《Hymn of Ignis》


 Prologue- Lonely Mountain

    -Vincent Bellow-


    I wake up; silencing the alarm I set to ring every two hours. The storm raged on for half a day now, my tent being the wall that stops the wind while my sleeping bag is acting as my fortress of warmth. No stopping the noise though, as if it¡¯s taunting me, daring me to continue, to climb on despite the conditions, a challenge. I laugh, remembering the last camping trip with my little girl before I drift on back to blissful sleep.


    I dream of my younger days, of when I was first exposed to the wilderness, when I ran through the forests and spent my nights by the fire, the star filled sky covering the world as a blanket. I dream of my first climb with my father, my first dive with Sarah¡­ I regretfully open my eyes as the alarm yet again fulfils its purpose perfectly.


    I notice the absence of the howling which signifies the dominance of nature, according to my watch its 4am, normally I¡¯d consider waiting until daybreak, but these past few days the weather hasn¡¯t been accommodating in the least. My supplies are nearing the return point and I refuse to give up this chance, I¡¯ve been planning this trip for years now, ever since Clementine was born I stayed at home, and passion was slowly replaced with responsibility.


    But my little Clam is a woman now, she can take care of herself, I am no longer needed, I am free to my design¡­ I¡¯ve forgotten what it felt like.


    I regain my focus, it¡¯s been hard to do so lately, must be the altitude, it hasn¡¯t ever been so bad though. I check and double check my equipment, quickly brew a small cup of coffee and eat an energy bar for a morning pick me up. Finishing up with my modest breakfast I pack all my gear into the pack while the tent goes on top, grabbing both of my ice axes I set off.


    With my weight pushing me deeper into the snow with every step I can¡¯t help but smile, it¡¯s been so long¡­ The Nanga Parbat mountain, an old friend, a forsaken lover, it didn¡¯t work out between us on our last encounter.


    I was with a new group at the time, we met in Astore-Valley while trekking, I joined their group and we continued to base camp together, cheery fellows, two Bavarians, Andrea Hintoisser and Tori Kurzav, the youngest of the party, and three Austrians, Willy Angerer, Edi Rainer and Eigor Weister, 5 in all.


    We got just beyond the half way mark when the weather hit us, it wasn¡¯t the ¡®Holy shit¡¯ kind though, just the ¡®Oh shit¡¯ one, not too bad I thought to myself, that¡¯s when Eigor slipped on an ice covered rock and fell face first, he got up quickly enough and after making sure he was fine we were on our way to make camp for the day.


    The next morning he wasn¡¯t in good shape, high fever, blue lips, mild shaking, and coughing, the bad kind. The oaf fell on a jagged rock and broke two ribs, which in turn punctured his lung, thus collapsing it. His fully avoidable death was the end of my last date with Nangy here.


    I gained almost a hundred meters of height by dawn, and the sight was yet again breathtaking, light making its way down the mountain as if claiming all it shone on as its own, the slight warmth of the sun when the light finally descended on me, truly unique¡­


    Hours went by, climbing a few meters here, walking around a dangerous curve there, rewarding myself with an energy bar and a few gulps of water I yet again secure my gear at the bottom of a wall of stone and ice, take my rope and climb the bastard. One axe ahead of the other, securing each hold, no mistakes, no accidents, can¡¯t afford any. Kicking the ice with the front spikes of my shoe to get a footing I climb on, minutes later I reach the top, pull up my gear and move on, still got some distance to cover¡­


    By sunset I reached the edge of Bazhin Basin, shame to lose such good weather but exhaustion equals death here, and I refuse to be killed by eagerness. I set up camp, heat up a cup of soup, and as per custom begin a recording for my Clam, of course it¡¯s not a video call or a live video, just a recording, at best it¡¯ll be a live experience when I show it to her, and at worst my last words, anything can happen, best be prepared¡­


    < And hello my dear lovable audience, it¡¯s your host speaking, the man who won yet another battle against the killer, the man eater¡­ yours truly, Daddy! Hehehe, it¡¯s been a wonderful day here Clam, beautiful weather, easy climbs, and yes¡­I''m still careful, wouldn¡¯t want to disappoint you now would I? You know, last night I dreamt about your mother, the happy times¡­ brought a smile to my face, we were diving in the Glowworm Caves of New Zealand, the scenery was unreal, rivaled only by your mother¡­ ah look at me¡­. Tearing up like a child in front of my own baby girl¡­ goodnight Clam, love ya.>


    I turn off the recording, and take a moment to Pull in my infant tears and wipe my face, I then turn the camera off and put it back in the pack. Shit, I¡¯m hyperventilating¡­ getting emotional over a damn dream, c¡¯mon calm down, okay¡­ I¡¯m okay¡­ heh, some rest will straighten me up¡­ almost at the peak and I¡¯m not going to trek anytime tonight, a full nights rest is welcome indeed.


    [ I¡¯m running through a maze of trees, eager to reach my destination, specs of skin slip off as I¡¯m brushing against bushes and thorny vines. No pain, just discomfort. Upon reaching the place I aimed for I feel empty, as if I just missed my chance¡­ at what I don¡¯t even know. As I turn around to walk away I am no longer in the forest, I¡¯m standing on a frozen plain, stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction. The only anomaly besides me is a single small rock, little more than a pebble. I bend down to pick it up and find myself at the base of a mountain, not one I recognize.


