Crickets chirped, while Dorian groaned. He took out another leaf from his hair, then ruffled it. His hand smoothed down to his face. He felt his lips-his bloody, broken lips-and growled to himself.

He turned around, in a snap, but flinched at the sight of a tiny mouse. Even a slight move would trigger his senses. Few hours past, and the so-called Chosen One was nowhere in sight.

How is it so hard to find such a weak, normal girl?

Perhaps she went back to Frostville, on her own, without him noticing.

Even he knew that was impossible. She barely knew the jungle at all. No one ever really knew of the jungle- it was like a secret area, with mystical things. Arcans could travel in without being spotted or threatened. It was said that the ancient Arcans used to live in there- matching the unnatural-ness of the creatures.

A breaking twig.

He looked sideways.

"Another visitor?"

The two men right with him were big and bulky in size. One of them was a tad taller, with a patch over his eye. They sneered at him, in a truly mocking way.

"I'm no visitor," he spat.

"We found the girl. Said she's running away from an Arcan."

"Strawberry blonde?"

"With golden eyes and a sense of humour. Oh, and glittery dress!"

"Where is she?"

The shorter one laughed, though it sounded like a roar. "What makes ya think we'd tell you?"

"Because I'm the Arcan."

"So?" the taller one grinned. "We have no fears for Arcans. Life-takers? House destroyers? Bah! Exaggaration!"

"Plus, handling a mere girl seem to make you... bleed. How'd you think you handle us?"

He touched the place where it hurt again- the corner of the lips, near to the nose and cheek. Wincing, he could feel a wound. He winced more as he pulled the finger away, almost fully covered in blood.

The two men laughed.

"Laugh all you want. Can't do that anymore once you're dead."

"Oh, cheer up, lad!"

"You're only not laughing because your lips are in a bloody state. Attacked by a weak, defenseless girl!"

"And they said you Arcans are dangerous."

Dorian balled his hands into fists.

You're not dangerous, you're weak.

Look at little Dorian, crying like a baby! Crybaby!

Aw, is Dowian gonna cwyyy...?

Weak baby!

You're a shame to us!

Weakling, we don't deserve a weakling in this family!

His knuckles turned shades of white, and he striked.

With superior speed, he charged at them and landed strong blows while they still laughed. They immediatly stopped and roared.

"You mess with the wrong men, boy!"

"You are messing with the wrong boy!"

Chaos ensued.

While the men deliver strong attacks, steady and stable, Dorian dodged and deflected in a blink of an eye. His attacks were swifter, and none see it coming. The tall man managed to catch him by the collar. "Got him!"

But the Arcan grinned. His legs moved, in a running motion, before kicking the man in every possible area. Mainly, the groin. His hands moved wildly, slapping and smacking. When his collar was released, he landed a final blow in his head, sending the big man into uncosciousness.

He turned to the other man sharply. "Wanna end up like your pal?"

Before a reply got out of his mouth, he was punched to the ground. Dorian kicked him with all his might, even when he began to bleed.

Weakling.

Crybaby.

Defeated by a weak, normal girl!

"Stop! Please!"

Dorian grunted, and knelt down to the bruised-up man. "Tell me where you take that girl."

"Left 'er in the deep area of this jungle. In front of the academy!"

"There is no academy in the middle of a jungle!"

"But it's true!"

He gave a hard glare, raising the back of his hand.

"No, please!" he pleaded. "Don't!I'm telling you the truth!"

He cowered down, a look of fear and horror clear on his face. Dorian put down his hand slowly, and flashed a smirk.

"Who's the weakling now?"

He knocked the man uncoscious as well.

Even Evelyn survived longer, with a pair of shoes.

He rubbed his temples. Now, to Evelyn.

He walked deeper in, wondering about it.

An academy.

In the jungle.

Impossible.

He stopped in his tracks. What if there was an academy?

Full of who knows what?

Whomever they were, Dorian could take on them. But not a whole academy of them.

Arcans, perhaps?

But there were little amount of them left. The ones remaining were staying in a familiar place he called home. Far in Easternia.

For once, Dorian, I hope you could think sensibly before acting.

Well, now I will.

He returned, out of the jungle, making his way back home. Whomever was in there, she must have the answer.

Until then, Eve, I hope you have your fun.

***

At night, the Valley of Viatname was very much still lively and full of lights. Lanterns of all shapes, colours, and patterns shone the streets, crowds ushing around a big concert stage. There were no concerts, but two men, shirtless, wrestling. The audience cheered an clapped, making bets and throwing colourful curses here and there.

Dorian was careful enough to slow his pace when he neared the town, looking like a normal boy back from loitering around somewhere. A car honked. He stepped aside, only staring as the car drove past.

Arcans weren't allowed for car licenses. They weren't even permitted to apply to schools, inherit treasures, or do anything legally. Seeing his peers-the normal ones- live in luxuries and spent their time and money on something like useless cigarettes, gave the pang of misery, envy, and jealousy into him.

I don't need a vehicle.

I'm faster than a F1 Formula if I try hard enough.

The feeling did not leave.

He strolled past the roads and big shopping malls. The area behind the mall was deserted, dark, quiet. Perfect for burglary, not that Dorian cared.

