The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

She was there the entire time. Memories of the past years flooded Oscar's mind as he saw each and every day spent in this home, his heart warmed by the ceaseless hours of one-sided conversations and caring love. Every tender word, the cadence of her sonorous voice as she spent her time talking to him, thumped his heart, and tears trickled down his face. He gripped the armrests and tried to stand; oddly, only his hands pulled him up, the legs refusing to move even an iota of a muscle. The strength from his arms lifted him from the wheelchair, but his legs still failed him, and he fell forward.

'I can't fly?' Oscar continued to fall and watched the clean, white floor draw closer to his sight, struggling to will his body to float as the tiny slits between the wooden panels became wide as roads. Yet, the natural flight all Exalts in Knight and above should have was no longer in him. Why? The fall seemed slow in his perception, his body moving down at a snail's pace, but he was even slower, unable to bring his hands down fast enough to stop himself. His nose almost slammed into the floor, but a soft pair of arms swooped in and caught him.

"I'm here. I'm here. Don't worry. I'm here." Avril embraced him.

'I'm here.' The words echoed in his ears. Deep in her embrace, choked by the familiar, intoxicating scent that swelled in his lungs, causing his chest to heave, Oscar relaxed, his guard lowered, and he cried, an indecipherable, primal cry akin to a baby's first leaving his mouth, muffled in her chest as his tears drenched her robe. He had lost everything, or so he thought at the time. But now, Oscar remembered. He had her. He had Avril. No strength remained in his legs, but his arms held tight, wrapping around her back like steel bands, unwilling to let go.

"I'm not going anywhere, my dear. She reassures Oscar that she's not a dream or a phantom, stroking his head. Today, her husband has returned, and she would never leave. I'm here." Avril returned his tightness twice-fold. A spell of dizziness overwhelmed him; the relief from her words, the softness of her embrace, and the warm beating of her heart in his ears drained his power and lulled his eyes to weaken. She started to hum softly, and he couldn't resist anymore, overtaken by deep sleep. Still, his arms clung on, shaking in fear that she might be gone the moment they let go.

When Oscar woke up, he couldn't see anything, only a sheet of white stretching in his gaze. Upon closer inspection, as his senses regained their acuity like rust scraped off fine metal, he realized he was still in Avril's hold, his head buried in her tender embrace, the white being part of her robes. Her hand ran over his head in a smooth, slow caress, repeating in a steady motion back and forth. Parched, he coughed, and her body shuffled downward. A pair of golden eyes, the most dazzling in the world, stared into him.

Avril didn't say anything, smiling and bringing her face closer. Before he could say a word, he felt her soft lips on his. He pulled her closer since his arms had already grabbed her the entire time, pressing his mouth more into a deep kiss. Avril jolted slightly, a slightly muffled yelp sounding between them, but soon relaxed and melted into him. The taste of her–the alluring scent carried by her–the warmth of her softness pressing into him was addictingly sweet. He kissed her for a long, wondrous time. At times, Avril would try to pry away from his hold, but he was relentless, escape futile before his desire. The muffled moans and the hot breaths from her flaring nostrils spurred him on.

After a long, drawn-out kiss, Oscar finally separated, both desperately seeking air in deep gasps. Across from him, his wife let out a sweet moan, her eyes glistening with tears drawn by delight and the ecstasy from the kiss, noted by her faint grin and her ripe-red cheeks. She reached out and stroked his face, the palm hot on his skin.

"I've been waiting for you for so long." Avril lifted his head. "It's been ten years since we started living here. Every day and night, she waits for her husband, the kindhearted man, to remember he has a promise to keep. Finally, he returns and starts with a long kiss, you idiot."

"Ten years?" Oscar frowned. "How long…how long has it been since–" He coughed, uncomfortable as his stomach squeezed into itself. Something was wrong. His blood chilled from his veins, his skin paled, and he shivered, choking as if he were naked in the snow. He didn't want to finish the sentence.

Avril took his hands in her grasp, the warmth tickling his fingertips. "You're cold…" She bit her lip and touched his back, drenched by cold sweat, which he didn't know had happened until the wet cloth shocked his sensitive skin, inducing a rare yelp. "It's been forty years since the war."

"F-forty?" Oscar stammered. He lifted his back from the bed, gritting his teeth in horror at his legs. Why couldn't they move? He nudged and jabbed into his thighs and knees, the feeling of touch and pain still reaching him. So why? Oscar grunted and strained himself, clenching his hands as he tried to fly, and again, it failed. He settled back in bed, staring wide at the ceiling, puzzled by the changes to his body.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"I can't walk. I can't fly. What's wrong with me?" Oscar said.

