A Gorgeous White (BL)

It is intriguing to witness a peculiarity. Like a drop of ink, creating swirling tendrils on cool stagnant waters. However, that single oddity may taint, engulf, its vast depths dyeing the waters forever. This is what Jagra feels, caution and suspicion, as his eyes settle upon the perching bird, red as blood, feigning curiousity and innocence.      

As though sensing the man's suspicious gaze, the bird chirps. The sound is light and pure. However, Jagra remains unfaltered.     

The ground trembles at his feet. The crystals on the trees shook, clinking in pure noise like glass bumping against each other. Confused and afraid, Jagra kept himself balanced. His eyes darted around him, unable to decern the cause of the quakes. Then his head snaps to the branch where the red bird was only to find it empty. It was gone.      

The tremors grew stronger and stronger until Jagra felt as though they were caused by a herd of viciously heavy creatures. His theory was about to be proven right when his eyes were drawn towards past the edge of the forest where a thick fog covered the dark withering land. At first, he took in a few tiny figures hurriedly approaching him, slightly obscured by the dense freezing clouds.      

A few minutes later, Jagra's eyes widened when he finally recognized them. Hastily driving their mounts to the forest were the scouts who were sent a few days ago. The lizard-like creatures they rode appeared horrendous and absurdly massive. Taking a closer look, it seems they weren't alone.      

Breathing heavily as they approached closer, Jagra hastily ran away from the edge of the forest, carefully avoiding the sharp crystal shrubs around the white trees within the area.      

The scouts were being chased by one frighteningly large malibreed. It chased on all fours. Its drooling jaw hung open as though to sweep its prey down into its throat. Its sharp elongated claws lacerate the earth as it pursued the six men and their mounts. A deafening roar shook the forest nearly making Jagra stumble.      

However, the men reached the edge of the forest one by one, bumping into several trees and destroying a few of them. They were aware that they would face the consequence later but at least they survived three whole days without losing any men.      

The scouts slowed their pace within the forest until they came to a stop right before Jagra's stiffened form. Their gazes shifted to the malibreed hunting them who screeched to a stop before the forest. It cowered at the sight of the delicate trees and shrubs glistening in pure white. It seemed to value it's life more than chasing a few stubborn men as it hesitantly turned, retreating into the fog.      

The scouts sighed in relief before their leader spotted Jagra's figure nearby. He dismounted, boots landing on the ground with a loud thud, "Hey, friend! Great to see that they sent someone to welcome us home."     

Jagra blinked and was about to speak when he heard his name called from behind him. Ghana and the rest of the group arrived. The leader was delighted to see his superior and hurried to give his greetings to the female warrior. Ghana gave him a smack on the back before leading the men back to bridge.      

"Jagra? Let's go." She glanced at her friend who silently gazed at the fog.      

Jagra replied without looking at her. "Yes..."     

As they withdrew, the furious roars faded away behind them.      

.....     

"Then I shall return, Young master." Pola gracefully bowed after the long walk to Moulin's quarters.      

"Thank you, Pola." A basket of fagrant bathing oils, both scented and not, nestled in one of Moulin's arms as he received her friend's smile. He watched her walk away, smiling to others who passed by her. She seemed to be in a good mood.      

Moulin shut the doors behind him, glancing at the basket within arms in his interest. Ah, he wondered how Pola could obtain such luxuries. She even got him several of his favorites. It was laughable to think that he'd detest these things when he first arrived in this world. Now, these were his treasures, most especially hard to find and obtain during these times.      

Moulin hummed a happy tune, embracing his prizes and heading to the bathroom to store them. On the way, he glanced at the balcony. A violent gust beats the gauze-like curtains as though it was trying to shred it. Ignoring the oddity, he went straight to the bathroom.      

All of a sudden, the doors harshly opened right in front of him. Moulin froze.     

A figure emerged. A familiar man with a bare torso and only a thin towel, barely hanging on his hips sighed contently. The braids on his damp hair had come loose. Gold paint that doesn't seem to wash off his dark skin  adorned his muscular chest, his shoulders, and his face. He looked fierce and utterly lazy.      

