix, the lightning leopard afraid of his own element. His success in overcoming his fears would be a key for his ascension to take the form of the Amethyst Griffin.

As the mage made his way for the stairs, Michael closed the tome, turned, and started to descend; he reached the base of the stair, on the opposite side of Kamix, as the Hunter did...to stand so close to him, even if he was currently a memory or a ghost! Though the Hunter of old and new shared the same eye color, Al recognized facial features his father had claimed, while he himself earned the face of his mother.

The leopard slinked to his master's side, and the duo made their way to the great doors that marked the shrine's exit-as they left, they faded away. The way to go, it seemed, but Al ascended the stairs first, just to see...

The tome was taken from its resting place; it would never return to rest here. A new home waited for it, however-once he could find it, and master its powers and secrets. Starting to feel fatigued, most likely because of the wounds and the dust filled air, he descended at a slower pace, and went for the doors. With enough force, he was able to push them open...

And Tempest Port of old came alive in front of him: people wandering the streets, peddling wares, and somewhere nearby, a crowd gathered around a dancer with raven black hair, startling green eyes, and dressed in dancer's wear of Kioma colors. Coin was tossed into a small hat, and the people cheered, but those green eyes were focused on Michael as he parted through the audience and stood in front.

As she finished her performance, the crowd roared and applauded, demanding an encore; Michael would stride forward, to embrace her, rest a hand on her womb; they would speak with smiles and lighted eyes. So this was the Lady Natalia, the dancer who told Michael to change his bad habits, and charmed her way into his heart. Al could see the rings of matrimony on their left hands; no doubt not only were they married, but she was pregnant with their son. The child the Hunter would never see...who would carry the line for generations, until Al and Raph would be born...

A smile touched the mage's face, as the couple kissed to the crowd's approval, and the Hunter strode on his way. Kamix received a pet and words of encouragement, and then he would follow his master, onward west...and the people and scenery faded, and the ruins returned. Perhaps Michael was leading the way, showing his descendant his memories at the same time. He could remember most of the dreams, but this was even better. It was amazing.

The fire was his only source of light now; the streets were dark, but the air was clearer than the shrine. It was intriguing how when he could see the past, it was as if the sun was truly there, and not the several tons of earth instead. Nerves at being so far under the surface started to overcome, but he pushed the fears back, and headed west.

There wasn't much to see as he traveled; the houses were mostly crumbled, although a few still stood proud and true. They were most likely unsafe to explore, though, and there was too much he needed to do to risk going in and being buried alive like Michael was. He could guess at where vendors once stood, but it was shame the smell of the sea was forever gone...

When he looked forward, it was daytime once again: Michael stood with two others, mages with familiars that reflected power. It was easy to guess they were others of the Order Arcana; from their looks and dress, Al guessed one was the Wind Pillar, the other Water. They looked happy as they spoke...how could they have known such a horrible fate would befall them all? How could the Order Arcana slip into history's pages, fading away for so long? At long last, Michael gave farewells, and continued west.

When he blinked, Al was back in the ruins; his head was starting to throb, but he ignored the pain as well as he could, and kept going west. He was most likely seeing the last few months of Michael's life, but where did he hide the tome? Where could Ark Blast have been kept safe, for two thousand years...?

If he could've ventured a guess, the mage would've thought half an hour passed, looking at the old buildings, resting when his head and arm bothered him too much, and hoping there was enough air for him to go to where he needed to go and back to the shrine. He wasn't overly worried he'd meet Michael's fate, but how long could he breathe this stale air before it was too much?

When he neared a large alleyway, it was almost stormy. Michael emerged from the gap, glancing left and right, before taking off for a different alley, coming out, and running back for the shrine. Just as he was only a few feet away from Al, there were shouts-he could run for a few seconds more before men jumped him. It happened so quickly, so close, it caught the mage off-guard, nearly making him drop his makeshift torch.

There were six, no eight, no...ten-it was hard to tell as they just rushed forward, barely falling back at the Hunter's small offense, but how could he unleash his full power in the city? No doubt his enemies were aware of this, plus he was caught without Kamix, to make things even worse...several had clubs and maces, beating at him until he was knocked to the ground; those not armed would kick at him, laughing and shouting. Either it was because this was a memory, or ghosts, or whatever, or else because even back then, but it was too hard to tell what they were shouting, what they were calling him...when sure he was beaten to the point of near death, two men grabbed him roughly, all were laughing, and he was dragged away...

The ruins returned, and the men and Hunter were gone. This was the moment he was looking for, when Michael hid the book, just in time to run headfirst into his end. Most likely his run into the smaller alley was a distraction, so he rushed for the bigger one: as soon as he stood between the ruined homes, he knew he ran into the right place.

It felt like Michael's resting place, as the barrier wavered and dispelled. A point of energy was calling him to one specific mound of earth; discarding his gloves, he made for the point and began digging, shuffling through ruin, dirt, and dust. He'd dig in silence, even as his right wrist and arm protested in pain for doing such work; he would've grabbed the Maelstrom, but feared cutting the great tome, damaging it beyond repair.

His hard work would pay off, when his hands scraped not dirt, not brick, not dust, but leather...at long last he pulled the great tome from its hiding place. Resting it on his left arm, he opened its cover; the ancient language of spells, much like his other tomes: 'Of Lightning, of Order Arcana, of Levitas Arcanum'. He shuffled through the pages, softly reading the chant that would conjure the great bolts that formed Ark Blast, shivering as the energy gathered around him...he'd conclude it mentally, to avoid blasting himself to his death.

