Calcified in obsidian ridges, the spine curled itself in the field, dissolving into the grass.
Malik grimaced, stepping through the divided slabs of the barrier, carefully maneuvering both feet to ensure he wouldn't get stuck again.
The cold breath of land passed him, as his feet sunk in the serrated herbs within the damp meadow.
Build-up of the bloodstream bled within the pasture in thin streams.
Malik avoided the diverse network of the river, and stood beside the melting backbone with a despondent look on his face.
This was more than just a lake . . . I can't believe the people here have grown accustomed to it. I can't imagine what else they deem normal here.
After all, this might just be another one of land's presents. It has a twisted form of kindness that revolves around me, and cuts those around me.
Is it possible for it to be tamed? Maybe that's what I've wanted all along.
Giving one last glimpse at it, he shook his head.
For now, I must find Awan. I must find someway to help Zayne. I must be there . . . for Kaya. I can't let any of this distract me.
He walked away, and met the cliff he once slid. He saw the marks on it that shows where his heels had planted to slide down.
Stretching his legs, he gave a long stride up the hill, and atop the escarpment was a protruding platform of rock. His hand grabbed it, and he propelled himself upward.
Using his grip, he supported his upper body, and pushed out a leg, until he rolled, and finally secured himself on top of the ledge.
Standing up, he faced the same sight he witnessed at the end of the foggy illusion. This time, the forest was crystal clear, and the leaves were blooming in all sorts of aquas, yellow's and lime-greens.
Once I surpassed such a dull forest, it appears to have enchanted itself for my next visit. Maybe that's why Awan held that grin walking through it.
Under his soles, he didn't feel the damp field, instead it was a warm welcome encompassing his presence.
Sunlight reflected off the ethereal leaves, and soft dewdrops of icy condensation fell gracefully.
Gently walking towards it, Malik curiously stuck his tongue out in hopes of it landing on his tastebuds.
He saw the bead of sparkling pearl slide off the leaf, and patiently wait for its descent.
Then, it dropped, and it plinked as it bounced on his tongue in a cold sweetness.
A sudden smile grew on Malik's face as it purified his system.
"How fresh!" Malik blurted with fervor.
He pranced forward, with his arms up high, feeling every graze of the leaves caressing him. It was a natural spectacle to his eyes as his smile couldn't falter.
Such a liberation embraced him, as he enjoyed the mystical view that stood in his voyage.
There were no seagulls, no rituals, no crowds, only him. Twirling in circles, he caught the warm air in his palms as he progressed.
I shouldn't be this euphoric. Why am I happy when others are suffering?
A harsh thought crept in but he disregarded it.
The loneliness felt like a sudden solace to his soul, cleaning himself the more he separated from the distant societies. In here, he could dance and laugh and none would see it.
For once, he felt the fur and hooves slip off, and he could finally make the choice.
Not even for a second would he close his eyes, as he enjoyed the luminous forest. His fingertips grazed every tree, and ants crawled on his skin, but he calmly laid them on the vegetation surrounding the herbage.
Eventually, he encounters the crimson river. It looked like fresh wine rather than the old-blood that overtook the tribe of Nawra.
He was captured by the allure, and the calm humidity around it consoled him.
Stepping in, it alleviated the sensation of the spine that dug into his sole.
But seeing his reflection in it, his hair was white, and far longer. It reminded him of two people he saw. He simply carried on.
Reaching the bank on the other side, his ankles were spotless, and when he looked above. He saw the tree where he met him. The fruits were gone and so were the spears, but he wasn't here.
The welcoming tree of plucked fruit gave a pleasant spot to sit in front of.
Malik gave out a large sigh of euphoria, and immersed himself against the tree as he faced the river. Sliding down as he sat, crossing his legs.
A radiant glimmer of sunshine made it a wonderful point to collect oneself. Beyond it, he saw something glint, hiding under a blade of grass.
Leaning forward, he recognized it. A small jewel, made of the purest gold. He envisioned the headband it laid upon.
This is gold from Awan's crown!
Malik stored it in his pockets, and a sea of thoughts flow in when it grazed his fingertips.
Feeling the notebook with the cover made of a fine bark, he took it out, along with the hand crafted pencil.
He opened to the middle of the notebook, and it felt oddly nostalgic, as he began to test out the fluidity of the writing utensil.
It had the ability to write of the finest caliber in calligraphy. Holding it in a comfortable grip, Malik remembered practicing his writing by copying old letters Cyrus wrote.
He had practically perfected the old captain's handwriting, and in their rare moments, he would joke about the similarities.
Maybe I'd have a more original style if he taught me. But oh well, I was able to learn on my own.
Attempting to write in his own flow, it ended up choppy, and he scratched it off the page, and went to the next one.
He laughed to himself, "Ahh, I'm so dramatic. I can't imagine taking myself serious most of the time."
Smiling, he cheered, "Alright, lets try this again! The farther I drift from that man, the more I won't have to be a wolf nor a sheep!"
Giving it a second try, "We can work with this. Now, I can finally collect myself."
