XVII. full descent

Evaughn sighed for the umpteenth time. He had gotten changed out of his pajamas, and for a while, he'd been at the dining table, reading A Premier Guide to Danes. His eyes were growing tired of the scientific terminology and the mathematical equations all repeating the thing he did not want to hear.

That is, that Blackwood was right; there is no current way to alleviate Neo's pain. In fact, only two other people in history have ever been cloned at the same frequency.

He turned the page to a new chapter, titled The Will of a Soul. It began as follows:

Souls carry will, and because a person's soul can be planted into another, so can their will.

Evaughn hadn't the energy to read further. He'd been reading for. . . hours? He could not be sure; there was no indication of morning or evening at Danes Lobby. Here, the sun shined nonstop, and the moon never appeared.

There was, however, an indication of time to eat. Moments after his stomach growled, he was heading towards a table near the entryway, where the vintage telephone sat.

He placed the black silhouette against his ear and paused, realizing he did not know what numbers to press. To his convenience, a folded piece of paper on the table would tell him.

Evaughn opened it to Dimitri's hard-to-read script.

00 for dining, 11 for cleaning.
And don't forget, don't go outside, it's not safe.
P.S. check the backyard for something nice : )

It wasn't the postscript that stood out to him, it was Dimitri's telling him, yet again, that outside was dangerous. Evaughn looked at the front door and frowned. "It doesn't seem that way. . ."

He half-heartedly hit two zeros, mind racing about what was so terrible about such a peaceful place.

"Thank you for contacting Premier dining. How may I help you?"

"Oh, yes. Hi. I'd like something to eat, please. Anything is fine. . . Thank you." Evaughn cringed at how much he managed to screwed up ordering food. Evidently, it was his first time doing so.

"Would rice and salmon be alright for you, sir?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Sounds great. It will be delivered within ten minutes. Thank you."

"Thank you."

He set the phone in its place. As much as he wanted to sit in his cringe, his face panned to his right as prior thoughts returned. Before he knew it, he was headed outside. Evaughn opened the door to the view he was now familiar with. The Lobby was tranquil and quiet. Even the fire up at the field had died down.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was so terrible about going outside.

Not to mention, he wasn't used to staying cooped up inside. Fresh air and parks and bike rides—those were things he wasn't ready to give up. Not to mention, he promised to go and visit Neo sometime.

Evaughn pushed his hands in his cargos and looked at the ground. He has chosen to come here—to be with Dimitri, but. . . was he really to stay here for the rest of his life? Here, where bike rides were forbidden, and he was left alone for hours at a time?

"Damn it, Dimi."

Evaughn trekked down the house's walkway, stopping just before the main pavement. He looked at the line of houses scattered around. He chewed his lip deciding if he should take the one step separating him and the pavement.

He pushed out a breath. "I'll take a short walk. . . It can't be bad."

So, Evaughn lifted his leg and—"Huh?"

His legs hadn't. . . went. He shook his head and his next trial followed promptly. Evaughn tried to lift a foot again, but again it stayed.

It stayed! Now he was slack-jawed, in pure disbelief at himself, and at the weird sensation he was feeling. It was disorienting; his muscles were merely flexing in place. He couldn't even make himself fall forward.

"What the fuck?" Mind racing, Evaughn stumbled backwards—that move was done with ease. He nearly tripped, but he caught himself in time to then slap a hand on his face. "What's wrong with me?"

He stared at his limbs, at the pavement, and at his limbs because they weren't listening. As if this body weren't his, he couldn't will himself forward—

Will.

Souls carry will, and because a person's soul can planted into another, so can their will.

Frozen in place, Evaughn wrung his mind to figure out why his mind suddenly thought of that statement.

Amidst his questions, a lady approached the house, clad in Premier Works attire. Smiling, she nodded her chin at the bento box she was holding. "Your delivery, sir. If I'm not mistaken, I believe you prefer to use chopsticks, so I provided those for you."

She was a meter away. Evaughn took a slow breath in and out. His muscles clamped in place in another attempt to go forward. His exhale was nervous. Something is very wrong.

"I'm sorry, I can't seem to. . . move."

Her head cocked over, but then it sprung back in place for an epiphanic, "Ah, of course. No worries."

Smiling, she walked forward to hand him the box. Evaughn was hesitant to receive it. "What do you mean of course?"

"Oh, nothing at all." The reply was too quick, but so was her farewell. "Enjoy your meal, sir."

For a minute, Evaughn was stuck in a whirlwind of thoughts. Again, he tried for a forward budge. Again, he failed. Now at a loss, he went back to sit on the porch stairs. He ate his lunch with his brows stuck in furrows, amidst thoughts that sought reason.

.
.
.

"Luka. . . what did you do?"

In Dimitri's arms, Luka was heavy.

After all, Luka's build matched his age of nearly 30 years old, and Dimitri still resembled his teenage self, even if they were the same age. He gritted his teeth, using all of his strength to push Luka upright.