And all the way in the end...but this he found he couldn't read as easily. Mentions of channeling lightning, vague references of drawing power from the earth itself, but he couldn't read enough to understand what the tome was trying to say. The clan leaders would know more, unless he had to figure it out on his own!

In pain, yes; fatigued and weary, but he had found it. Found his birthright on his own, no less. Ashen and Raph and the others, all who felt so far away...as if in a different world; they would be upset, but he had taken his tests, and achieved his rewards. He did feel as if he was in a new world...as if he had stepped into his past, the past of Isaiis itself.

Closing the book, he let himself fall back, and observe the earth resting on top of Old Tempest. It was hard to believe he saw and felt so much in what probably had only been an hour or two. But time did seem to slow here, if not stop completely. His fatigue let his eyes close...

And through the darkness he tried to see, through the darkness he tried to keep his sanity. He was clawing at the lid of the coffin inches above him, trying in vain to create a way out. Breathing ragged and out of control-he needed out now. Now.  How he tried screaming and yelling in vain, how he cried for his friends, Kamix, Natalia, for help, help, help...

And his eyes snapped open, his own breathing going as fast as Michael's was. Straightening in a rush, his head on fire for such a reaction, he glanced around, sure he was doomed to die: the ruins seemed to close in on him...he had to get out now. Hopping to his feet, keeping his gear and the tome close to him, he rushed out of the alley and back east. For the shrine...but how on Isaiis would he be able to climb back up!?

Was he doomed to die like his ancestor after all...?

--

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand to this day fears of even stepping under the earth, because hot damn what if you do die." Joc shook her head. "I'm impressed you went through all of that with as little mental damage as you did, though. Saved me some heartache as well."

"You might've been part of the reason why, actually." The mage wouldn't doubt their emotional connection being a part of things. "At any rate, I thought I'd be stuck on my own, but I heard voices shouting into the shrine a few minutes later. I waved my torch to get their attention, boy were they surprised at the treasure I found."

"He said he found the book! The ancient book of the lightning shrine!" Raph jumped in; he would let the mageknight-to-be and Ashen explain the rest of the story. He hoped. "Dad couldn't believe he really found it! They threw the rope we had down, and he sent the book and his satchel up."

Everyone turned back to Al, who gave a sigh. "Really? Fine. I told them I wasn't tired enough to be dead weight..."

--

The rope returned to the floor of the shrine, and Al immediately took hold. But he could hear the argument from the top: "Are you sure he should be climbing? We have enough support to just pull him up."

"I'm sure if worse comes to worse, we shall." That was his mother, the voice of reason. "It would seem this was his test, however. I think we should let him finish it on his own. Or try to, at the very least. Let him climb, as much as he can."

By this time, the mage had already began; it was a long, slow trek, but he would eventually clamber up the rope with support from the solid hand and footholds, grab onto the ground, and be helped up by two of the older port mages. They would soon surround the Ark Blast tome, gazing at it in awe. "We should let Ikauchi know of this. The Hunter of Lightning has risen from the ashes to regain his status among Order Arcana."

"But is Albert truly ready for this challenge?" The second mage turned to face him, holding out the tome as it spoke of channeling. "What can you read of this?"

"It's the Hunter's proof, if anything. Channeling. I just can't read enough to properly attempt. There look to be four different parts though, probably related to the four clans."

His mother and the mages would insist on a stretcher for the young mage, but Al shook the idea off; he could still walk, if he could still climb. His pace was slowed, but after hugs from Raph, and reprimands from both the mageknight and Ashen, he would find his way back to the port.

Ashen would linger behind to keep an eye on his injured master; holding Ark Blast and the Judge Star, his father would keep pace as well: "Your grandfather must be rolling in his grave right now, Albert. He sought our travel to Kioma for the sole purpose of preventing this from happening."

"I told you Order Arcana needs to move now." Ashen stuck his nose in the air with a snort. "The other Pillars are coming together too-some might've awakened by now. Imagine all that work, just to be one short!"

"Fate would not let that happen; either they all would rise, or none at all I'm sure." His father shook his head. "He had always called the Hunter's legacy the family curse, that a Makar would rise to save Isaiis, or else keep to balance. 'How could our family be part of such a thing!?', he would cry. I am perhaps the only male Makar who has the name without affiliation to lightning, because he sought to prevent this from coming in his time!"

"Could...he have known who attacked us?"

There was a long pause; even Ashen looked up as James Makar shook his head once again, slower. At the words, however, Al knew it was not out of denial. "It's too hard to say, Albert. Too much relies on chance, or else we do not know our fate. I would not be surprised, however, if he is related, or else connected, to those who sought to destroy your pact, or else end your life."

"Or both!" Ashen cried.

Al bit his lip. "...is this possibly an internal family struggle, father? What do I do if it is?"

"You must seek the answers with your heart, but you know what you must do. Rise to be the Hunter, and let your children follow the line. It will be what Michael would want, even as he clawed in his grave weeping for his losses. I know even on your deathbed, no matter how old or young, you will feel the same way.

"I know for certain that I would." His father looked to him, and held out the lightning short blade's hilt. "I have always said perhaps you shouldn't have been a mage, but when I saw Ashen, I knew. It was certainly not only Michael who sought for you to stay true to your potential, and I know you will shine, save Thoracia before it collapses upon itself. The lightning has been untamed for too long."

"Far too long." The mage could only hope he could live up to his future companion's impressions and standards. But he was not afraid to rise, and it would be with a smile; grabbing his sword and sheathing in its place: the swords were set. Now it was time to set the rest of his power as well.