Seeing the grotesque form of the being forming around Lucille's neck, Walker gave his arm a look and remembered his fight—he wasn't helpless anymore.
He stood up and, with just a few steps, reached Lucille and grabbed the now worm-like dark creature and held it in his hand.
Time froze between them. The wind no longer grazed Walker's skin, and the curtains froze in the air. The worm still squirmed in his palm, but every move served as a message to the man who was about to exterminate it.
Walker felt vibrations travel from his palm to his nerves when he was able to sense words forming in his mind.
"…Await my father's arrival, you weasel…"
He didn't respond, and with a weak squeeze of Walker's hand, the worm-like being crumbled in the air like charred wood.
A second glance, and he realized his right arm was naked—His hand, brown and hardened, was left exposed for all to see.
He quickly hid his arm behind his back like a nervous boy hiding something embarrassing and asked with a persuasive tone,
"What do you want?"
Lucille noticed Walker's agitation through the color of his soul—a grey color that crossed blades with red—but a more eminent color took place deeper than either: a dark blue that lingered in the battlefield of grey and red.
"Apologies… I can come later if you want."
Walker's tense expression softened as he sat back on the hospital bed. He sighed and apologized, wrapping his arm with the blanket.
"Just get on with it."
Lucille gave him a nod and spoke.
"The barrier between the realms is crumbling. Most of the scholars holding them together martyred in aid to the Settlement of Yazareth. We need replacements."
Scholars were people of mysterious backgrounds and extraordinary abilities, capable of balancing good and evil. But what they all had in common was intelligence, power, and a strong spiritual connection to the world. Ultimately, Walker believed they all had masters shackling their own.
Having all of that in mind, Walker furrowed his brow and thought for a second before asking,
"What does that have to do with me?"
Lucille closed her eyes and planted her fist on her chest as she expressed,
"I was sent with the information that the one I shall nurture will come to meet me themselves, and your display of strength was most worthy of praise."
Taken aback by the sudden accolade, Walker chuckled. A list of realities he cast upon himself ascended from the depths of his consciousness—ones he constantly reminded himself of.
Seconds passed before Walker decided to break the silence.
"I'm flattered, but I must refuse."
It wasn't as though her proposition was a child's joke to him—he just didn't want to do anyone's bidding but his own.
Lucille thought of the appropriate words before asking,
"But why?"
"I don't want to."
Walker had found his belongings underneath the hospital bed, and he began clothing himself by putting his glove on, as he couldn't do more in the presence of others.
"I'm no scholar. I hunt so I don't have to be afraid. I live because I don't want to die. If one such as this is capable of becoming a scholar… then the world can burn, and us along with it."
Searching through the wooden box, Walker found a key item missing: his revolver.
Stealing is illegal, you know! He silently shouted at the Blazehearts' leader, Sephroteus Blazeheart—despite the fact that his carrying of arms was illegal itself.
His gaze shifted to Lucille. He cleared his throat before saying,
"If you'll excuse me."
He had his clothes on his lap.
Lucille nodded before excusing herself outside the room, closing the door behind her. Disappointment didn't cross her mind once—it was something she was used to.
One, two, and three minutes passed as Lucille sat quietly on the bench near Walker's room, like a child awaiting the results of their studies. It would either fill her with joy or crush her heart. She hoped that maybe that man with the depressing color of soul would change his mind.
People passed by her—some by themselves, others with family, and some who were just discharged after being blessed with an offspring.
Having only her gown, Lucille felt the chilling cold, and it made her realize that winter could be cruel here compared to her home.
"Are you alright?" a senior nurse asked. She was a woman of tall stature, taller than many men Walker had encountered in his life. There were a few wrinkles beneath her eyes, but they were barely noticeable. She carried a presence that brought Lucille a certain kind of warmth that battled through the cold she felt earlier.
Lucille nodded carefully, but her shivers betrayed her.
The nurse took off her long white coat and placed it over her like a blanket. The nurse gave her a warm smile as she assured,
"You should be resting right now. However, I do understand how sickening it can get being alone in a room. But be sure to return to your room once you feel alright, okay?"
"Where should I return this?"
The nurse turned her head to reply,
"I go by Revenant, and you can keep it."
"Thank you!" offered Lucille one time, as genuine as she could possibly be.
Soon after, the door to Walker's hospital room creaked open. He stepped out, fully dressed—black pants, white shirt, and a well-tailored vest—but his signature coat was missing.
Without giving Lucille a second glance, he started walking away.
Lucille attempted to stand up, but he was fully aware that was going to happen. He raised his hand without looking back and said,
"Don't bother. I'm taking care of some matters. If you want protection, find the Blazehearts."
She could only stare as he went away. Sent to an unknown land without a guide or anyone to look after her, she could only condemn her father. But this was also her only way to get their approval, so she swallowed it up and remained silent… not like she had any other choice.
This'll cost quite a penny…
At that moment, Walker wasn't even sure if he could afford going to the tailor.
Just like that, he disappeared out of Lucille's sight, and she sat there helplessly.
Her head grew heavy. The world spun. The diverse color of the passersby began to flicker, then eventually disappeared—and darkness enveloped Lucille's psyche as she fell asleep on the bench. Her head hit the armrest on her right.
