Arlene finally mustered the strength to move her leg. She tramped on, each steps heavier than the last. Her eyes set on him. Lips trembling.

  She wanted to call out to him, asked if he was okay. And another part of her screamed out in horror.

  Her eyes finally noticed it. His back and legs dripping and soaking in dark hue, contrasting to his white robe. The smell was distinct to her, and she started to see more red as she got close, dripping and painting the burnt ground below.

  Wattyson had been bleeding the entire time.

  Next to him was the body of Neciel, and her head. Smiling.

  “Why?” she finally let out, trembling in shock. “Why did you fight with such cruelty? Why was she smiling?”

  Wattyson did not answer. He knelt in silence for a big longer before getting up, limping to the house still lit up.

  Arlene tried to reach to him, pressed him for her answers. She was held back by a shaking grip. Rond was behind her, his face in horror.

  “Let him be,” Rond pled. “I may not know who this Wattyson is right now, but” he’s stuttering. “I can confidently say… he’s grieving too. Just follow him.”

  Arlene gulped down her words, she wanted her answers but seeing someone who knew him pled. She relented.

  She stood there for few minutes, looking back at the corpse of Neciel. That smile haunted her, and she sobbed quietly in mourning of her death.

  The two followed behind Wattyson, not too close but not too far.

  As they got closer to the front porch, the smell of blood leaked out of the house. Rond caught whiff of this and immediately fell to his knee, starting to puke.

  Arlene stopped to help him, her gaze forwarded to that door. She squinted hard to see and it was not what she was expecting.

  Hands, legs, bodies, heads, gores and torsos lied everywhere inside the house. Blood decorated the entire floors and some on the walls. All those corpses some had their limbs ripped while others intact.

  Arlene was used to this sight from her previous quest in the Dark Lord’s defeat. However, that house was filled with warm memory for her, even if she had visited it once only. She couldn’t make the step forward, even when Rond tugged her to go with him.

  All she could do was watch Wattyson limping and entering the house. His claymore was gone.

  Entering the house, Wattyson could hear the music. It sang a tone of peace and gleeful innocence, loudly resonating within the house. The inside was anything but.

  He took notes of the surrounding, all the bodies were seemingly clawed, or bites, there were marks of slashes, biting on the walls and furniture too. The paintings and pictures were either filled with blood, or torn by claws. The standing clock destroyed to pieces. The couches in disarray, cotton’s on the ground everywhere soaked in red.

  He strode gracefully to the recorder, lifting his hand to pause it, struggling between gentle and rough.

  “Uncle?” an old frail voice let out.

  Wattyson glanced to his left, and there sat the old woman on a recliner chair. She was clad in blood.

  “Is that you, uncle?” she called out to Wattyson, her eyes were glowing red too with clear vision. She paused and looked to him in solemn. “You’ll find no vampire here, uncle. Just me now.”

  Wattyson rested his shoulder, standing still to listen to the elder.

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  “It was my caretaker, I loved that girl like a daughter. She came into my world when you stopped visiting me all those years ago. I wanted to know the reason why she did it.” She looked down to her laps. “Maybe I chose to ignore it, but I regret ever taking that chance to see them one last time.”

  She noticed his hands still tense. “You needn’t fret. I won’t raise a finger against you… I don’t think I led a good life, uncle.”

  Wattyson turned around to face her in fullest now. “Go on…”

  “After you saved me and my family all those years ago… We moved to my father’s farm here.” She looked to her left, gazing out to the stars. “I spent most of my early life raising my brother when our father went to war against the Dark Lord. I let my best friend have the love of my life.”

  She reached her hand to grab a picture frame, not yet touched by the massacre here. “When my brother died, I spent my day caring for my niece and nephew and in my older days… I spent my old days welcoming their children whenever they dropped by.”

  She paused, seemingly reminiscing and contemplating.

  “Not one day I asked for myself, and I think when finally taken it, wishing that I wanted to stay a bit longer to see my family one last time… I deserve this fate.”

