The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

"It is heartening to see one so devoted and caring. Truly, he is blessed. I come in peace and to bring news." A low yet magnetic soft voice filled the room, reaching Oscar behind the partly opened door. Just from the gentleness in the tone, Oscar envisioned a grass field under gentle sunlight, a breeze swaying the blades, not too harsh to tear them from their roots. The person was open and welcoming as if he had nothing to hide. Oscar frowned. The voice sounded familiar but hard to place on a face, his mind struggling to think of who he was and failing every time.

"No! You're not welcome here." Avril's harsh and demanding tone cut apart the soothing air brought upon by the stranger's words. Her labored breathing grew louder, and she diminished to a low, feeble whimper, pleading, "Please. Leave us alone. She begs him and blocks the door. Oscar has suffered enough. Let us live in peace."

"That is not up to me or anyone else. Fate has determined it, and no one can change it. Forgive me, girl. I am simply here to say what I have to say. After that, I will leave you two alone. Is that fine with you, Isaac's heir?" The stranger called out to him, and Oscar opened the door with a loud creak, wheeling out to the living room.

Stunned, Oscar stared blankly at the figure in front of Avril, who had been blocking the doorway by spreading her arms. All at once, a flood of memories he had seen before resurfaced, a new face now appearing in various scenes once obscured by a veil. The man wore white imperial robes, the kind for emperors and kings, the fabric seeming to absorb the light of the Beak of Ra, enveloping him in a holy glow. The black mantle dampened the light, revealing his face, a human-shaped mask of pure gold. His gloved hands rested on the crystal scepter. Ollanar, the Trigem Primaere, the leader of the Defiants, had arrived at his doorstep.

"Oscar?" Avril snapped her head toward him, sweat beading down her forehead. Her legs were trembling, yet refusing to kneel down. She bit her lips and covered Oscar from Ollanar's gaze, again denying the Primaere. "Please leave. There's nothing for you here."

Oscar couldn't believe how Avril defied the Primaere, a Trigem Primaere as well. Her back was small, shoulders and arms thin, yet she dared to oppose the greatest powers in the world for his sake. Oscar clenched on the armrests, wishing he could run off his wheelchair and hug her with all his heart. He hit his legs, demanding them to move, but they remained silent, rejecting his call. Avril deserved better than someone who could not move for her sake. He wheeled over and smiled at her concern, worry across her face.

'Ah, I'm the luckiest man in the world.' He thought. Oscar reached up and pulled down her left arm, grasping her hand in his. He kissed the back of her hand and reassured her, "Avril, everything will be fine. He has come for me, and we can't deny our guests. Can you go out and pick some good fruits for a pie? I can't eat enough of them."

"I'm worried." Avril knelt, every word of concern warming his heart. Oscar nodded and wiped the faint tears already forming at the corners of her eyes, flicking her forehead to which she pouted. Avril glared at Ollanar, not at all respectful of the Primaere, yet Ollanar's gentle pool of yellow pupils never changed, ever still and radiating warmth. Her lips tightened as if she wished to speak further but stopped herself. Her figure swept past the masked Primaere and vanished down the road into the white, fiery forests.

With her gone, silence ensued between Oscar and Ollanar, neither speaking but staring. Oscar scrutinized the leader of the Defiants with a critical eye, and the difference was clear simply by the air surrounding them. A single thought, and he would be dead. Sweat trickled down his jaw, partly from standing before a man who could kill by a snap but mainly from how Avril had been at death's door the entire time, and she would have known; any Exalt would know. He unknowingly chuckled at himself, at his own weakness. His courageous wife shouted at a Primaere while he failed to muster even a squeak.

"May I come in?" Ollanar slightly bowed respectfully. "It is customary for the guest to bow and ask before coming in."

"Yes, but I'm afraid there's no tea to be drunk or meal to be shared. Only us." Oscar wheeled back and gestured at the empty table. He took the place at the head of the table.

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"I did not mention your wife's sister to her. From how she reacted, I knew she didn't know, and you didn't tell her." Ollanar walked closer.

"Why?" Oscar asked. He recalled Avila from Demon's memories, one of the Defiants serving Ollanar.