---
…
Some hours later…
Walker traveled to the northeast of the Wainwright Settlement in the Berling District—a place filled with poverty, pollution, and plague.
He didn't bother putting on a mask, as his life wasn't something he treasured very much.
Expressionlessly walking through the streets, Walker saw rusted buildings, windows broken on some and blocked with planks of wood on others.
He felt sets of eyes glaring from all corners of the street. Coughs, screams, and cries were all that harmonized with the sound of the air and the loud waves of the ocean.
It was Saturday, so Walker knew exactly where the person he was looking for would be—and he went straight to the cemetery.
When he reached his destination, he saw iron fences surrounding the area. Tombstones were somewhat clear in the low fog that covered the place like clouds veiling the blue sky—except this wasn't beautiful, nor something one would want to gaze upon.
Men in tattered old clothes brought one corpse after another, all covered in whatever cloth the families had to offer. They were buried all the same.
The women wept, and so did the children, but some who were used to the occurrence stared silently, expressionlessly, as their loved ones joined the earth as one.
After surveying the area, Walker finally found who he was looking for. The man had remarkable white hair, very similar to Walker's, and he wore a casual suit and a white coat with black, straight linings.
Walker calmly passed through the crowd, hurdling past the families of the dead.
When he felt he couldn't reach a steady pace, Walker finally called out:
"Sir Noctis!"
The man named Noctis turned his head, revealing his cold expression and the eyes behind round, clear glasses. His white hair was long and tied—unlike Walker's short and unruly hair.
He fully turned around, looked at Walker, and responded,
"Mr. Soliraine. What brings you here?"
Everything turned silent to Walker's ears. He could neither hear nor feel anything. That was the presence of Noctis—the Peerless Hunter. Or so he was labeled.
And his name was the reason Walker had sought him. He wasn't there to chat about old times or how long it had been since they last saw each other—but because of a potential ruined future.
Noticing the stern look on Walker's face, Noctis simply turned around and asked him to walk with him.
"What happened?"
Walker recalled everything that happened prior to their meeting and revised it like it was his presentation day—but not as bright.
Noctis silently listened and finally gave his thoughts.
"So this father… have you learned his name?"
Walker shook his head.
"I plan to confront Edwin Byword about it—see if he has something."
Edwin Byword—a man secretly an enthusiast of demonology and the supernatural, also an ex-aristocrat.
They reached the river of the Berling District, the water foiled by the waste and remains of those who had taken their own lives or were thrown in. It had an inhuman stench, which made it undrinkable for the people.
Noctis leaned on the fence that extended to the right as far as the eye could see and connected to the bridge not far to their left.
He gazed upon the brown river and sighed. Then he took off his glasses, shook them left and right to close each temple, and slid them into his coat pocket.
"With that look, I thought you were going to ask me to sanction you again. Glad to know you're moving past that."
Walker clenched his fist, shook his head, and joined Noctis on the fence.
He kicked the pebble near his feet and replied,
"It's not that I've grown a sudden urge to live. It's just that no matter when I try, something always attaches me back to this realm."
"And that being?" Noctis asked, resting his right arm on the fence and looking directly at Walker.
"Evil… it almost killed that girl right in front of my eyes. I'm not sure if I can see anything like that again…"
His voice was determined but also fragile, fluttering between his resolve and emotions.
Noctis shook his head while rubbing his temples, fairly disappointed in the man who stood before him—especially one he considered like himself, to an extent.
"Still blaming yourself for what happened to William?"
Walker did not respond.
Met with the silence, Noctis remembered a question he had been meaning to ask for a while.
"What kind of evil do you hunt?"
Walker glanced with the corner of his eyes.
"Is it one you think is evil—or the one who commits it?"
He thought to himself for a while. Eventually, Noctis returned his gaze to the river and didn't wait for an answer. After all, it was something Walker needed to think about for himself.
The bubbles and the ripples forming on the water eventually started to distort in Noctis's eyes. The quayside wall on the other side of the bridge bulged and sucked within themselves, and his mind became heavier by the second.
Cough! Cough!
Noctis violently coughed blood, and Walker panicked. The quickest option he had was to offer his shoulder to get him somewhere.
They got on and started passing the bridge when Noctis slowly began to recover. While on his shoulder, he had a plan to provide.
"As… you can see…" his voice was hoarse, pained.
"I don't have much time."
He pushed Walker softly and stood on his own, breathing heavily while fixing his posture.
"Draw the demon out within time… and I'll purge it. That's the only help I can provide in my current state."
Walker stared in confusion. He thought of a man on his deathbed telling someone with an injury that he'll help them recover.
But even Walker knew better than to underestimate Noctis—someone who had survived The Collapse, the night where a door to the underworld was opened.
Noctis stood again as if nothing had happened and wiped the blood off his face, regaining his usual expression—but this time, it was rough, as if the bridge to his psyche was collapsing.
"I have somewhere to be. If it's my assistance you seek during a battle, then call out my name. That should suffice."
Walker nodded and could only stare at his back as he walked away—his form, coat, and hair making him look like a speck of light drifting away, leaving Walker to try and light his own.
Flakes of snow began falling from the heavens. Some fell on his hair, blending in, and the others on his shoulders. He opened his hand and let a few fall on his palm, then formed a fist.
With an exhausted tone, he said,
"This will be a long one."