Descendant of Sloth

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the world in shades of gold and orange. I was just a little kid back then, racing barefoot through the field behind my house. Arlo was right beside me, laughing so loudly that it echoed across the open space. His laughter was infectious; even I, usually quiet and withdrawn, couldn't help but grin. 

"You'll never catch me, Adrian!" he shouted, his voice full of energy. 

"You wish," I called back, my breath coming in short bursts as I tried to keep up. 

We spent hours like this, our days blurring into a series of adventures. Arlo was always the leader, coming up with the wildest ideas. I just followed, content to be dragged along. 

Even as we grew older, nothing changed. School life flashed by in fragments: Arlo talking a minute to an hour about some prank he pulled, me sitting beside him with a bored expression as the teacher called us "twins with different personalities." 

"Arlo and Adrian," the teacher would sigh, shaking her head. "Loud and silent. But always together." 

Arlo wore that description like a badge of honor. "See? We're a team!" he'd say, slinging an arm around my shoulder. I'd roll my eyes, but deep down, I didn't mind. 

In college, Arlo's energy was unmatched. He thrived in the chaos of campus life, while I preferred the quiet corners of the library or my dorm or sleeling somewhere in silence until his loud energy disrupts me up. 

Still, he never left me alone. 

"Hey, Adrian," he said one afternoon, plopping down beside me in the cafeteria. "Guess what? That girl from psychology has a crush on you." 

I glanced at him, unimpressed. "Who?" 

"The one with the glasses! You know, always sitting in the front row." 

"Not interested," I muttered, poking at my food. 

"You're impossible," he groaned, stealing a fry from my plate. "One day, I'll get you to care about something." 

Despite his constant pestering, Arlo never let me drift too far. We ate together, studied together—or rather, he talked while I pretended to listen—and tackled life as a mismatched pair. 

After graduation, though, things began to shift. 

"Come on, Adrian, let's go to the cafe," he said one evening, his smile bright as ever. 

"Later," I replied, not looking up as I walk to my work space. "When I'm free." 

"You always say that," he complained, but he didn't press further. 

When he invited me to our college reunion, my answer was the same. 

"Later," I said. 

He sighed but didn't push. That was Arlo—always understanding, even when he didn't have to be. 

Back when my parents died, Arlo was the only one who stayed by my side, the only person who didn't let me drown in my grief. He was my anchor, my one constant. 

But when I joined the Higher Order, I pulled away. My work consumed me, and my natural laziness did the rest. Even when I was free, all I could think of is to sleep right away. 

Now the question lingers in me.

~Did I never cared about him? 

Arlo kept calling, kept asking me to spend time with him, but my answer was always the same. 

"Later..." 

The memory shattered, replaced by the engulfing flames and blood. Arlo's lifeless body lay in my arms, his face frozen in anguish. Blood around his face as I started blacking out in agony. 

----- 

"Ahm..." 

My eyes slowly fluttered open. The ceiling above me was a blur, white and sterile. I blinked, trying to focus. The steady beep of an ECG machine filled the room, each sound echoing in my sleepy mind. 

"Where... am I?" I muttered, my voice hoarse. But the nurse who entered didn't hear me. She glanced at me, her eyes widening, and quickly left the room. Moments later, a doctor entered, his expression calm but alert. 

"Adrian, can you hear me?" he asked, leaning over me. He shone a flashlight into my eyes, checking my pupils. 

I nodded weakly. "Yeah..." 

"Good. You've been unconscious for a while. Rest now," he said, his voice steady. 

I didn't have the energy to argue. My eyes drifted shut again, and darkness pulled me under. I just got up and now I am sleeping again.

Until.....the sweet husky voice breaking through like a melody. 

"Adrian..." 

The voice was faint at first, but it grew louder, more insistent. "Adrian, wake up." 

Warmth. Someone was holding my hand. I forced my eyes open, blinking against the harsh light. Hina's face came into focus, her eyes red and teary. Beside her stood Henry, his expression unreadable. 

"You're awake," Hina said, her voice trembling. "Finally." 

"Where am I?" I croaked, my throat dry. I raised a hand to my head, wincing as a sharp pain shot through it. 

"Stay down," Henry ordered, his tone firm but kind. 

I frowned, glancing between them. Their faces were strained, awkward. Something wasn't right. 

"What happened?" I asked. "How did I get here?" 

Hina hesitated, her eyes flickering to Henry. He nodded, giving her silent permission to speak. 

"You... you killed them all," she said softly. "The demon hosts. Every single one." 

My eyes widened. "I did?" 

She nodded, her grip on my hand tightening. "You fainted afterward. We thought..." Her voice broke, and she looked away, trying to compose herself. 

"You lost yourself..." she said. 

Henry cleared his throat. "Adrian, The Vigilant Order is sending representatives to speak with you." 

Speak about what? I don't even remember shit. My mind was a haze of fragmented memories—the flames, Arlo and —the black aura that had consumed me. 

"What does that mean?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. "Am I in trouble?" 

"We don't know," Henry admitted. "But whatever happened back there... it wasn't normal." 

Normal. The word felt foreign now. Nothing about my life had been normal. I leaned back against the pillows, closing my eyes as their words sank in. 

"Get some rest," Henry said, his voice softening. "Hina will be there by your side till then." 

Hina stayed by my side, her presence a quiet comfort as the weight of everything pressed down on me. Arlo's face lingered in my mind, his final words echoing like a ghost. 

You... didn't... s-save... m-me...You have always been strong...