Mark enters the room to find his grandpa sitting on the chair, his expression speaking business. Worried, he hesitated a bit, but on Drima's encouragement, he sat in front of his grandpa, his palms sweaty from nervousness.
"I asked you if this is you," his grandpa insisted. His tone was not the same tired, energyless tone like always; it was serious and somehow made something inside Mark stir. His instincts, on one side, told him to kneel down, and on the other side, his instincts told him to stand proud and talk.
"I—yes, that's me, Grandpa," said Mark. He couldn't even think of an excuse—the situation was that intimidating.
"Astounding! I always laugh at fate. Its games are mystery to us all, yet we all play it, whether we like it or not. Tell me, what's the name of your Makito?" he said, laughing, the streak of ether energy from his eyes still gleaming powerfully as ever.
"H-How do you know about a Makito?" Mark stammered, his mind thinking of various connections between his maternal grandpa and the Makito.
"How, you ask, eh? Ha ha ha! Well, dear boy, I would've told you this once you were 20, like it's done to everyone in your mother's lineage, but our lady fate had some other games, I see—and I am more than happy to play it," his grandpa chuckled.
Mark couldn't plot any connection between all this and finally resorted to ask Drima.
"What exactly is happening? Why does my grandpa know about this when you said only you and the other larger fragment can talk to their hosts before now?" he mumbled.
"Pfft~ You think anything is hidden from the guy standing in front of you? The guy who can see darkness itself? You still have a lot to learn, kid. Talk to him—it would be rude if I just start blabbering about the King," Drima said, lively.
"Well, the name of the Makito inside me is Drima," Mark said slowly, his eyes looking down on the article about Agnivir and himself that was lying under the palm of his grandpa.
"Drima… hmmm, that name sounds familiar—in a good way. Use ether projection, let me see if it's the great general himself," his grandpa chuckled.
Mark complied with the order. Drima slowly materialized from his arm.
"If it isn't the weapon master of the Void himself, it's great to see you again," his grandpa said, the ether streak from his eyes slowly dying away.
"You flatter me, my King. Please accept the greetings of this humble soldier," Drima said, his voice low and graceful.
Mark was dumbfounded. He just gave them a blank look as he heard the conversation.
"Greetings accepted, though as you can see, I have passed that role to my descendants."
"Indeed, Sire. The Queen is very benevolent. But if I may—I like powerful rulers more. No doubt she is powerful, but she doesn't exercise it," Drima said, sounding really humble.
The conversation had at least washed away the heaviness of the situation, and this allowed Mark to find his voice again.
"Uh, hey old friends from who knows how long ago. I still don't know anything about what you are talking about. Grandpa, will you tell me what is going on? Because Drima likes to talk in riddles, and I ain't in the position to solve one," he said slowly.
"Ah yes, we still have to talk business. Let's get to it. General, we can catch up later."
Drima nodded, and they turned to Mark.
"Well, my dear child, this guy you call Drima is one of the two right-hand men of the Dark or Void Sovereign. And about me, about you, about our origins—I would've told you when you would've turned 20, but seems the time might come before we expected. But I know it isn't right now. You will have to wait until you develop the Ether Synthesizers."
"Indeed. He will just forget it all again like the day the merging of me happened with his inherited power," Drima said, nodding.
"You spoke with her remnants, I take it?"
"Yes, my Liege, it was an honour."
"I see. Hmmm… I hope you know that the host you're currently inhabiting is of importance to us as well. I hope you and your King won't consider him just another pawn in this."
"Yes, yes sir. We have been growing together since the beginning. We won't think of even offending you," Drima said, his voice a bit scared.
"Good. That's how I would like things to continue between us. And it seems things are getting interesting, considering he has sent you into action," his grandpa said as he slumped back in the chair.
"Yes, they are. All the rulers are coming together. It's too much for one or two to handle alone," Drima said, his voice low and sad.
"I see. Well, if you ever find it overwhelming, you know where to find me. Tell that to your King as well."
"I definitely will. Thank you, Sire."
"Now then," his grandpa said, turning to Mark, "you plan to head to India, I suppose?" he said, his tone nonchalant.
"Yes, can I?" Mark said, his mind busy racing thoughts and connecting the dots he managed to pick from this conversation.
"Yeah, of course you can. Good luck—and don't hesitate to fight. Don't hold back, because even if you do, the others won't. That's how war is—one is always looking for openings from his opponents, and going easy on them is the biggest opening you can give someone. Unless you are strong enough to handle anything that comes your way," his grandpa said, his tone serious.
"I will try not to hold back," Mark mumbled.
"Good. I think this is wrapped up. Go rest—seems you will be leaving early morning," his grandpa said as he got up and walked to his room.
"Okay, good night, Gramps," Jack said as he walked upstairs, his brain numbing as he failed to understand what was going on with his maternal side of the family.
"Guess what? The twentieth birthday can't come sooner," he mumbled as he slumped into his bed.
"Keep suffering. We move in the morning," Drima said, his tone back to his arrogant tone.
"Yeah yeah, Mr. Parasite," he said, shaking his head as he drifted off to sleep.