This chapter introduces the first two guardians, Calleigh Jung(Tempus Odhran) by me and Kenichi Nakamura(Tempus Stamatios) by Soonyangel.

SEHUN...

                Always, every night -that same dream, that same fear, that same profound sense of longing. When he woke up each morning, he felt a sense of loss -a yearning that cut so deeply it transcended the bounds of reality itself. His alarm clock would ring and everything would change. He was a practically-legal, semi-adult with raggedy Converse shoes, with T-shirts almost always too big or too small for him. He had a third-hand iPod, a cellphone, and a small stack of classical novels(gathered from all parts of town and filled with side notes). He spoke in a rushed slang, played no sports, didn’t do fights, won none, lost none. The idea of dating –of screaming girls trying to get laid, of Facebook relationship statuses and hastily-texted endearments repulsed him.

                But for a few hours each night, he was somebody else. He was a warrior.

                He was home.

                It wasn’t exactly the best day for a birthday. The sky was misty and full of rain –the clouds looked as full and wet and ready to drip as kitchen sponges. Sehun woke up with a headache, in cold sweat. The dream always left him like that. At first it had him screaming like a banshee each time he woke up. But as time passed by, it became no more than a shocking lull that he’d learned to treat as if it was a mere movie he’d witnessed in his sleep.

                He looked around the stark dormitory. Taemin, two beds away, was still sleeping. Snoring like a monster. It was probably for the  best, he thought, owing what he wanted to do.

                “Sorry Taem,” he whispered to himself. “Pancakes are yours though.” Not that I ever ate my share by myself, he added as an afterthought.

                It was sort of a tradition in the orphanage that every birthday was met with a humongous breakfast: blueberry pancakes with cinnamon and chocolate. Sehun thought it was a waste of money, but it made the caretakers happy so he didn’t say anything.

                He crept around slowly, making sure no one was awake yet. Within half an hour, the first bus would arrive three blocks down and it barely gave him enough time to pack himself up properly. He threw on the cleanest clothes he could find –an old Abercrombie and Fitch shirt, a black hoodie and a slightly battered pair of denim pants –and tiptoed out of the house.

                Once out of the old gate, he dashed towards the bus stop. He made it. But only barely. He was so winded and out of breath he didn’t even have enough breath to answer the driver properly. “Stone –wheeze-bridge.”

                The sky seemed even more miserable than before. He wondered vaguely if it was merely chance or an omen that he wasn’t doing the right thing –he hoped it wasn’t the latter.

                He pressed his face against the frosty glass of the window panes, feeling the near-icy wind blow against his cheek. The bus sped on, through the neat suburban town –a sea of identical winking houses, of elegant gardens trimmed to perfection. And then they entered the woods. The long, winding country road that took him through the woods to the counties beyond.

                “This is it,” he muttered, watching the woodlands speed by. “I’m really doing this.”

                He smiled.

CALLEIGH…

(Devon, Cornwall)

                The sleek black Sedan wove through the countryside, unhindered by anything. The sun was just rising in the east, and although that was the case, some people were forced awake by the sheer need –or perhaps they were just forced. Calleigh was thinking along these lines as she coasted through the road. She laid her head on the heavily-tinted window(something she never got the point of) and looked out to the heavy woods bordering the wide road they were traversing. It was exactly the kind that she’d always explored.

                The woodlands were tamer in Cornwall, but they presented a kind of magic nonetheless. Every thicket did, she thought, echoing her adoptive father’s usual words.

                It brought back flashes of three months before. Max bidding her goodbye, all excited although it was already his seventh time in the Amazonian jungle. Waking up four days later with the sense of dread alive in her. Strangers walking into the common room. Rapid Spanish. She wasn’t  an expert on Spanish but one word she recognized: ‘Morte.’

                She shook the thoughts away, telling herself she must not dwell on such things. There was a reason Max sent her back to Cornwall –she needed permanence. She knew it. Steeling herself, she focused on the prospect of going to boarding school –not permanently, but perhaps for the remaining part of her higher education. However daunting that prospect may seem.

                As she neared her destination, the woods began to seem unfamiliar. The old pathways seemed to curve and wind in strange ways as she passed –the trees looked as if they were whispering to her, the branches contorting in angles not instantly recognizeable, the sound of rustling leaves was strong though the wind had long abated –not to mention the closed window. Something was definitely different.

                She stared at her hazy reflection on the glass –flaxen hair now dyed a dark brown, eyes obscured by the similarly-shaded contacts. It had been a puzzle to her aunt why she would do such a thing but she offered no explanations to her actions.