His home was there.

Crickets chirped, and frogs croaked nearby. The mall provided enough light for him to see at such a time. The road down the cliff- steep and silent-was said to be surrounded by paranormals, unnatural creatures. The breeze of the wind howled, like calling a name. Mists surrounded him.

Dorian..

If he was a sensible, normal person, he'd be running away by then.

But he wasn't.

He was Dorian. Hunter, warrior, Arcan.

They will strike you with glee.

Instead, he looked around, in a very casual way. A groan came out of him, before he said, "Very funny, Nebe."

"Ugh," croaked someone from the bushes. Nebe came out, someone Dorian knew all too well. She brushed dusts from her pyjamas, and touched her hair. Then her lips pouted as her periwinkle pair of eyes landed on him. "How do you know?"

The mists gathered up as one ball of white air, and was sucked, like a vacuum, to the girl's heart. It was warmer, clearer.

"So. Damn. Obvious."

"Well, never mind," she said, and beckoned him. "Miss Tispee's waiting."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Probably. She knows you're here. Coco saw just as soon as you step in Viatname. Muttered things, knocked her ladle on the pots."

"I didn't see Coco."

"Who does?" she led him down an abandoned construction site. The groud had holes, and dry, rotten soil. Mice chittered before swooping around. "How's Frostville?"

"They have a ceremony to put Arcans to a punishment. Their leader is an attention-whore, over dramatic, self-proclaimed as special teenager girl," he winced. "She was quite an acquintance, really."

At the corner of his eye, he saw Nebe's glance. "Was she pretty?"

"I'd lie if I say no."

She said nothing, the air cooling and slight mists forming. They moved through a big pipe tunnel, stepping over broken metallic shards on the ground.

The metal scent- sharp and strong- was enough to drive someone dizzy. "How'd you pass without me?"

"Form strong mists."

"Can you do it, now?"

"Can't you run, Speedy?"

"You sure?" he held out his arm, which she clutched. His muscles stiffened, the chill of her grip flowing into his skin. The contact made him swallow, her touch damp, like real mists.

"Do it."

He sped off. Her grip tightened, closing her eyes and holding a sharp breath. Midway, she let out a gasp, and wrapped her arms around his neck. A gasp made its way out of him, but didn't slow him down. Soon enough, passing from the tunnel, he stopped. She was affected by the moment, yelping as she dropped to the ground.

Dorian rubbed the back of his neck.

She grunted, picked herself up, and scowled. "You threw me!"

He gave back an emotionless stare, clicking his tongue. It was quite a habit, surpressing emotions other than anger inside him. He turned away from her, stretching his neck to see a small house.

Home, sweet home.

"Dorian Clarke! Were you even listening?"

He blinked, turning back to the clearly pissed girl. "No."

"Hope she nags you to death."

She stomped ahead, him following behind. Her silvery hair always looked kind of damp- misty- but it was particularly wet-like that night.

Someone's angry for no reason.

He didn't bother to say anything.

"Where's that girl?"

"Tried to bring her here. Knocked my nose with her shoe."

"Bless her. Serves you right."

"She's against us."

"You're against everyone."

He didn't bother to reply, except with a click of his tongue. She climbed up, dirt rolling down to him. On purpose, it appeared, she kicked them. He had no time to handle her complicated needs.

His nails scraped soil, his palms getting dirty. He hunched himself up, and rolled over when he reached the peak. She ignored him completely, already strolling ahead. He used his speed, and caught up to her pace. She made a slight wave with her hand, mists again sucking to her.

Hanging by a wooden pole was a sign, Danger! Stay out!

They stepped into the crumbling earth. Worms with glowing bottoms twinkled like stars in the secret tunnel, the house getting nearer in sight. Lifting up the curtains of weeds, she walked straight, some slapping him when she released it. He let out a grunt, before pushing them out of his way.

A smell of the garden crept into his nose. He looked around, clicking his tongue again at the sight of the strawberry bushes. Small fences, barely taller than his knees, were broken and shattered, one sketched with a smiley face. He stepped over them, then caught someone in his range of vision.

The shadow shuffled.

Smaller than him.

"What is it?"

"Someone's watching."

Then it shot into the dim light, showing the form of an osprey. It flew past them with grace, before perching on the lamp post. It made a noise, and eyed them sharply.

"Coco," Nebe shrugged. "It's only Coco, Dorian."
"Coco," the word came out as a hiss, his eyes on the predator bird.

Coco's glare was stronger than his. He looked away.

It motioned to the door with its beak.

"Getting on that. Can't wait till he gets grounded."

Nebe opened the door.

The familiar smell of tea brought Dorian back to his happy memories. The old, familiar, similiar scene- of vintage furnitures and old photos- gave a small, barely seen, smile on his face.

Coco screeched, and fluttered, landing on the arm of a lady.

Plump, short, with pink, flushing face.

She frowned. "Dorian, welcome home. We need to talk."

"I...I have a question that-"

"Save it for the talk. In my office. Now. Or do you want Coco to drag you there?"

He could feel Nebe's sneer, and Coco's intense stare. A lump went down his throat, his grips into knuckles.

"Yes, miss."