Garden Of The Abyss

"...Ren, stop it!..."

"Ren!" 

It was distant, but he heard his name being called like whispers of the winds, bouncing off the rocky walls of the cave. 

"Huh?" He muttered, hesitating for a moment. 

But the cold that ensnared his body wouldn't wait any longer; the moisture coating his eyes began to freeze--striking him with an unbearable pain as his lips became dried and cold as he could no longer taste anything within his numb mouth. 

I won't wait any longer! He resolved. 

--Just as he swung his sword, his arm was stopped by a powerful grip, though it was strong, it held onto his arm gently. 

What...who stopped me? He thought. 

Looking to the side, he was greeted by the familiar sight of the tall, well-dressed man clad in abundant black. It was the butler-suited man he had encountered in one of his previous dreams, though he couldn't tell if the sight of him spelled good or bad. 

"That was a close one, master," the man spoke soothingly, "I'd advise you to listen to the voices calling your name." 

Though he tried to speak, it was simply impossible as the cold had overtaken such functions of his body. 

"Ren!"

"Wake you, you damn idiot!" 

He heard it again, but this time it was clearer to him--he recognized the voices that were once faint howls of the frost-bound cave. 

Iris? Macheo? He thought. 

"There you go, master," the man said, "it seems my job here is done."

The moment the darkly-dressed, towering man let go of his arm, the reality around him was replaced. 

Wait, he thought. 

Though it was too little, too late as he wanted to speak with the mysterious, self-proclaimed servant of his. 

Just like that, the cold was gone completely--he was in the cave still, but the mist was absent, revealing its natural, beautiful scenery of moss-covered, natural stone. 

"Ren!"

--Now the voice directly hit his eardrums, turning to see the welcoming face of the azure-haired woman at his side. 

"Iris?" He said to her. 

"...Finally! That was too close…" Iris replied with tears lining her eyes, giving him a relieved, but damaged smile. 

Confused, he looked down as he felt two grips on his right arm--it was the pale, lithe hand of the girl's, and the unmistakable, artificial, sable hand belonging to the Lucrauvian prince. 

Why're they grabbing my arm? He thought. 

Something trickled down his glove; a warm sensation that finally allowed him to move his grabbed arm down. 

"...Huh?" He muttered. 

In his hand, he was wielding his broadsword, though the edge was slicked with a thin layer of blood. As he noticed this, he finally adjusted to reality--feeling the sharp, jagged pain that burned fervently at his neck. 

"How damn strong are you?! I couldn't even budge your arm...how intent were you on dying?!" Macheo barked. 

"...Dying?" He looked at the golden-haired young man with wide eyes. 

Feeling his own neck, he felt the unnerving existence of warm, fresh liquid before flinching as an acute pain jolted through his body--it was a cut he had accidentally felt. 

...Why is there a cut on my neck? My sword...I was holding it there. Was I…? He began to piece together. 

"What happened?" He asked. 

"You were trying to slice your own damn throat open!" Macheo answered. 

It was clear by the shaken looks present on both the prince's expression and Iris' that what they were stopping him from doing was unnerving to them as well. 

"...I thought--I thought we weren't going to be able to stop you. You wouldn't listen at all...you weren't budging," Iris explained shakily. 

Beginning to realize what was happening, his hands trembled as he looked at his sword, sheathing it to get it away from his sight as he ran his hands over his face. 

"What the hell happened?...Why was I doing that? I thought I was attacking the flower--so why?" He asked. 

Macheo and Iris helped him stand to his feet, with the Lucrauvian prince being the one to answer as he stomped his boot against the small flower embedded in the ground, "It was some sort of illusionary trap set by this damn flower. It got everyone, but Mencius was the one that helped most of us break out. Guess he has some sort of resistance to crap like this." 

"Illusion…? Was it the fog?" He asked, caressing the wound on his neck.

The woman pulled his hand away, tending to the bleeding wound with a usage of restoration magic as the cut slowly closed. 

Iris shook her head, answering as she healed him, "Mencius said with plants like this, it's likely from inhaling some sort of pollen they give off." 

The answer struck his mind as he remembered the scent that greeted his nose immediately upon stepping off of the ship. 

"...I see. Is everyone okay? Where are they?" He asked. 

With the slash on his neck closed, he caressed it—feeling the prominent scar that now was etched into his skin. 

As silence fell in response to his question, he looked between the two who were standing at either side of him. 

"Is something wrong?" He pressed his question further. 

It was a silence he didn't want to experience after the sort of question he asked, feeling an unnerving sensation travel over his skin as the hairs on his body stood up straight. 

"Iris? Macheo? Talk to me," he said. 

A solemn look was present over their expressions, but it was Macheo who finally gave him some sort of answer, softly shaking his head as his golden tufts swayed. 

Macheo opened his mouth with words that struck his skin with a chill more intense than any cold, "...Fedrin. He didn't make it." 

"What? What did you just say?" He asked with wide eyes that didn't want to see any truth from what he had just heard. 

A ringing filled his ears, listening to the thumping of his heart louder than any words from his companions, though he still heard Macheo loud-and-clear.