ANGEL ON EARTH

By the time Muyang dragged a half-frozen Marshall into the Northern Snow Forest, the night had progressed past midnight.

The disciple kept drifting between reality and a dazed state, jolting wide awake each time he tripped over a root.

Marshall's biggest concern had been getting over the enormous wall stretching around the forbidden forest. But to his surprise, the sandstone bricks had cracked open on their own, allowing them to pass.

The wall seemed to recognize Muyang. Once they entered, the sandstones heavily settled back in place with low grumbles.

Marshall couldn't recall much from the journey. The kid had been telling stories about dragons and forest spirits on the way, but he barely heard half of it.

The sky above their heads resembled a field of grains with stars scattered about. Marshall even thought he had seen a shooting star, but it had wings.

His vision focused and unfocused, but he caught a glimpse of a snowy owl circling over the treetops.

Perhaps the bird was a guardian of the forest, sensing the intruders. Perhaps something more magical.

Marshall watched as the owl made a few more rounds with soundless moves before soaring away, taking his consciousness with it.

➳ ➳ ➳

Floating between reality and dreams, Marshall found himself surrounded by white pillows.

When tried to touch one, it pulled out of his reach. Even though he was disoriented and had a difficult time focusing his thoughts, he knew that normal pillows shouldn't do that.

Could it have been a cloud? No, it was made of fabric, it was definitely real. So why did it keep shifting away? 

Getting frustrated, Marshall hissed, "Don't move" and grabbed onto the pillow, pressing it down by force before snuggling into the fabric.

➳ ➳ ➳

The next time Marshall opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a firm bed in a small room.

Bright daylight poured in through the window. He faced a wall covered by a massive bookshelf.

Rows of colorful and monochromatic book spines stared back at him, most were rigid academic materials.

Recalling his frost-bitten hand, Marshall pulled it out from under the blanket and wiggled his fingers.

Surprisingly, it was perfectly fine. He could clench it into a fist and squeeze his other hand with no trouble.

"Ah, I'm alive..."

Marshall stretched with a lazy chuckle and slid out of the bed to take a look around. However, the house was empty. So he found his shoes and went outside.

Marshall found himself standing in a round field in the middle of the forbidden forest.

It was dotted with large, flat stones, and a white gazebo sat a distance from the house.

Oddly, the air carried the smell of winter breeze, not a whiff of summer.

Marshall twisted his neck, looking around in confusion.

Was this... the afterlife? Had he not survived Cheimon's clutches after all?

A young man was pacing near the gazebo with a tense expression. Long, pearly white hair rippled over a rigidly straight back with every step. Was he an angel?

As if to prove to Marshall that he hadn't died, his nose started itching like crazy. The disciple tried to stop the sneeze, but it was unavoidable. He announced his presence with an "achoo!"

The young man stopped in his tracks and looked at the disciple, momentarily distraught. It appeared he had not heard Marshall's steps. Distressed shadows loomed over the pale face. He approached Marshall without a word, taking his hand and pushing the sleeve up to ensure Cheimon hadn't left any damage behind.

Why was he so worried? Marshall almost felt flattered. The warmth of the young man's hands was pleasant too. Truly alike an angel.

"How are you feeling?" the young man questioned, his voice like the heavy steps on a frozen lake. Resonant and deep. 

"As fresh as a cucumber," Marshall gave a light-hearted reply.

After pressing down on various nerve points of Marshall's arm, the young man released the disciple. "There seem to be no side-effects. You are free to leave."

"Just like that?" Marshall asked, shrinking his grin to a small smile.

The icy eyes peered into Marshall with a stare that felt a bit like being poked by an icicle. The young man didn't say anything else, walking off to the house at a brisk pace. Perhaps his worry wasn't over Marshall's life, but something else. 

The disciple followed right behind him, breathing down his neck. "Is something wrong? Where are you going?"

Marshall followed him into the house, but before he could finish his sentence, the young man grabbed his sword from the desk.

The disciple stumbled a few steps back, putting his hands up in surrender. "Hey, hey, hey! No need for violence! Fine, I'll leave..."

However, the young man ignored him, passing by in a hurry. After a short moment of confusion, Marshall ran out after him, tripping over the doorstep.

"Are you ignoring me? That's not very nice, you know," he sprinted along the young man.

"There have been traces of demonic energy in the bordering towns," came a grave statement. "It has been spreading."

"So you're going to check it out?"

"I am."

"Great, I'm coming along!"

The young man sighed, but didn't protest.

Their trip from the forest to the city passed in a blink. 

As they strode through the streets at a sweat-inducing pace, Marshall spotted a few pairs of eyes following them, curious gazes flitting between the two before looking away.

Their appearances contradicted each other like day and night. 

The disciple was dressed in dark colors with a leather belt fastened diagonally across his torso, securing his bow in place on his back. Meanwhile, the other was fully clad in white, carrying his silver sword in hand. They made an odd pair, to say the least.

As the two moved further into the city, Marshall started noticing the young man continuously turning away from the stares. It became more pronounced as the crowd around them thickened.

The disciple leaned closer to his shoulder, giving it a few taps.

"Why are you hiding?"

The young man's brows twitched at the violation of his personal space. He stepped back, gripping the sheathed Cheimon.

"To avoid being recognized," he replied in a lowered voice.

Marshall shrugged, accepting the answer. It was fair enough, not everyone was comfortable with attention. However, that didn't stop him from asking more questions.

"How long have you been secluded?"

The young man did not reply at first, seemingly planning to ignore him, but the disciple wouldn't stop staring at him. With a resigned sigh, he conceded. 

"One year as a punishment, one year as a choice."

Such a short sentence meant it was unlikely to have committed murder. He didn't seem like a judge killer either.

"You stayed in the forest for one more year as a choice?" Marshall echoed. "Do you dislike people?"

No response.

They crossed off the city's neat stone paved roads, continuing onto a bumpy path of pebbles and rocks. Old buildings led the way, lacking the typical glimmers of silver and marbled calla lily engravings.

Marshall perked up, recognizing the direction. "Are we heading to Chara town?"

A flicker of mild surprise crossed the snowy face, but was shortly restored to the controlled expression.

"Correct."

After a series of twists and turns, they entered a bustling street, overflowing with chatter and laughter. 

People were dressed in bold and dark colors, moving around with liveliness and smiles. It was the place Marshall had spent a good amount of his time growing up. 

The young man meticulously scanned the street, his eyes narrowing.

"Are you looking for someone specific?" Marshall asked.

His wrist was seized in response as he was pulled through the crowds to a quieter corner. After making sure no one was around, the young man lowered his voice.

"Listen to me carefully."

The disciple nodded, leaning in to hear better. 

"As I said, there have been traces of demonic energy appearing throughout Sky Oriels. Last week—two locations, this week—four. Do you understand what this means?"