Chapter 180: The Queen And The Sword (1)
Kestrel paused briefly, allowing her psychic ability to gently flow into Brandon’s psychic landscape.
Inside Brandon’s psychic landscape, everything looked shattered. The ground beneath was crumbling, hardly offering any solid ground to stand on. The sky overhead was a mix of strange and unexpected sights.
Massive gaps resembling open mouths seemed to chatter nonstop. The stomachs of bugs throbbed as they produced eggs; delicate wings of butterflies were gradually torn away by unexpected hands, and fearful eyes peeked from behind slightly open doors... The view was a wild mix of confusing images; everything was mixed up and out of place.
In this place, Brandon’s memories were all jumbled. Those memories about rebellions, secret plans, and attempts to take down the Tower appeared to be covered by a mysterious blue wing. They were smudged together, turning into one unclear blob, hidden from sight. Only scattered, hard-to-understand pictures were left.
So, Kestrel realized, the Queen likely didn’t find what she was looking for here. And Kestrel wasn’t sure of her next step either.
Suddenly, a blue butterfly with a wobbly flight approached. Even with its single, torn deep blue wing, it bravely flapped in front of Kestrel.
"Please, come with me," Kestrel heard the gentle, youthful voice of the beta.
Then she saw a figure — it was the beta’s psychic incarnation. Although only half of him seemed intact, he persevered, existing within the maze of Brandon’s psychic landscape.
Kestrel started following the butterfly, journeying through this wild world where human body parts and eerie insect forms rained down.
The small blue butterfly, glowing like a precious sapphire, led the way for Kestrel. It was a beacon of clarity in this mixed-up realm. As it flapped its tattered wing, it would occasionally glance back, perhaps worried Kestrel might lag behind.
Since both of them were betas, they understood each other without words. Kestrel could sense the butterfly’s mix of worry, sadness, strong resolve, and a driving need to rescue someone no matter the cost.
So, carefully stepping over a jumble of faces, eyes, and insect forms, Kestrel hurried after the radiant blue butterfly, swiftly moving through the expansive mental world.
After what seemed like forever, they came upon their end goal: a worn-down alley filled with trash, where rats and cockroaches scuttled around in search of food.
In the dimly lit alley, two young boys, twins, walked closely, their hands clasped tight. Their bond was so strong, they seemed almost like one person, always staying connected.
The skinny boys shared a corn cob, munching on it turn by turn, not even sure of its origin.
"This might just be the tastiest thing ever," commented the leaner twin.
"When I grow up to be a true alpha, I’ll get this for you all the time. Maybe every month. No, every single week," responded the other, who bore a striking resemblance to a young Brandon.
Brandon’s mind was on the brink of collapse, showcasing the most profound and harrowing memories of his life.
Side by side, the two boys were sharing their meal when the sound of a door interrupted them. It slowly creaked open, casting a dim rectangle of light onto the wet ground. Within that patch of light, the silhouette of a grown man appeared.
To any onlooker, he might seem just like an average middle-aged man, possibly the boys’ father. He had thick glasses perched on his nose and his thinning hair looked unkempt. Yet, to the young eyes of the boys, this man held an intense and fearsome power.
In the psychic realm, the man’s head began to grotesquely enlarge. His face twisted with anger, horns protruding from his forehead like those of a demon, and he let out an otherworldly scream.
Kestrel, attuning her senses, identified the sound. It was eerily similar to the whistle of a kettle as water boils.
With rage in his eyes, the man lunged at the boys, a pot of boiling water in his grip.
Without hesitation, young Brandon dove in front of his brother, absorbing the full force of the burning water on his back.
Kestrel, viewing this memory, felt a wave of pain as if the boiling water had been splashed onto her. It felt so real, so searing.
Suddenly, a fragment of a blue butterfly wing expanded before Kestrel, shielding her and warding off the intense pain.
Through the translucent glow of the wing, Kestrel watched in horror as young Brandon began to dissolve under the blistering heat, akin to melting wax.
The entire memory around her warped and distorted, as if made from wax. As it all came undone, Kestrel plunged into yet another memory.
She found herself in a cramped room filled with several young faces, though they were indistinct and blurry.
Brandon, younger, leaned against a door, his gaze distant, peering through a wide crack. Beyond the crack, numerous pale hands adorned with opulent rings methodically ripped wings from butterflies.
The hands were deliberate, moving from one butterfly to the next in a heart-wrenching cycle. The once brilliant blue wings, now marred with red, littered the ground.
Kestrel’s instincts told her to reach out, to pull Brandon away from the door.
But then, from deep within Brandon’s entranced eyes, a flame kindled. It surged through him, using his body as fuel, spreading like wildfire.
The room was quickly engulfed, the ferocity of the blaze threatening to consume everything. Within the heart of the inferno, Brandon was being overtaken, his form being lost to the flames.
Suddenly, a strong arm stretched out, hoisting Kestrel to safety, away from the devastating firestorm.
Kestrel gazed upon the beta, who had magnificent butterfly wings. This beta had the look of a young boy with strikingly good looks and a voice that was melodic and soothing to the ears. Part of his body appeared ethereal, almost like you could see right through him.
"It’s not too late," he murmured, sadness evident in his voice. His words seemed meant for Kestrel, but maybe he was also trying to reassure himself. "There has to be hope still."
Despite one of his wings being torn and having difficulty maintaining its flight, he deftly carried Kestrel above a blazing sea of flames, through a realm of utter chaos, until they reached the calm shoreline of a peaceful lake.
This lake stood still and serene, bordered by water plants that moved gently with the breeze. Amidst the dewy grass, tiny lights from fireflies speckled the surroundings. Two identical boys were seated by the water, fishing together, their hands intertwined. Every so often, a fish would leap out, causing the nearby blue-winged butterflies to flutter in surprise.
"See, in this psychic world, I appear as a firefly and you’re a butterfly," the younger twin explained to Brandon. "That doesn’t make me any less than you."
"Being a beta doesn’t mean we’re weak like the tales suggest. I don’t dream of the Tower. I aspire to be a fierce warrior when I grow up. Then, it will be my duty to shield you."
Brandon chuckled, "That’s the spirit. Betas have their own strength." His face, not hidden behind glasses then and illuminated by the soft glow of fireflies, bore a bright, youthful smile. "Promise me you’ll have my back in times to come."
Suddenly, Kestrel descended from her aerial view. The scene with the twin boys by the lake began to blur and fade. In a fleeting moment, the shimmering fireflies and the radiant blue butterflies vanished into thin air.
The once vibrant lake now seemed like a lifeless, murky pond. Floating above this inky water was a colossal firefly. It was Brandon, transformed into a hybrid – part insect, part human, representing his alpha status.
This firefly version of Brandon seemed to be sinking deeper into the water, with its faintly glowing belly submerging. The upper human half – his pale chest and arms – floated just above the water.
Brandon lay there, suspended in the mire of the lake, his gaze fixed on the tumultuous skies above, looking eerily like a lost soul.