"Far be it from me to coerce or use another as a bargaining chip. They are sisters; thus, they should reunite with smiles and tears of joy, not worry and desperation." Ollanar paced around the room, looking over the furniture and halting at the empty wall. "You should hang up some paintings. May I recommend a good painter? It would be her honor to paint a couple like you two."

"You know her sister is one of yours?" Oscar found it hard to believe.

"I know the names and faces of all who follow me. That is the least I can do for the sacrifices and deaths they suffer from my orders." Ollanar placed a palm on the white wall, patting it with a nod. "But why haven't you told her?"

"I–" Oscar fell silent. He felt guilty for hiding the fact from Avril for the entire month after his return. Part of him worried, afraid that she might put herself in danger to chase after her sister into the claws of the Defiants. But truly, he knew he kept it secret because he wanted her by his side, all for his selfish desire to keep her close. "I'm a bastard, a selfish bastard."

"No, you're not." Ollanar took the seat at the side and reached into his dimensional cube, pulling out an unopened bottle and two chalices. The metal of the chalices sang a clear ring, a tinkle of metal on the hardwood table. The unopened glass bottle, filled with wine, thunked on the table, the purplish liquid swishing inside. With a loud pop, the cork separated from the bottle, the aroma of thousands of intricately woven scents flooding all over. The wine was poured into the chalices. Ollanar carefully slowed down near the end, allowing faint trickles to drip into the surface until one final drop rippled across the wine, calming the small bubbles and stilling the liquid.

"Here, have some. Made them myself." Ollanar lifted a chalice and placed it before Oscar. The Primaere chuckled. "Once a lifetime ago, I grew up in a vineyard. My family is from a long line of vintners. I remember how I helped my father by crushing grapes under my bare feet." He glanced to the side, eyes blinking in deep remembrance as if he was reliving the memory. He held up his chalice and reached out to Oscar, presumably to clink glasses. "Have a taste. Let it settle for a few moments before you take it in."

Oscar raised his chalice and returned Ollanar's gesture, then the two sipped. Ollanar watched him, his yellow eyes observing his reactions, but Oscar didn't feel anything, not a ripple in his expression or a twitch in his thoughts. It tasted incredibly bland. The Ein inside the wine burst out, like rivers under a storm, flooding his veins, but he still didn't feel the heat nor the comfort of the draught. He set his cup down and apologized, "I'm sorry. I don't taste anything."

Ollanar said, "They say my wine is the finest, with Ein swirling in every sip. But I can never replicate that taste of home, the small sips I partook in with my family as we rested on the hills, overlooking the vast fields. The wine will never be the same for you and me because it is no longer the time or place we wish it should have been drunk. For me, the taste can never be the moments with my family, my father's satisfied sigh after a hard day's work. What ails your wine, Isaac's heir?"

His friends and family came to mind. Oscar closed his eyes, unwilling to cry before the Primaere. Recalling a memory, he said, "My friends. Particularly Fred. He'd always stash a bottle here and there and sneak out with me to drink while Emily was gone. Often, she'd find us and punish Fred before having a sip herself. They…they…."

He stopped talking, the emotions too difficult to contain. Ollanar sighed and clasped Oscar's shoulder like a father would a son. He confessed, "Sometimes, I regret becoming an Exalt; the simple life I once had all gone, ashes to the wind, dust to the waves of time. I've seen too many of my friends and my followers fall. I wonder what if. What if I never became an Exalt? Would it have been a life spared from pain or one in which I would have endured a different one? What of you?"

"I don't know. But I know I miss them. I miss them all. I miss my parents, who always smiled on the farm, and friends who stood by my side. I miss my subordinates, with whom I always shared a meal." Oscar opened his eyes, shaking his head. "But I'm done now. I still have her. I still have Erden."

"And what do you want then?" Ollanar asked.

"To raise a family, to love my wife, to live in peace with her and my friend until my life runs its course. I quit. There is only pain if I keep fighting." Oscar said.

"A good dream, the end any would desire. I, too, held similar aspirations, but fate determined I become a Primaere and keep living on, to fight to the end of my days." Ollanar sighed, tilting down as he gripped Oscar's shoulder slightly tighter. "And fate has set you to keep fighting as well. Cursed men we are."

"And why is that?" Oscar raised his voice. Why did this Primaere come here?

Ollanar coughed and thumped his chest with his palm. He spoke gravely, "Fallen Heaven is nigh. No one can escape it. Especially not you."

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