Extra's Ascent

"Orion! Orion, wake up!"

The voice, soft yet urgent. It pierced the veil of sleep like a distant bell tolling through mist. Gentle, but firm. Concern laced every syllable, woven with threads of affection and unease.

Orion stirred, eyes fluttering open in the dim interior of the tent. Still gripped by the haze of slumber, he blinked at the silhouette leaning over him.

"M-Mom? What's going on?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

It was rare, almost unthinkable for her to rouse him during the night. This deviation from routine sent a jolt through him. Something was off. Something was wrong.

"I need you to listen to me, Orion," she said, her voice taut with restrained emotion.

He sat up straighter. "Why? What's happening?"

Her behaviour unsettled him more than the odd hour. She was calm, but it was the kind of calm one wore like armour. It wasn't natural.

"From this moment forward, you must run," she said, voice breaking on the last word. "Run and never look back. Do you understand me?"

His mouth opened, confused, trembling.

"Mo—

"Is he still here?" another voice cut in.

A man swept into the tent, tall and commanding despite the chaos in his eyes. His long silver hair, dishevelled and wild, still managed to lend him an otherworldly presence. He moved with the intensity of a storm on the horizon.

"He's still here?! Why?!" he bellowed, glaring at his wife.

"Dad?" Orion said in a small voice, the tension coiling tighter inside him. "Mom's acting strange. She told me to run, but she won't tell me why."

His father's expression twisted into something fierce, not with anger, but fear. There was no trace of comfort in his voice, only urgency.

"There's no time to explain, Orion!" he barked. "You must leave now! Run as far as your legs will carry you, never stop! Do you understand?!"

Orion's world tilted. First his mother, now his father, both sounding like strangers, both demanding he flee. His young mind couldn't make sense of it.

A blood-curdling scream tore through the night outside the tent.

ARGRGH!!!

The sound froze the breath in Orion's lungs. His mother's hands trembled. His father's shoulders tightened.

"They're here already," his father whispered, voice like lead.

No more hesitation. He seized Orion by the arm and yanked open the back of the tent.

"Go! Run, Orion! Now!"

The boy stumbled, caught off guard by his father's sudden force. But the sound of approaching terror ignited a fire beneath his feet.

So he ran.

Through the dense brush and wild branches, he darted like a startled deer, heedless of direction, only aware of the pounding of his heart and the voices of his parents echoing behind him.

"Go, Orion! Live! Be safe!"

Tears stung his eyes as the night swallowed him. His silver hair shimmered in the moonlight, a beacon in the darkness, fragile, yet defiant.

Behind him, the mother clung to the father, tears streaming down her cheeks as the air thickened with sorrow.

They had accepted their fate.

Their clan's fall was sealed on that wretched night.

-

How long he ran didn't matter. The child pushed himself, his limbs burning but his spirit driven by fear and desperation. He darted past trees, brushed aside limbs that clawed at his clothing, never once slowing.

Every heartbeat screamed of the danger he didn't dare face. The memory of his parents' voices propelled him forward.

But dread is a cunning thing. It crept in, whispering to look back, just once.

And he did.

His foot caught on something solid, an unseen root or branch and he toppled, crashing onto the ground.

Pain shot through his tailbone. Gritting his teeth, Orion lifted his eyes.

A figure stood before him.

Clad in a flowing black cloak, face obscured by an ornate mask that glinted faintly in the dark, the stranger stood unmoving.

"Orion Aldaman," the voice behind the mask intoned, deep and unnatural. "Your lineage... it belongs to me."

The man extended a hand, long fingers reaching toward him.

Orion recoiled, curling into himself, arms shielding his face as darkness swept in like a tidal wave.

---

He sat upright. His demeanour was calm, yet his mind was intensely disoriented.

"Not again."

It took a moment for reality to settle around him, his bedroom's quiet, the distant hum of city life beyond the window.

Another dream.

Or rather... the same dream.

He swung his legs off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror greeted him: a man in his late thirties, beard beginning to frame his chin, eyes sharp yet shadowed, and that unmistakable silver hair, a relic of blood and origin.

He exhaled, pressing his palms against the sink's edge.

"Twice in one week."

Twice that the same memory had clawed its way out of the past, dragging him back to the night everything ended... and everything began.

Back when he wasn't Eric Aldaman, mystic, soldier, executioner, but simply Orion.

He stared into his own eyes, searching for answers.

"Is it a warning? A sign? Or just a memory refusing to die?"

Eric didn't have the time or energy to unravel it. He could not afford to lose himself in a haze of sentiment. That boy was gone. The life that shaped him was ash.

With a heavy breath, he turned the faucet, splashing water over his face, washing away the residue of the dream.

Moments later, he was dressed in clean attire: a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into jet-black trousers, matched with polished leather shoes. Simple, yet refined, his best guess for what counted as formal wear on his first day.

Today marked the beginning of something new.

His official induction into the Second Division of the Mystic Order's Executive Branch.

Eric scanned the room one last time. His eyes landed on a small bag resting in the corner. He considered it, wondering if it would be necessary. Would he be expected to bring supplies? Gear? He had no idea what the position entailed. His orders had been sparse, his invitation cryptic.

Shrugging off the uncertainty, he moved toward the exit. Crossing the living room, he passed by the modest couch and coffee table and paused.

A food flask rested at the centre of the table.

He reached out, placing a hand over it.

Still warm.

Someone had prepared it not long ago.

He didn't need to guess. Only one person who had come into his life recently is capable of leaving behind a quiet gesture like this.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

He picked up the flask and tucked it under his arm.

Stepping out the door, Eric Aldaman began a new day with excitement for what his new job would bring along.