Searching For Andromeda

Ephraim presumed Lucian to go. Lucian, after all, had no interest in archaeology and was a guy who was just permitting himself to be driven by the flow. When Ephraim took archaeology, Lucian had been in a steadfast debate whether he would pursue college or not. Of course, he was able to; Lucian was in the top university next to Harvard—University of High East. But they were also rich, so he could also choose to inherit their businesses instead of pursuing his studies. But then again, Lucian didn"t seem to be the type to be an heir to a conglomerate.

Every so often Ephraim would tell Lucian his fascination with artifacts, relics, and the like—and Lucian, despite with separate interests, would still listen to Ephraim and accompany him to whatever he would have liked to go concerning the past and almost anything under the sun. It was sheer friendship. So, when Lucian decided to take archaeology, Ephraim believed he was simply being indecisive.

"Get a choice of your own, Luce." Ephraim would say. "I know it doesn"t interest you,"

And Lucian would simply reply with, "who told you it ain"t my decision?"

For several years, Lucian considered their friendship was established by a simple act of kindness (or Ephraim being a responsible student leader a.s.sisting a student who struggled), and then eventually was forged into a brotherhood that even their parents and families got roped in. It was one of the things that drew Ephraim to come up to the conclusion that Lucian was amiable enough yet he was shy (and had the guise of a freak).

Sometimes people would a.s.sume Ephraim and his family befriended Lucian because of Lucian"s money (ridiculous, really) but Lucian"s refute was always an overthrowing question— "Ephraim treats me as a friend?" and Ephraim would retort with sheer sarcasm hiding underneath his usual smile. Vice versa, people also think Lucian wasn"t suitable to be Ephraim"s friend. He was, after all, all gloomy and scary; Ephraim was considered to be approachable, friendly, and handsome. Although Lucian undeniably had the looks, the aura he gave freaked people out.

Ephraim at many things was considered to be all-knowing—almost perfect, as much as people liked to address him. He was a scholar. A good boy. A leader. A friendly figure. He was the textbook example of excellence; not only he outrivaled in academics, but he also had a kind heart (those volunteer missions back in middle school gave them that impression) and above all, he looked cute to many girls. But to Lucian, Ephraim was someone whom you can call a deceptive, manipulative, scheming, cunning jerk. Ephraim after all controlled everything with a simple smile.

Lucian thought more often than not—that Ephraim Ignacio Hughes was so faultless. But when he got to know him, he knew his friend was just a . . . human.

Human.

Ephraim thought about such a word. What did it mean to be human? Was it the ability to solve complex riddles? Decipher underlying codes? Or was it that they were the top of the food chain?

What is it that made him human?

Now he was sounding like his former professor—the one who always wore lab coats and wasn"t even suited to be a professor with his lackl.u.s.ter teaching—Professor Oswald. The man who referred him to ANDROMEDA. The man who had him postpone his plans to Cairo. The man who had always been a teacher who taught in such droning, colorless fashion.

But then again . . . what made him human?

"Do you know a question often asked by philosophers?" Asks Oswald, in one of the boring lessons he was holding for 3 hours. Ephraim was struggling to find the will to stay awake, and this certain question kept his eyes open.

"What is it that makes us human?" Professor Oswald says. "Five points for the one who can answer this . . . wait, no. Scratch that."

"Exemption to the next quiz for the one who makes the best answer."

Ridiculous. It was Ephraim"s first thought. The question had tackled many branches of science and philosophy alike it wouldn"t be possible to even elaborate the most concrete answer. The spectrum was too broad. The answers, obviously, will be judged based on Oswald"s personal preference.

"Yes, Felicia," says Oswald to the girl who raised her arm to answer.

Felicia Beverly. One of the top students in the cla.s.s.

She smiled, "Humans are evolutionary creatures that originated from early hominids and primates, such as chimpanzees. They form complex language, culture, and societies."

"Right," Oswald says in a monotonous tone. "But that is the textbook definition. Sit down."

Students started to raise their hands for several more different answers ranging from philosophy, biology, social science, and anthropology. But not any of those answers were able to quench Oswald"s thirst for the "best" answer.

"Look, all of what you said are very technical. They are what you can search up on the net. Paraphrased by your own mouths." He said monotonously. "Hm. Let"s see what our top student have in his sleeve. Hughes,"

Ephraim snapped back from his thoughts. He was replaying Percy Jackson"s Sea of Monsters in his head—and he was on the part they were in Bermuda. He stood up and then spouted the answer that came upright in his mind.

"To be human," he says, "is to feel."

"Hooh," Oswald"s eyes narrowed. "Are you saying other animals can"t feel?"

"No, Sir," Ephraim exclaims. "I"m saying is that it"s the ability to feel complex feelings. To be human is to feel pain and still . . ."

"Sit down." Oswald says, clicking his tongue. "Tsk. How disappointing. A minus point for your lack of empathy, Hughes. I thought you were going to find your resolve, but you did not."

"Sir—"

"Wake up," Oswald retorted, cutting Ephraim mid-sentence. "Or you"ll find yourself dead. AND remember not to disappoint me this time, Hughes!"

Ephraim"s eyes widened, and then purely conscious now, he coughed the sand in his mouth. What was that? A dream? No, wait. Everything - from the fire and the solving of inscription began to sink to his mind. He was still on tatters and burns, meaning he had survived.

But where was he?

Upon raising his head, Ephraim was able to behold the spectacle.

In front of him was a large door—no, that didn"t do it justice—it was too extensive, a doorway with the height of a tower. Ephraim stood up and then sprang to march towards the closed door. This place was unusually bright; the scenery too similar to the one in book Arabian Nights. A place akin to the historical attractions in the Middle East. Like a certain castle located in Persia.

In the door was a large dragon made of gold with the sun and mood insignia; deliberately, it glowed. Ephraim blinked. The dragon"s metallic scales glimmered at it steadily ambled away from its place, opening its mouth as it systematically leaned its gold head forward.

"What . . . in the world . . ."

The dragon opened its mouth and revealed what looked like a keyhole, at the end of its golden aperture.

And that was the time Ephraim remembered the key in his pocket he got from decoding the cryptex. Without much skepticism, he pressed the key to its orifice. And as he twisted the lock, the key merged with the dragon itself.

And then—as peculiar as it looked—the metallic, golden reptile slowly came to life; it still was gold, but its eyes now glowed and had borne its fangs. It was merged by the door, but that didn"t make it look less intimidating.

"Warrior," it says—its voice ringing to every corner of the chamber with a strong, abysmal sound. "This is the entrance to the chambers upholding Wahid"s Vessel. Now do tell—what is it that makes a HUMAN like you . . . worthy?"