When his back hit the seat, Luka sucked in a shuddery breath, undoubtedly from the knife and gash in his thigh. It's the only thing Dimitri was honed in on. "Why did you stab yourself?"

Luka's chest rose and fell. "Did you agree to this, Dimi?" He referred to outside, where silhouettes of unmoving bodies were littered on the ground. One was crushed under the weight of a truck flipped over. Thick smoke from the previous gunfire had gathered in the air—almost like fog.

Dimitri barely gave the scene a glance. He was too busy trying to figure out why Luka had been trying to take out his leg.

Dimitri's brows lowered. "Luka, why the fuck did you stab yourself—"

They were having two entirely different conversations.

"What did they do to you, Dimi?"

Their eyes fixed on each other, the brown fiery with irritation, and the green doused in disappointment.

"All these people. Why do they deserve this?"

There was a gap in time wherein Dimitri merely stared. The second it occurred to him, he sprung forward and took fistfuls of Luka's shirt. "You. . . you called me here to open the portal."

Luka shrugged a yeah, ignoring the hands around his collar.

Dimitri unclasped from Luka and muttered, "Fuck. I don't pay attention to that technical stuff."

"What happened to you, Dimi?" Luka shook his head. "For you to think any of this is okay. . . there's no way you're not hurting."

Dimitri scoffed. "Who's the one hurting here?" He raised his shoe, to show he was beginning to vanish. "I'm getting out of here."

"That's fine. I'm sure Isla got in already."

Dimitri rolled his eyes. "Those Yägers are not as sweet as you think."

"Let me help you, Dimi. Tell me what hurts."

"This again?"

"Yeah, man, 'til I lose my tongue."

Dimitri looked at Luka's leg. "You should really stop the blood."

"Will you talk to me at least?"

Dimitri tore his eyes away. Things like that aren't meant to be talked about.

Sighing, Luka chose to change the subject. "You didn't grow at all. Same as Sinclair. You look like kids compared to me. That's so weird."

"If I stay here long enough, I revert."

"Really. . .?" Luka's attention was pulled to the house nearby. From there, a brunette woman opened the front door hesitantly. "No. . ."

Dimitri looked at the house. "That your wife?" When he turned back to green, his eyes grew.

Luka was trying to scoot himself out of his car. He fought the pain in his leg, grunting out each word. "I need her to. Stay inside, it's. Dangerous."

By now, Dimitri was halfway gone. "The flowers are burning."

Luka turned. "What?"

"It's our password. None of them will hurt you if you say it."

Luka nodded. When Dimitri was half a face, Luka posed a quiet concern. "There's no way Evaughn agrees with this. . ."

Being mouthless was the only reason for Dimitri's lack of a response. Otherwise, he would've piped a he doesn't need to.

.
.
.

Xavier was sitting with his knees to his chest, amidst a bickering in the jet that hovered over the Sahara Desert.

When Isla put the phone on speaker, everyone in the small plane quieted for the agony on the other end of the call, coming from the one named Luka.

Xavier's eyes were wide behind his blindfold. It sounded like he was going to die.

"Looks like the portal will open any time," began Tederich whose voice was quickly drowned by a sudden gushing of winds and the intense humming of turbines that followed. He must've opened the door.

Xavier's ears popped as the aircraft began its descent. He dug his head in his knees to ignore the sensation. Meanwhile, the Yägers were moving around. He caught every footstep, and every metallic click of their hand guns.

"I count five humans down there, definitely infected. I'm willing to bet the LeRouge are waiting for us in the Lobby."

"They have to be. Are we going with that plan?"

"Yes. They won't see it coming."

"Meow."

Whatever sacrifice Luka made was not for naught. Isla gasped before she announced it. "It's opening."

"Let's go."

Not even a second after the cue was given, there came a dissonant number of thumps, created by the collective dropping of. . . bodies?. . . onto the floor of the plane. Xavier was blind, so he could not be certain, but their voices were gone all of a sudden. And he could not ask, for he was alone—

Oh. They left me.

Xavier slowly removed his blindfold. He had been right; their bodies were lying on the aircraft's floor, soullessly. But he wasn't focused on that.

Outside, within the expanse of the desert, the sand was alive.

Just like a tornado, it spun around itself, taking in particles with each rotation, growing larger, denser, more massive. The cyclone was enough to cause destruction.

As if the sand had a mind—no, because it had a mind (five minds to be exact), it swirled with intent. The mass lunged fluidly towards the opening in the jet. An air of anticipation hung over the boy.

Along with the Yäger's bodies, the desert sands made their way underneath him and carried him aloft. The thrill made Xavier lose his balance at first. He fell over onto a cushion of grains. He used his palms to lift himself, but was forced to fall yet again, this time by their escape outdoors. His clothes were ruffled, the fabric blown in every direction by the careless wind.

The sand was carrying him. In the air, he was soaring. Xavier's lips curled gently, for he was doing as birds did. Over a tapestry of dunes, they descended into a hole in the ground in which a swirling vortex rippled.