Adjusting himself comfortably, he lay the notebook on his lap, and imprinted his thoughts, matching the words on the page.
"So much, where do I even start?"
"Cycles. Noam spoke of it. Well it can't be day and night cycles. Ahh, I get it. It refers to years. How pretentious. But thinking about it now, it feels like many cycles have passed since then . . . "
Ink bled as he continued, "Ever since I woke up from that coma, everything's been building up. I've lived on that ship my whole life, yet its only ever since Kaya came on board, that everything went downhill. Or would I say it went uphill?"
"After passing out, I had seen a blur of another man's life, I couldn't make out any faces or names, and the voices all sounded the same, but I could faintly tell what was going on. I believe his name was Mashia. He had fought that fox, and it concluded in a white rapture. Then, I woke up."
"I don't remember that much of my childhood, and I tried asking the blade what happened in it before, but it only gave half-answers or went silent. Now that I think about it, it was quite strange as to how I got the bayonet. I had seen it in that coma, but when I woke up it was in my pocket, and my father was avoiding me. Maybe he was ashamed of what I had to see."
"And even the VHS's, how was it able to predict the day after? But I've been told I woke up days after we entered that room, so I assume that 'tomorrow' must've been waiting for me."
I had began to dissociate with my crew when Arif showed up, and then the Ishkana pirates tried to attack us. I saved us, and everyone celebrated, but Kaya hugged me like she was revering me.
"Surprisingly, I remember her exact words: 'You let us live another day, Malik' . . . does she feel like I'm the wolf that can end a sheep's life at any moment?"
Malik took a deep breath as he laid the pen down for a moment, gazing the scenery.
Suddenly, as he put the pencil down, something else spoke. It buzzed in his pocket.
"She does, they all do . . . After all, there's a reason you took me out here, and not them." The bayonet coldly stated.
Malik gulped, "Why do you think so?" he asked out loud.
"We bare the same fangs. However, yours are only growing. And our isolation, is what enhances it even further." It responded.
Malik scratched his head, and began to write again.
Recalling his father's words, "Isolation is what makes the strongest wolves. I never wanted to be one. Remembering the pale man Mashia, and the white-haired woman in the village, they did share a wolf-like appearance. But if I saw them in my reflection, was my father right?"
He scratched it off, went to another page, "Now I'm overthinking. That woman, that pale man, they have nothing to do with this! Looking back, how could I have moved on from so many discrepancies?"
"The door, the way everyone acted, that storm, the flood, the mystery behind how it all unfolded. And now, this island . . ."
"Kaya had seen everything in that VHS I assume, but when I hurt- " He skipped a line, "After that, she acted like she hadn't seen anything. My father and the rest of the crew acted like one of the same, was that just another figment? All this leads to, is that they're hiding something, each of them, but I can't think of them that way."
Then, the bayonet cackled, "Yes you can. You know it deep down, especially the girl. I'd keep an eye on her, but that's what you do best when you don't ignore these things on purpose . . ."
Malik argued, "And how would you know? You know nothing about where their hearts are."
"But I know yours all too well. You suspect it because the idea is within you." The blade answered.
It paused, "And if I did know, I would've told you. I only operate in your best interest."
Malik ignored it, and took a deep breath. He wrote, "I wonder what they're doing now. Even Kamil, Amaya, Lias, and Samir. I sure hope they're in a better position than us on this island."
"That reminds me, the flood. There's something more at play, and I can't accept any other plausibility. It can't have been that long, since father was drowning . . . wait, how else would have he survived? Unless he-"
Malik stopped writing and spoke, "Do you know anything about that?"
It went silent.
Clearing his throat, "I said, do you know anything about that?" Malik insisted.
"I know only know what you know. You know he plays a large role in it." The bayonet uttered calmly.
Malik then stared at his fingernails, unusually long, "That can't be the only reason . . ."
Back to the notebook, he scribbled frantically, "It could've been anybody. Hell, it even could've been me! There has to be a reason but all I have is breadcrumbs. And all this, led to the island, where we somehow docked without the engine."
"This place treated me so kind yet pushed away those who came along with me. After seeing and hearing about the tragedies, sometimes I'd wish it gave me a reason to hate it."
"I've seen fragments on why these tribes went here, the explosion. But if Mala and Zi Jin Cheng were in shambles like Noam said, why didn't these people go to another realm? This 'Ant Farm', can't have been the only option."
Then, he wrote in larger letters, "All of this was either perfect, or planned . . ."
From above, a white seagull flew over the bright sun, and formed a large silhouette on the page. The sudden shadow forced him back into the moment, where the forest awaited.
Malik sighed, "That's enough for today, I'm only going in circles."
He closed the notebook, grazing the oaky cover. Then, he stood up, and put it back in his pocket.
"What's next?" Malik asked, looking around the greenery.
Silence, nobody answered.
Immediately, four leaves tore off the tree behind him, fell in the crimson river, and travelled across the stream. It seemed to be pointing in the direction.
Grinning, Malik followed the leaves going upstream.
I can't ever hate a place like this . . .
The forest had always wanted me to enjoy it, but why did it need me to be alone to enjoy its beauty?