"There is nothing wrong. You are you." Avril's face covered his view, the indigo hair spilling down on his face. Suddenly, she raised him from the bed and sat him in the wheelchair, kneeling to tinker with the wheels, loud squeaks turning silent from each crank of a screw. She cupped his face from above and kissed his forehead, tender love spilling from her golden gaze. "No matter what. Even if your legs fail you, I will be your legs. If you can't fly, I will hold you on my back to the sky. So rest. She wants her beloved to rest."

"Rest?" Oscar had almost forgotten that word. Yes, he could rest now. His right arm rubbed his wet eyes, and he realized it was soft, not that soft due to the dense muscles, but softer than he remembered. Rolling up his sleeves, he rotated his hand around the wrist, unable to twist further when it had been able to on artificial joints, and pressed his finger along the forearm. True bones extended where metallic shafts had been, thick muscles hardened where fibrous, crafted threads had once entangled, and regular skin stretched where thick armor plating should be. The artificial arm was gone. Oscar chuckled and massaged the fleshy palm.

"Thank you." Oscar leaned back, glancing at his wife from below.

"Wait until you see dinner," Avril whispered, pulling on his ear after.

Outside, he squinted, blinded for a moment by the flash of light. Adjusted, Oscar peered over the table, gulping at the feast tightly packed, some plates halfway off the table. Its contents consisted of many familiar dishes he knew for certain he had tasted in the past. A great roast pig steamed from the center, baskets of baked chicken legs in a special rub of spices, a large fish cooked in sauce, and many other dishes greeted him, their herby and salty scent leaking drool from his lips.

Oscar tasted one, then another, and more. He recognized the flavor and fought back the tears. They won and ruined the flavor by spilling into his lips and salting the food. These dishes were his master's, the same kind of feast and heartening dishes cooked at the end of arduous training. 'Master…' Oscar had to hold back from crushing the fork, his grip straining to crush it in grief. The figure of the black-armored man he called his master stood before him, the large back covering him from Saul.

The fork fell and clattered loudly on the floor, the sauce and bits of meat dirtying the clean white wood. Oscar didn't know why, but he dug his nails into an iron grip on his head and wailed, his mournful cry numbing his ears. He wished he could dig his hands deeper into his head, past the skull, and pull out the ailing part, cut out the memory. 'Stop!' He saw his master fighting until the end when Draven became a lonely figure kneeling dead on the ground, foul wounds adorning his body. Unable to breathe, he gasped and jerked around in his wheelchair.

Someone pushed him away and palmed his ears. Avril locked her gaze into his and tapped her forehead against his. "Calm down. Calm down. It's ok to cry. It's ok. Take as much time as you need."

After a few minutes, Oscar sighed, relaxed, and freed his head from his grasp, faint blood clotting on his fingertips. Avril wiped them clean with a bright smile and brought a piece of roast pork to his mouth. Seeing her cover her nose made him laugh. Oddly, it felt better when she fed him, making the pain bearable. After the meal, she carried him to the bath, a hot, steaming pool of near-boiling waters. He tried his best to calm down, fidgeting as the waters splashed lowly. Avril dipped into the bath, her alluring figure hidden by steam and water, and leaned on him.

Had the years apart weakened him? He wasn't this embarrassed when they first got married, and he had ten years' worth of memories, every day spent in the bath with her. Yet, his mind went blank when she dipped her head in the pool and rose, the water trickling down her indigo hair and the heat flushing her shoulders red, looking appetizing to bite like an apple.

Once they finished with the bath, Avril had to dry him off and dress him, which was quite embarrassing for him. Oscar entered the room and was helped by Avril onto the bed. Suddenly, she toppled over him, his heart racing as she sat on his stomach. Avril pecked him on the lips slightly, pulling away before he could entrap her in another long session. Tucking back her hair, she glanced down at him, her golden eyes gleaming with desire.

"I can't move…." Oscar reminded her of his legs.

"I know." Avril traced her finger on his chin. "But I can. Relax and let me." She drew closer and deepened her kiss as if she had been waiting for this moment for many years. The next few hours were of indescribable pleasure, his beloved wife taking the initiative in ways he could never have dreamed. She never averted her golden gaze, sometimes misty from delight, sometimes shuddering in exertion, and often unfocused from pleasure.

"I love you," Avril said in his embrace, her face charmed and red. Her breathing was rushed and ragged, still tired.

"I do as well." Oscar smiled. "How have you spent your forty years?"

"Huh? Don't you know from Demon's memories?" Avril cuddled closer.

"He's quite silent and ignoring me right now. And I don't want to see what he's been up to so far." Oscar yawned, feeling sleepy.

Avril giggled. "I'll tell you tomorrow. Sleep for now. It's a long story, and she wants to share everything she wrote down."

"Alright." Oscar chuckled and yawned again, sleep darkening his gaze, and the last thing he saw was her smile, matched by the dimples and golden glee. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

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