Watches did not exist in the world of Roztock, so Khamene had no way of knowing what time it was. In the past, Roztockians depended on the position of the sun to determine the hour of the day, but Khamene was of the modern generation. His generation wasn't so skillful as their ancestors.
He made an educated guess that it was close to three o'clock. He no longer cared that he would probably miss his five o-clock class.
"Good girl," he said as he patted Daisy the horse. He had taken her out of the barn at Witcher Price without Professor Nem's permission. His first ever F grading was coming to him, but he likewise did not care about this anymore.
His father was keeping secrets from him, and he had to know what they were. The incidents that had been occurring in Wontaria were no longer just coincidences. They never were, he was positive.
Assuming that his father would tell Khamene everything, what happened next? He had no plan. What he was doing now was an act of impulsivity.
The plan depends on what he'll tell me, he thought, hoping that his father would loosen his lips.
Khamene's wanting to know of the truth was two-fold: the first was to know what the hell was going on in Wontaria and if there were any dangers hiding among them, and the second was for the two of them to begin repairing their relationship.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun was bearing down on him harshly. In his haste, he'd forgotten to pack a container of water.
"Haste breeds irresponsibility," his mother would tell him when he was younger. Khamene had always thought that it was a rip-off of another expression that he could only vaguely remember.
Daisy walked along the cobblestone path peacefully, the constant clop-clop-clop of her hooves a welcome sound to comfort Khamene. He'd reached the forked portion of the road. He pulled on the rope in his right hand, and Daisy turned in that direction.
The road leading to the left led to the village where the Mystic Coven lived. As the horse walked on the road on the right, Khamene looked at the distant village. By the entrance and the forest just outside the village were a few Wontaria Guards with their lances scouring the area for anything that could lead them to finding Mystic Chura. None of them saw him.
Ten minutes later, the trees around him tall and thick, the road still winding and eerily solemn, Khamene finally saw someone else on the road: a figure laying unconscious on the side of the road.
Khamene pulled on the ropes. Daisy obeyed and stopped on her tracks. He got down from the horse and slowly approached the man. A black cloak covered his body like a blanket, a hand covering his face.
"S-sir?" he bent down but kept his distance. Slowly he stretched his hand out to wake the man.
Upon contact, he felt that the man's skin was rough and rubber-like. Khamene forced himself not to pull away and shook the man's shoulder.
The man moved then, slow motions. First he raised his hand away from his face, then he looked at Khamene with squinted eyes. "W-where am I?"
"Sir, you're lying on the side of the road to Wontaria Castle," Khamene replied. He brought his hand back to his side.
The man looked around, wincing and held the back of his neck.
"Are you hurt?"
"I-I must have passed out." The man sat up, the movement like Dracula rising from his coffin. He rested his hands on his lap. "This is embarrassing."
"It's alright. Can you stand?"
"I think so." He held his hands out. Khamene took them and helped him on his feet. The man was taller than he seemed, probably a little over six feet. His face was clean and pale, his lips black.
"My, you're a very kind boy," the man said. "What's your name?"
The alarm bells in Khamene's head began to ring, but he didn't want to be unkind. "Khamene."
The man smiled, then nodded. "I know."
"W-what?"
"Now."
Khamene was about to say something when something tackled him into the forest. He screamed but was cut off as he thudded heavily on the ground. The first things he registered were the two large hands on his shoulders. Next was the face of a creature staring directly into him.
For the first time in his life, he'd come face to face with a Skullor.
The creature shrieked, slivers of foamy saliva scattering on Khamene's cheeks. He closed his eyes. Blood pounded in his ears. He couldn't believe what was on top of him.
"Get off me!" he yelled. He tried to raise his arms, but they were locked down by the Skullor's mighty grip. Its claws dug into his tunic and his skin.
The Skullor lifted its head then, and the man on the side of the road came into view. It crouched by Khamene's head and smiled. His teeth were black and decaying.
"Don't worry, we won't kill you," the man said. "Not yet, at least. You have to be alive to see your father die."
"No!" Khamene exclaimed.
Suddenly, the man's skin darkened, then molted. They disintegrated and flew like petals in the wind. Underneath his fake human skin was his true form, a Skullor. His head elongated into the monstrosity that it was.
"I-I thought. . ." Khamene was confused.
"What? That the sun hurts us?" The Skullor snorted. "It used to, but because of the anger and fear that your father brought to your world, our god grew stronger, gifting us with much needed strength and powers. Of course, like every other civilization to ever exist, there's a hierarchy. I'm on a certain level that's above the rest, which has its perks like shapeshifting." He clapped once, echoing like the boom of thunder throughout the forest. "Congratulations! You're the first to know."
"What?" Khamene looked between the two creatures. "What did my father do?"
The Skullor who could speak raised a bony finger and waggled it. "There's time for everything. You'll know soon enough." He turned to the other Skullor, then back to Khamene. Now. We have so many more things to do, so if you'll excuse us."
"No! Let me go!" Khamene kicked his feet. The heels of his sandals merely disturbed the dirt.
The Skullor on top of Khamene raised him a foot off the ground.
"Please!"
"You've been a naughty boy, Khamene," the higher Skullor said, standing up. "You were on your way to see your father, but we can't let you do that and ruin our plans."
Khamene tried to look below him, to see where they were taking him, but could only see fallen leaves and dead flowers on the brown soil.
The lower Skullor carried him five feet ahead, then threw him away as if he was a ragdoll. Khamene screamed and braced for impact, but two seconds later he realized that he was still freefalling. . . falling into a hole.
"Aughhhh. . ." Khamene reached the bottom of the pit that was like a sinkhole. It was about twelve feet and twice as deep.
His left elbow groaned in pain. He could already feel warm blood trickling from where the skin had scraped open. His shoulders ached. Otherwise, he was miraculously fine, no broken bones or deep cuts.
He looked up. The two Skullors peeked down on him. Then they looked at each other, communicated in a language Khamene didn't understand. The higher Skullor turned back to him.
"You made us do this," it said.
"Fuck you!" Khamene shouted.
The Skullors reared back their heads and disappeared. Khamene heard their footsteps until they were gone.
Khamene put his face in his hands, feeling like crying but no tears coming. With gritted teeth, he produced a growl. He punched the wall of the hole.
"Help! Help!" he tried.
A few minutes later, he sat down, hugging his knees to his chest. He buried his head between his knees and finally, finally, the tears came.