Ch. 12a: The Final Prophecy ā The Contested Realm
"You are all my guests. Please sit down. Forgive me for the bad furniture."
The Warriors of the Guardian were quite hesitant at Lord Falagorās kind request, but obeyed once Atrus and Anna sat casually on the nearby tree stump. The small hut supported only simple furniture, mostly made from timber from the nearby wood. Even though the furniture was simple, the room was cozy. The small hut only had two exits, one led to the bedroom and the other one out. There was a small fireplace on the corner of the room with some simple cooking apparatus made out of clay. A round table and a few stumps were the only āvaluablesā in the room.
"Tea?" Falagor offered.
"You plant tea around here?" Lynn the Fairy asked curiously.
"Good question, young lady." Falagor smiled, then picked a clay teapot. "Remember the principle, if itās illogical, itās magic."
The old wizard waved his hand over the pot and tilted it toward an empty cup. A hot stream of fresh tea came out from the pot. The party simply gazed in disbelief until they smelled the sweet scent in the air.
"This is impossible!" Aurelia exclaimed. "I know the scent! This is tea fromā¦"
"ā¦Land of Elom, southwestern region near the land of the Nomads." Falagor nodded. "You learnt your culture well, Miss Aurelia."
"Your fame is well deserved, Lord Falagar." Calem said.
Falagar gazed at the wizard. "You mean you canāt do this trick?"
"I can manipulate things, but not create things."
"I do not create things. No one can create things except the Gods." Falagar explained. "I manipulate things, just like you. All elements in the realm can be manipulated. You are all the chosen people, destined to fight for the very survival of this realm. The whole realm will be on your side. Only by manipulating them you can use their power and gain victory."
"Gain victory?" Holgreb was deeply confused. "But the war hasnāt started, yet."
"Then when does it start?" Falagor countered. "Tomorrow? The day after? Next week? Or perhaps yesterday or last week or last year? The real battle is not physical. The real battle was inside you."
The Dwarf, along with the rest of the party, was more confused than ever. "Donāt understand." He grunted. "Iām not good at philosophy."
And Aurelia was getting freaked out. "Youāre not good at⦠what?!"
"Sleep on it." Falagor said, grinning. "You will understand soon."
Atrus felt that his cue had come. "Master, we are confused at what we should do now. We know all the puzzle pieces yet we donāt know where to go."
"You are restless, arenāt you?" Falagor asked Atrus. "You want to finish the war as soon as possible."
"The longer we wait, more innocent lives may be lost." Atrus answered.
"Is that all?" Falagor asked again.
Atrus hesitated, then glanced at Anna, who in turn looked at him. "No⦠thatās not all."
Falagor smiled. "You are honest, Atrus⦠forgive me if I called you by name. But there is more to be revealed before you are all set to go."
"More prophecy again?" Anna asked.
"You will see." Falagor said. "In fact, Iāve prepared a special audience for you all."
"An audience?" Atrus frowned. "With who?"
Falagor grinned. "I do hope you recognize your own father."
"My⦠my father�" Atrus was shocked. "My father is here?"
And from the bedroom a tall figure appeared. The man was a bit taller than Atrus and almost as tall as the low ceiling in the hut. He posed a well-built body, showing the result of years and years of physical training. His face featured thick brown hair, brown eyes, and well-trimmed beard. Just like Atrus, the man also had think eyebrows and sharp gaze. He wore a set of leather armor of impressive design. Rows of silvery leather pad overlapped each other, topped with a single layer of chain mail. The armor and the armbands seemed seamless, offering maximum protection. A small slot on each shoulder provided a place to tuck the long golden cloak flowing on his back. On his chest was the picture of Aragonās royal crest, carefully painted on the leather surface. On his hip hung a sword, covered in leather sheath. He held a giant war-bow across his left shoulder and a pack full of arrows across the other.
The man just smiled as Atrus gasped. "Fā¦fatherā¦?"
"It has been two years and youāve forgotten your own father?"
The two men embraced each other with powerful grip. Atrus couldnāt believe it. It had been too long. It had been two years, being on his own, living among his friends. But his father was here now. He was once again with the man he admired most in his life.
"Iām so proud of you, son," The man said. "Your deeds have not gone unheard among the Ranger clan. Your quest in gathering all races in an alliance has inspired all young Rangers to follow your footsteps."
"I didnāt do it alone," Atrus said, then looked at his friends around the room. "My friends did most of the job. I was just the message guy."
"Modest, as always," Holgreb grunted.
"Thatās good!" Lynn commented. "Compared to you!"
"The distinguished Captain White Lion." Aurelia smiled. "Itās been too long."
"Old age hasnāt affected your memory, Princess Aurelia." The captain smiled. "How old?"
"Sixty-one this year." Aurelia replied, ignoring the dumb look from some members of the party. "But in Human life-span, Iām just twenty."