Searching For Andromeda 47 Dungeon | Part 5 Necropolis

"So this . . . is Necropolis."

"Well, we've been telling you that since you've awakened, 'no?"

They were now in the city of the dead just below. Upon walking through the isolated streets of the necropolis, Vashti had gone on and on about the history of the city, and Wahid's Vessel.

"Long ago, they said the Great Wahid shaped different miniature realms as a trial to perfect his creation, which is the world. It resulted in dungeons—enormous buildings that erupted from the ground all over different places without warning."

"Ooh," Samuel exclaims. "How many dungeons are there?"

"I'm not sure, but this small town—Alaris—has one." Says Vashti. "But there are other dungeons. Some even located at the Dark Sea, or the Escota Pacific."

"So Wahid created these . . . dungeons . . . for experimental purposes?"

"Precisely," Hosea says, who was walking ahead of them. "But Wahid did not just create the dungeons just because He felt like it. He created them in search of the Worthy,"

"The 'Worthy'?"

"He's talking about a ruler," Pelmon says. "The person who can rule the whole world."

"The one who can rule the whole world?" Samuel repeats. "You mean a king?"

"Correct,"

"Aren't there monarchs here?" Asks Samuel. "If I could recall correctly—which I COULD—you said that there are royals here."

Vashti smiles. "The monarchs who established their own countries had ancestors that are bestowed with Wahid's Vessels."

"Meaning," Pelmon exclaims, "Years ago, their forefather went to some other dungeon and conquered it, thereby attaining the Tome of Knowledge."

"Hmm, I see," Samuel says, and then glances over to Yael.

"Yael doesn't want to be king," says Hosea, answering the question written all over Samuel's face.

"I thought this Wahid's Vessel makes you a king?" asks Samuel, tilting his head to show his confusion.

"Well, figuratively," Hosea says. "Long ago, Wahid created these dungeons to find a worthy ruler that could unite the world. They are called the dungeon conquerors. But then instead of searching for the one who's worthy to become the ruler of the world, the captors established their own countries instead."

"Well . . . I can see why they did it, though." Samuel says, which gathered the group's attention. Even Yael's.

"You do?" Asks Vashti, clearly astonished with Samuel's statement.

"Yeah." Samuel answers. "For peace, I guess."

"How can you say so, Youngling?" asks Yael.

"Well, for one, the world I live in has independent countries, each with their own culture, each with their own beliefs and history." Says Samuel. "Some tried to invade territories in the past, to unite and all that stuff, only to fail."

"So, you think it's better this way?" Pelmon asks. "The world is divided?"

"Well . . ." Samuel struggled to speak, noticing the looks the group was giving him. Usually, he could talk without the slightest care, but he was in the midst of a place where he isn't familiar to. He was worried about the task force on the back of his mind, and there was something about the group that held him from blabbering mindlessly.

"What country are you from, by the way?" Asks Arletha. "And how come you're in Alaris?"

"It's really far from here." Samuel exclaims. "And I told you all that I really don't remember anything. Maybe my team knows what happened." It was true. Maybe when they fell from that tunnel, he was carried by Berthold, and then they got separated. The possibilities were endless.

"Well, he's still a Youngling," says Vashti. "He won't know things. Go easy on him, you guys."

"Y-yeah, I completely forgot about that," Pelmon says.

"And a sheltered one, at that," Arletha exclaims.

"Who're you calling sheltered?" Samuel argues.

Hosea chuckles. "You did look like one of the n.o.bility, Youngling. I apologize on behalf of my group."

Samuel understood them a bit. He had a platinum-blond hair taken care of by shampoo and conditioner, and a fair, flawless skin which complimented his electric-blue eyes. These characteristics were achieved by technological advancements (and genetics). Unlike the people here (who, clearly, were from another era), Samuel had the advantage of getting products that helped him develop a good look. Plus, he was a researcher. He made his own soap.

"Let's camp right here for a while," says Pelmon.

They arrived in one of the city's run-down monument with only a wall leaning alone to thin air. The place was isolated with no sign of life. In fact, it was ghost-quiet, and eerily silent. Samuel turned his head towards the east. "The sun is setting . . . well, one sun."

"Just enough time to prepare for the night," Hosea says. "I'll be chanting the barrier for protection. Vashti, can you help me with the spells?"

"Sure, Hosea~"

"I'll be cooking dinner, then!" Says Pelmon. "Care to help me, Arletha?"

"Like I hav'a choice," Arletha answers with a smile.

Each had their businesses to tend to, leaving only Samuel alone with a person he wasn't exactly comfortable with.

Yael.

Samuel shook off the thought. This man saved his life.

"Hey, Yael was it?" Asks Samuel—which was perfectly a dumb thing to do given the fact he was considered to be a genius with a high retention rate. He remembered the name the same time he woke up. But then again, these people don't know who he was. An act of forgetfulness to start a conversation would do.

"Hm," Yael answers, not even glancing to at least look at Samuel. The two of them were now sitting in a rock—a fallen pillar���with Vashti conjuring fire from the woods gathered by Pelmon. They were also rounding up some staples the group had bought from a certain sack carried by Arletha from her backpack. Samuel watched them work as the sky slowly dimmed and darken, the place now coated with the hue of autumn leaves as dusk took over.

". . . do you believe,"

Samuel lifted his gaze, turning his head to Yael, who was looking ahead—his dark pupils reflecting the campfire.

"That the world is better not united?"

Samuel gave no reply. Instead, he eyed Yael apprehensively.

"Do you want to be king, Yael?" He asks—out of impulse.

Yael narrows his eyes. "Many had suffered just to get to this dungeon. Not all had reached Necropolis. Even Lords sent a thousand men to the dungeon, only never to return."—a pause—"all because they desired to be royalty."

"But isn't that the essence of Wahid's Vessel?" Samuel asks. Strangely, it did not sound too strange for him now. Humans really are adaptable creatures.

"The essence of Wahid's Vessel is to make you stronger," says Yael. "Strong enough to be a ruler."

"Meaning?"

Yael stood up.

"Meaning," Yael says. "It's all up to you how you could use that power."

Samuel stares at Yael's back. "Then how will you?"

Silence.

Yael left without answering Samuel's question. Sam stared at the fire. It was like any other fire he sees. Burning. Scorching. It wasn't out of the ordinary.

But this. Everything aside from the fire was something completely unknown to him. A foreign land.

The crackle of the burning wood made him think. Think about the embers in the fireplace back at the penthouse. It made him think of Berthold. The task force. The laboratory. The monsters.

For the fifth time, Samuel sighed.

He wonders. Where are they now?