Inferno Rising (IR #1)

1 | Rise Up

Aszreal was telling me the truth. Cyelos is nothing like how I believed it to be when I was a kid. In school by my teachers and often by my own parents, of course, I was told many stories about this planet, explaining why it was so dreadful and cruel, like the tale about the little boy or the one about the “Creature of Darkness.” I know many, many more, but those are the two I can remember at the top of my head because, for whatever strange reason, they were my parents’ favorites. At five years old, those stories terrified me. The creature haunted my nightmares and I was afraid that one day, that little boy would be me. But, over the years, I practically had those stories memorized, unbothered by their harsh words and dark fairytales.

But all of those fears from my childhood quickly rose again the moment I was given the news that I was being banished. I was scared that those stories were going to come true, that I’d be tortured and ripped apart just like that little boy. That day was the scariest moment of my life, plummeting through space with a blindfold over my eyes, preparing myself for the impact with the ground. But the impact never came, nor was I burned, tormented, or attacked by a wild animal. Instead, I was saved, protected, welcomed like I was one of them. And to find out later that the planet was a perfectly habitable place, populated with people just like me? I was dumbfounded.

It’s been a week since Aszreal saved me, and I appreciate that, of course I do, but I know barely anything about her, which makes it awkward because both me and my parents are living in her house at the moment. My mom and dad are staying in the guest bedroom while I’m staying in a room that actually looks like it belongs to someone. It’s decorated, the bed is made, and there’s a piano at the end of the bed as well as an electric guitar. It’s not Aszreal’s, obviously, and I came to that conclusion simply by looking at the way it’s put together and, for the record, she’s been sleeping in her own room. But it felt safe to assume that it belonged to a boy. There were boxers in the dresser as well as long pajama pants, baggy shirts in the closet, game controllers beside the television, and several bottles of cologne in the bathroom. I tried all of them. Most of them had a very floral scent, like a combination of lavender and sage, while a few others had a very smoky scent.

I’ve been on bed rest for a few days now while my injuries have been treated by a friend of Aszreal’s, Ziggy Thomas who is evidently the nurse (but they call her the caretaker) of the academy, and to tell the truth, I’m grateful for her. She’s gentle and serene, understanding and utterly a sweetheart when it comes to taking care of me. I’m still injured, of course. My wounds aren’t fully healed, and my legs and arms are wrapped in bandages to protect the burns across my body. But I’m making progress. Ziggy’s words. A few days ago, I couldn’t walk. It was excruciatingly painful to even roll my ankle for exercise. I couldn’t adjust positions in bed, I couldn’t even move my fingers without sending a shockwave of pain throughout my entire arm. But now, I’m finally back to walking after resting in bed for so long. There’s a limp in my right leg, but I’m walking.

Later today or perhaps pretty soon, Aszreal is going to train me. She told me yesterday that I needed to get outside and feel some fresh air, put some meat on my bones and stay healthy, especially after how badly I was injured, and I didn’t disagree with her. I haven’t been outside since the day I was banished. I’ve been laying in bed, sleeping half the day and being examined by Ziggy the other half. Sometimes I waddle out to the living room with a single crutch under my left arm and kick my legs up on the ottoman while sitting on the rocking chair.

While I was relaxing on that chair, my legs propped and two pillows under my right leg to keep it angled and comfortable, the door to Aszreal’s bedroom creaked open. I’ve been telling her that she needs to clean her door hinges, and she keeps promising that she’ll get to it but she still hasn’t and it’s driving me crazy because I constantly hear the doors screeching like some sort of dying bird.