The most significant thing Moulin couldn't miss was the gold tinge of his eyes. They were mysterious.      

"Ah!" The man stopped when he saw Moulin. Astonishment filled his face. He took a few seconds to stare at the aphrodite before speaking.      

"So... this is your quarters." His brows rose thoughtfully. "Well, I was in desperate need of a bath after a tiresome flight. Your balcony was the first thing I saw and so I helped myself."     

As he spoke, he dried his hair with a towel while approaching the open balcony. The wind brushed the towel tied to his waist, tugging it loose. Moulin frowned and looked away briefly before staring at the man's neck.      

"Thank you for your generosity." The man abruptly faced Moulin, grinning widely. Moulin did not speak and so the man continued, "Well, then..."     

He jumped on the railings, arms wide and full of pride. "Good bye."     

The moment he said those words, he fell back and Moulin's heart thundered. Shock filled his face as he rushed, dropping the basket of oils, and gripped the railing.      

WHOOSH!     

Moulin stepped back from the sudden gust, he lowered his arms and raised his gaze. A giant eagle soared in the sky. Golden feathers with a tinge of orange glistened. It's like the sunset. The massive bird then disappeared from his sight.     

"..."     

The wind calmed and the curtains fluttered delicately. Moulin is left standing, staring at the dim the sky with a blank gaze. Something tapped on his shoe and he lowered his head, finding a bottle of honey-scented oil beside his heel.      

"..."     

Sighing, Moulin lowered his head and picked up the bottles one by one. Morfaers. An intriguing type of beastman. They could change forms between man and bird. Moulin adored their fierceness. But were they normally this rude?     

Moulin stopped and hastily lifted his head. The bathroom! He picked up the bottles and vials, hurriedly bursting into the bathroom. The steam hadn't disappeared and the comfortable hotness brushed his skin. His pupils trembled as the sight. Large feathers floated on the tub water. Some were stuck to the floor and his stock of precious bathing essentials were scattered on the floor.      

A veins pulsed on Moulin's head. He kneaded his temples, forcing himself to calm down and left the bedroom. That bastard...     

Bang!     

"Moulin!"     

Moulin jumped in surprise as Emlen bursted into the room. His elder brother panted heavily with wide eyes.     

"Brother? What is it-"     

"Moulin, we... have a... problem." Emlen interrupted. He heaved, "It's about... the artifact for mother's revival."     

Moulin paled. Worry washed away every thought in his mind and he quickly approached his brother.      

..........     

The doors to Phaelona's drawing room opened. And the precious scent of green and flowers wafted into their noses. Moulin was the first to enter, hurriedly crossing the threshold, and meeting Phaelona's eyes who was sitting nervously on the couch at the center of the room. She wasn't alone.      

"Brothers..." Maxille lowered the teacup, lifting his gaze. He sat on the long seat. It was hard to discern his expression.      

"What happened?" Moulin asked as Emlen lead him to sit.      

Just in time, Colahn entered the room, carefully carrying the orb in his hands. "Is everyone here? Good-"     

"Not everyone."      

A deep voice spoke and it made every single person within the room stop. Their eyes traveled to the door where a weary man stood using a cane to keep himself stable. He was dressed in a few layers and Moulin looked at him worriedly.      

Moulin stood up. "F-Father..."     

The rest of the people rose and faced the Patriarch of the Fraunces nobility.     

"Father, you're here..." Maxille quickly approached him but Lord Dontae raised his hand to stop him.      

"Do not ever exclude me with matters regarding your mother." He declared with cold eyes and gazed at Colahn and Phaelona.      

"Forgive us, Your Lordship. Of course..." Colahn and Phaelona lowered their heads, internally regretful.      

Lord Dontae's gaze shifted and he made his way to take a seat. The atmosphere was tense but that didn't stop Colahn from speaking. When all was seated he exhaled, nodding lightly.     

"Then, let's begin."