The clock had hit eleven-thirty, and Zephyr was already out of the library blending in with the bustling streets. Twelve o’ clock. The diary ritual indeed had the time of twelve o’ clock, but the preparations for that always started an hour earlier. Today he had been lost in the thoughts of Dr. Tenvor Autoski and his bizarre dealings with and Thus he couldn’t realize when the clock struck eleven.

  It was a rare work for Zephyr to walk with a scrunched face, and internally cuss at whoever was wearing gaudy fedora hat. The library was in the pavement was in and he was in was he expecting them to not wear

  Soon he had started walking in the alleyways which were much quieter, less busier. His sports shoes made no noise, and that made his mind drift to an almost meditative state. He wanted to be present as he had work – a ritual to complete. But when did he not have a hard time working?

  He was mid thought when a light flashed upon him, and he flinched, almost taking a stance. He turned his neck right, and it was a mirror reflecting the bright sun in the sky. Zephyr had anger on his nose right now, but he couldn’t curse at the fancy mirrors of never. Shades of red, shades of green, shades of blue, shades of purple – if they exist. All kinds of mirrors were everywhere in Of course, the house he was walking by was a very fancy one as it had almost all colours Zephyr knew – and didn’t know – in its windows and doors.

  wasn’t it was civilized. The alleyways he was walking through, and to be elaborate, the heart of the alleyways he was walking towards. They were a much smaller part of the city, somewhere like five percent of it? As he got closer to his destination, the scent of smoke and sweat became apparent, and rugged men in tank tops with grizzly beards could be seen gambling in the middle of the road. But what to say about it, they intentionally avoided meeting Zephyr’s gaze.

  His long strides made the distance much shorter than it was, and no longer than ten minutes later, he was standing before a house with an oak wood gate – no colour in the windows. His hand snuggled in the small pocket of his handbag, and with a cling and a clang he had hooked the house key on his fingers. It was a two-storey apartment, and with cyan blue paint throughout it – rather dull for a house in The door opened to a red, synthetic carpet market with ‘WELCOME’ in golden letters, and inside there was brown flooring, a set of sofa diagonal to the entry, and a television nailed just opposite to it.

  Zephyr entered and closed the door behind him; his shoes went straight to the shoe stand just beside the gate. In his one room apartment – in the outskirts of – he had already had his share of food so he didn’t even glance at the kitchen; he just leapt at the stairs beside it. There were three rooms in the first floor, brimming with cabinets, but he moved up to the last floor. It diverged into two paths – right and left – where the stairs ended. Right from there was a large room with a master bed, and again, cabinets everywhere. To the left, a small set of wooden stairs led up to a small attic. Zephyr moved to the left, and his quiet socks didn’t produce any sound in moving. The door to the attic was a bit cramped, but he yanked it open.

  In his sight now were familiar boxes which appeared to be made of rough wood patched up together parallely. Zephyr slouched to avoid hitting his head at the top, and went to a box marked with red paint: ‘101’. He pushed the wooden lid over it, and inside, it contained a shiny, black briefcase. It was heavier than it looked, but Zephyr put just the right amount of strength and lifted it out of the box then closed the lid again.

  It was eleven forty-two now, and Zephyr was in clear unease that he might miss the twelve o’ clock ritual today. He flicked the door back, and jumped down six feet instead of taking the wooden stairs – he almost slipped. In a rush but careful to not slip down, he dashed his way down clenching his feet. Five minutes went by and the phone displayed: eleven forty-seven. He was still a good five kilometers away from the destination. It wasn’t even rush hour but for some heck of a reason, in hundreds of taxis of he couldn't get one when he needed it.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Finally, like sheer luck in human form, a driver stopped before him who just boobed his head – continuously. When Zephyr rushed inside the taxi and settled on the backseats, he realized the poor guy was just swinging along with some country side songs. It appeared he had been longing hard to visit his hometown. Nonetheless, Zephyr was always a step away from chit-chat, and just asked the driver to drive fast. Of course, he handed the money for it before the talk itself.

  The skills of the driver were nothing less than what could be called – ‘mad insane.’ The guy – named Borello – slid through the traffic like crazy casually listening to some random song of jumping horses. In the meantime, hiding in the shade of the door of the cars, and the front seats, Zephyr had opened the suitcase and did some assembly. He paid Borello a goddamn hundred more than the fare. Borello’s jaw almost dropped to the floor, and he wet his pants, and shirt, from the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

  Zephyr could’ve said something but he didn’t, and it was already eleven fifty-eight. He was going to be late, but now, actually not so much. Just in front of him, diagonal to a four way intersection, was a tall building. And this was the destination – inside was the target.

  Eleven fifty-nine. Zephyr dashed to the entrance of the building where two guards were clad in grey uniforms – a revolving door behind them. The guards flinched watching Zephyr run towards them, but before they could do anything, he pulled out a HK USP Tactical and shot both of them. On the other hand, he pulled out another gun – a FN Five-seveN – out of his coat, and aimed right through the glass. The first broke the glass, and the second one cracked through the skulls of the guards inside.

  Hundreds of times. He had done this same thing hundreds of times inside and outside the The security was tighter than the last time – it always was – and five guards blitz out bullets with their assault rifles. But much to their horror, Zephyr could move between the bullets.

  A bullet grazed his shoulder, and he hissed but shot the last standing man. He didn’t risk taking the elevator – never did – and rammed his body at the door to the stairs to break the lock. The door fell down, and Zephyr rushed through the stairs. His speed was a tad inhumane.

  A scratch here or there, though, one bullet did pierce his left bicep. He killed the guards in one shot, and rushed up the stairs. The building was tall but with Zephyr’s speed it seemed to have shrunk.

  Twelve o’ clock.

  The clock hit twelve, and Zephyr grew faster. He could hear the helicopter at the terrace, so he lunged at the terrace’s metal door. It was thrashed open as the guards fired the moment it happened. Zephyr, though, was already past them as he pulled a grenade out of the coat.

  Zephyr smirked as he flung the grenade at the helicopter which had barely taken flight. He turned back and shot the guards, rushed his hand towards his handbag as the deed wasn’t complete yet. He didn’t have much time.

  He pulled out the purple diary from the inside, and pulled out a pen as he marked in it.

  Then he put a red cross before it.

  Twelve one.

  As soon as the clock went past twelve, Zephyr disappeared from the place and so did the purple diary. The bell tolls of death rung in the whole ecosphere again, and his guns, handbag, pens… everything lay there bare.

  Zephyr felt the soft touch of cold air with the sweet smell of pure water – a familiar taste of the air near the mountain range. It was freezing but pleasant, especially when nature added the singings of birds. If this wasn’t the lap of nature, Zephyr didn’t know what was.

  When his dreamworld shattered and his senses settled after this heavy traversing, he could feel his body again. His beak, claws, the air slashing against his wings, or… Zephyr opened his round eyes and what came to view was a chain of mountains, with a canopy of trees, and fresh, flowing water. The fact he didn’t like was that he was flying above it all like a bird and not standing on it like a human.

  Zephyr cursed at his luck, as with a decade of experience in travelling between these realms, he never became worse.

  Zephyr continued to flap his wing in quick successions, while his mind was doomed to the eternal hell of worries. Though, this time, his worries weren’t baseless at all, because he needed to find the statue to return back home. And nope, he couldn’t die just yet – the power had some cooldowns.