  She glanced now to the right. “It’s my hands that killed Neciel and my families.” Her eyes filled with tears refusing to come out. “She gave me a chance to live a little longer, but I don’t think she was ready for what came next… I don’t think anyone could’ve predicted this. Least of all me.”

  Wattyson summarised she thought Neciel was killed by her too in this house.

  She turned to him now, raising both hands to him. “Uncle, will you help me outside?” her voice was hoarse and meek. “I don’t want to be here anymore”

  Wattyson returned his arms to help her, supporting her as she navigated through the bloodshed. He escorted her how one would to an elderly.

  Arlene saw them coming out now, after helping Rond back far from the house. “Stay here,” she told Rond to which he, still pale, gave a thumb up.

  She strode to them, seeing them walking to a garden untouched by what happened. She stayed her distance, but not far enough she couldn’t hear.

  The elder looked over to the village below.

  “All of these, the land, the house, the village, it was my last mean to support them.” She confessed as they walked over to a bench, giving them the sight.

  “This whole place will be torn down, won’t it? To forget what happened today. I know I can’t forget it.”

  The two sat in silence, watching the empty sky with the moon ever getting fainter. “Will this hurt?” she asked Wattyson.

  “Yes” replied bluntly. “Your body is weak and frail.”

  “Hmmm…” nodded the elder.

  Wattyson glanced to her, placing his hand on hers. “The sunrise will be here soon, let’s enjoy the breeze here in the night.” A soothing voice from him before he added, “Or… what remains at least.”

  “I always wonder” she continued as she felt the breeze gently on her cold skin. “That question of yours I heard in my younger days. You keep trying to find the answer to your ‘What makes the sky blue?’”

  There was still a lot of time before the morning arrived. She wanted to continue with her uncle, “I get what you were saying now, uncle.” She paused, her gaze to the village. “All those ramblings when I was young. How fairytales are just truths buried…” she sighed. “I chose to ignore it… and… now… I disappointed you, uncle.”

  Watyson didn’t reply, his face unchanged, posture still.

  She leaned back, facing him. “Did you ever find the answer?”

  “No… the answer seems to be changing every times.”

  She closed her eyes, turning back into the empty sky. “I suppose that’s make the two of us, uncle.” She paused before continuing, “I… summarise it to the people like Chosen One and you uncle, making this world a better place. Keeping the sky to stay blue…”

  Wattyson offered nothing in return.

  The shining star was slowly rising up now. She let out one final sigh, “Maybe soon, I’ll be glad for the life I led with no regrets,” She paused as she stood up, adding a confession. “There is one actually… I didn’t die yesterday.”

  She walked forward, slowly embracing the morning light. Her forms slowly burned away and flew by the winds, carrying ashes to the village.

  Wattyson watched… and gazed to the floor, he never lifted his head for a while.

  Arlene finally gulped down her fears, and finally making her way to him. Sitting beside him in grief.

  “Do you still want to ask me?” he spoke up first, it was cold, but supressed. It startled Arlene.

  “I do…” she still struggled to wrap her mind. “I felt like I know you, but now… I felt like I know nothing at all.”

  She shook her head, clenching her fists on her thighs.

  “I don’t understand how you could fight like that… I-I don’t think I can ever… but,” she paused, glancing to his side profile. “I still want to go with you, be with you. I want to understand you better.”

  She straightened her postures, bowing lightly since they were sitting close. “Will you? Will you let me understand you?”

  He glanced to her slightly, though not fully.

  “Most people left after… after seeing how I fight.” Now fully to her. “You try to understand me instead…”

  Arlene could see a small smile.

  “That’s a first…” he trailed off. “If you’re willing… I don’t mind being on this quest of ours with you.”

  Wattyson bowed down in return, just barely.

  “I think this is how they do in the eastern culture” he murmured, before adding in higher tone. “Please take care of me.”

  Arlene sighed a relief. “Please take care of me, too.”