~

The sand made his landing a safe one. Nonetheless, Xavier's senses were distorted momentarily from his entrance through the ripples. He was lowered onto the soil of Danes Lobby, squeezing his eyelids shut to rid his small headache. When he was ready, he stood up, his heart pumping with excitement.

When he unblinded himself, all muscles on his face descended.

Inside the huge plot of land before him, there was not a hint of yellow. He looked upwards, at an archway on which Field of Danes was written. Then he looked at the soil underneath his feet, which was a home for charred remnants and ashes.

"Th-the flowers are. . ."

The sand wasn't done yet. Each move it made sent the wind in every direction. One gust knocked Xavier off his footing. He stumbled and fell, his eyes thinning lest a grain sanded his vision.

He looked forward; there were about a dozen others on the opposite end of the barren field, struggling just as he was against the cyclone. Unlike him, they were being targeted by the sand. The LeRouge, he knew from the Yägers' many conversations.

An extension of the Yägers' will, the sand surrounded them one at a time. The particles shaped itself into blades and struck their foes. Another gust, and Xavier was sent backwards. The force lifted him from the ground.

What Xavier was not aware of, is that the field of not-Danes sat on a hill.

From the top of that hill, he made a full descent.

"Ahh!" The ground shifted beneath his feet and gravity took control. Xavier shielded his head from countless rolls down the grassy mound.

As suddenly as it began, his tumble came to an end, and he landed at the base of the hill. On all fours, he caught his breath.

And he remained as such until his fingers began to rip grass from nature. What's more was the fall of his tears discoloring it.

The Danes were gone. And so was his dream.

He couldn't have been thinking when he pulled another bunch with his left hand. The pain of losing a finger jolted up the nerves on his hand and arm. Xavier gripped the area with an agonizing groan. "I hate this. . . I hate this. I hate this. I ha—"

"Hey, are you hurt?"

Xavier jolted. He followed the voice. It led him to a cottage house. At its entrance, there stood a guy with ponytailed hair, noticeably older than him. He gestured his head to the top of the hill, where sand still swirled. "I don't think they're going to stop anytime soon. Are you okay?"

Xavier looked at his left hand. Underneath his torn bandage, his missing finger was throbbing immensely, each pulse bringing the wound closer to opening.

The stranger sounded kind, but unfortunately, Xavier had no will. What was left of his life if the Danes were all gone? Was he to sit on ocean floors forever?

Indeed, Xavier had no will of his own; all he had was Neo's. Perhaps that will is what made him accept his offer.

Xavier stayed outside while the other disappeared inside his house to grab some things for his wound.

In the meantime, he looked at the top of the hill. Not at the sand still swirling, but at the lack of yellow. Drowned in forlorn waters, Xavier barely heard it the first time.

". . .you want. . .help put. . .on?"

Xavier twisted. He raised his eyes for a height difference of five inches. "N-no, thank you," he said, taking the cotton pads and roll of elastic bandage from him with his right. "Thank you—" Due to a palm too small, the supplies fell immediately.

The stranger was kind enough to wrap Xavier's hand for him.

They sat beside each other on the porch stairs, and Xavier learned that the stranger was about as quiet as he was. In contrast to the turmoil happening on the field, they hadn't exchanged many words. Just simple tell me if it hurts, and small okays to follow.

"How's it feel?" he asked as he secured the last of the elastic.

"I-It's good. Thank you."

"Yeah, no worries. Are you hungry, by any chance? I have leftover lunch. . . or maybe it's dinner. I can never tell. Haha."

Xavier looked at the sun. "Um, I'm okay."

He watched the scene up ahead, and the sun did not budge.

Out of nowhere, the space in front of them distorted. On the ground, a set of feet were suddenly plantee. Xavier sucked in a sharp breath; the feet were becoming legs, and the legs were becoming a body. If he were honest, he thought he'd seen it all, but somehow this was more uncanny than sand that was alive, or people splitting in half.

"Don't worry. He won't hurt you," assured the stranger who then stood, moving towards the source of his befuddlement.

Xavier averted his gaze when the head formed, not wanting to see any brain details, if there were any.

"Dimitri—"

The newcomer wasted no time to close any hint of a gap between them, engulfing the other in a hug. "Evaughn, you're okay." Along with the embrace, Dimitri gave him a kiss on his forehead, and then his cheek, and then the back of his hand. "I meant to come back earlier. Did I take too long?"

They pulled apart and exchanged words that Xavier paid no mind to. He hadn't yet latched from the stranger's name.

It was undoubted. He was that Evaughn. The one in his memories, who Neo held in his arms and on his shoulders, giving cradles, and head rubs, and sweet puns. That Evaughn, who was surrounded by care and love, from birth until now. That Evaughn, to whom the world was kind.

Xavier thinned his lips, a gesture bittersweet.

And perhaps he should have paid mind to the words they exchanged. Then, he would have known how shallow his observations were.

He would have known that, of the three souls there with him, the world had been kind to none.