                “Calleigh?” Her companion’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts. The man was unfamiliar when she’d first seen him that morning. She’d thought perhaps he was her aunt’s driver –he certainly dressed like so, but he’d turned out to be Max’s lawyer. Personally, she couldn’t quite understand the workings of British will executions, and considering the fact that someone was appointed her legal guardian when she herself could survive alone(which Max knew so clearly), it was all fairly mind-boggling. “I do need to know your thoughts on this.”

                She didn’t bother looking at him when she answered. “It’s inconsequential, Mr. Benedict. I’d gladly just follow the will anyway.”

                “You have to wait but less than a year,” he continued. “And your inheritance will be at your disposal.”

                Calleigh wanted to stab the lawyer in the eye for insinuating that all she cared about was the money, but she remained impressively impassive. “I’d prefer to leave it alone, except for what I need to go to Oxford.” She blinked. “Or Cambridge. I’ve always expressed my desire to take up botany. Like Max.”

                “Dr. Stevenson was a brilliant scientist.”

                She nodded absentmindedly. “Yes, he was.” Her mind was on other things. This time, particularly what an unsatisfactory conversationalist Mr. Benedict proved to be.

                “He didn’t deserve to die.”

                Now that notion might have been appreciated, but since he said it to Calleigh(who was born with a sharp tongue and a chip on her shoulder), the whole sluggish point was lost to unassailable logic.

                “Everybody deserves death, Mr. Benedict,” she muttered. “Perhaps you should remember that. Death is a priveledge, not a punishment.”

KENICHI...

(Sapporo, Hokkaido)

                His finger scraped against the torn leather seat in the back of the smelly squad car. For an advanced country, he thought, Japan has some pretty useless crap. The being caught by the police was no big deal for him –he’d gone through that none too many times before. What bugged him was the aftermath. He’d just wanted to stop thinking about family –if you could call it that. He didn’t care what people thought. His step father was a creep. And no way was he ever going to go back to Korea while the bastard was alive –and that could take a long time.

                He whipped out a stick of cigarette from his jacket and deftly trapped it between his lips. With another smooth move, he lit it. The smoke, although vile, overpowered the smell of the cop’s nasty pork rinds up front. He turned his orange sunless-tanner face to glare at Kenichi. It was the same cop. For the past seventeen times he’d been caught, it had always been the same cop.

                There you go, officer, he thought. Knock yourself out.

                He knew the man hated the attitude as much as he hated the heavy liner around his eyes, which makes  the staring contest even better.

                The cop wouldn’t look away.

                Kenichi was pretty sure he had it in him to go another two minutes without blinking, but he cocked his head and busied himself with his hair. The cop continued to look at him with loathing, but he ignored it. He didn’t feel like fighting one more thing at the moment.

                “Kenichi, are you ever going to grow up?” The cop hit the brakes and veered to the side of the dirt road.

                Kenichi’s jaw clenched, ready for combat. Steady, steady, he told himself. Wait for it. The cop continued to stare but didn’t say anything. Didn’t even have the look in his eyes that he wanted to fight.

                What the crap? He thought, confused. Why was the cop acting this way?

                He stared out the window at the large thicket of trees. The alcohol in his stomach started to feel  wrong as he realized he was in the last place he’d be able to hide.

                A cloud of dust began to settle over the car while a wavy ridge of dirt peacefully formed across the white doorframe. It was an odd contrast to the war brewing inside the cab. He rested his head on the seat and tried to appear relaxed. The second the loathsome face appears and opens the door, he was going to kick him in the face and make a run for it.

                He knew it wouldn’t be easy.

                “What is it this time?” The voice gyrated his ears. “What is he doing here?”

                Kenichi cranked his head to the dusty glass and stared at his stepfather standing in front of the crumbling old mansion. The designer clothes he was wearing were nothing short of polished businessman. “Didn’t you get the memo?” he shouted. “This is the middle of nowhere. Nobody gives a damn how you dress here!”

                The wicked face that turned to him frightened him. Where did they think he could go? He looked around, thinking Houdini couldn’t have gotten out of the cage he was in. claustrophobia set in. even considerably small as he was, he’d been trapped like a wild animal long enough. He was ready to get out. He held his breath, counting the seconds.

As the door opened, he vaulted out. The two men blocked his way as if he was a madman trying to escape –which he probably was. With a roar, he kicked savagely, unwilling to be tethered. He caught his stepfather in the face when he executed the 360-degree Brazilian kick he’d been wanting to do for a long time now, but he didn’t have long to celebrate. The man crumpled to the ground soundlessly, but the cop was still coming at him. Desperate, Kenichi aimed a kick between the cop’s legs, making the former drop down on all fours, screaming in pain.

Then he ran.

He ignored the shouts, the shots, the sharp pain on his arm.

He just ran.

Ah... Back after such a long time. XD Sorry for making you guys wait for so long!