    I marvel at the view, as there is nothing but fog surrounding the oversized hill. I focus on the path forward, pushing on through the dirt and snow. The longer I walk the clearer the path upwards becomes. Clenching my hand tighter around the pebble I press forward, the wind doing little to stop me, sometimes even pushing me forward. The accent soon becomes mundane; following a clear path to the peak leaves no thrill to be had, no satisfaction.


    Looking around I¡¯m surprised to see nothing but my reflection in the surrounding fog. As if it¡¯s tracking my progress. After finally reaching the summit I spot a chair. ¡®Strange¡¯ I think to myself. The chair feels warm to the touch, making me notice the cold air brushing against my bare face, the chair seems ever so inviting, almost enticing me to place myself in it. It doesn¡¯t take long for me to follow my desire for warmth.


    As soon as I sat myself in the chair the fog in front of me clears and the night sky can be seen, the stars being much bigger than I remember, some shine brightly while other twinkle and flicker. ¡®marvelous¡¯ I think aloud. I feel so small¡­ so brittle under the lid of the earth. Consciousness wrestles itself from my grasp as sleep overtakes me, the last feeling I register is the pebble escaping from my weakening hold.]


    I wake up frightened, my eyes rapidly bulge open. Grasping as much deep and heavy breaths as my lungs can manage. Focus, need to focus... it was just a dream, just a dream... calm down. I try to even out my breathing, frightened I grab for the flashlight and turn it on, that¡¯s when I notice a strange shadow, an incline in the tent, ¡°heavy snow fall?!¡± I blur out between two breaths. Not good, the forecast didn¡¯t mention this! I check my watch, 7:31am... No sunlight... Definitely not good.


    I quickly exit the sleeping bag, taking the flashlight with me while I slowly open the tent entrance, pushing through my flappy door I notice that the snow level has risen by at least 15 centimeters, using my flashlight in front of me only serves to once again quicken my breath. Avalanche, Fuck me...


    I gather that I was covered by a huge pile of snow from the avalanche, strange I didn¡¯t wake up. I don¡¯t even know how deep I¡¯m buried, from I can tell I¡¯m stuck in a rapidly depleting bubble of air, with no way to call for help¡­ hyperventilating again, need to get myself together, don¡¯t have much oxygen in here, won¡¯t help to suffocate because of stress.


    I munch on an energy bar to calm my nerves, this is bullshit¡­ why was there an avalanche, and near the peak no less¡­ on second thought the cause could be anything from someone who reached the peak and pulled a stupid stunt to a falling satellite crashing in my direction, no use thinking about it now.


    I gather my thoughts, I have one oxygen bottle with my gear, the others I left 400 meters and 1600 meters down my path for resupply just in case, seemed reasonable to leave unneeded weight for later use at the time, shame. Well no use dwelling on it. One bottle should last me about 6 hours at most.


    Now I could melt a path in the snow with my gas stove, but I run the risk of collapsing more snow, unstable snow is the reason for avalanches after all¡­ I could dig along the rocky mountain face, but there¡¯s the risk of reaching an incline and slipping down.


    I could wait for help, but judging by the size of my little safe heaven I have little more than a days¡¯ worth of air left, about 16 hours after counting my oxygen bottle in. there¡¯s no telling what level of damage the avalanche had caused down the mountain, so no hope of rescue in my time frame.


    I could use my ice axe and try to climb to the ledge, but I have no idea how deep the snow is, and even if I manage to reach the top of the ledge, it could still be covered in an unknown amount of snow.


    Or I could just try to dig my way out horizontally and eventually reach the outside, I would still be at risk of course, collapse for example¡­ and being tightly surrounded by snow is like inviting a stranger named hypothermia to your house.


    Not many options and not a lot of time equal a shitty mood. Making a decision is critical though, as the oxygen levels decline so will my reasoning capabilities, hard to survive if you can¡¯t trust your own decisions.


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


    Alright¡­ some coffee and noodles and we begin attempt number 1; Make like a Hare.


    I take my ice axe and test out the sturdiness of the snow, starting at the bottom and making my way upwards. The bottom layer is sufficiently compressed, indicating that it has a lot of weight on top of it. That means a shit load of snow. My breathing thickens again, relax¡­. The top layer of my bubble isn¡¯t much different from the bottom one, just a little more compliant to fall under force.


    I deem it reasonable to try and dig my way out of this cave, picking up simple supplies like a little food and water, one ice axe and my camera, placing the flashlight in my mouth I start shaping my little tunnel, carefully cutting layer after layer of snow.


    Don¡¯t hurry, breath, relax. The height of the tunnel is about 80cm, don¡¯t want to dig too much into the upper layers, and crouching isn¡¯t that bad. Every two meters of progress I leave a column of snow, 20 cm thick in hope that it fulfils its purpose of support.


    After about a 20 meter distance I am no longer certain of my relative elevation to the rock face of the mountain, I should have reached the outside by now; I¡¯ve been progressing in a straight line¡­


    Seconds later my ears twitch, a sound, like that of breaking lumber could be heard for a moment, I stop moving, for an uncertain length of time I listen, just listen¡­ my eyes open as if I¡¯ve seen death itself, and my mind is filled with dread as I notice a crack forming in a column I built only a few meters behind me, I drop the flashlight in a moment of panic and just run back in a straight line, as fast as I can.


    The sound thunders through my mind again, resupplying me with a dose of fear. I run and run when finally my feet get tangled, running in total darkness while crouching is no easy feat, and if you add to it the fear of death¡­ I think I got the point though¡­. As I lie there on my belly, with my hands covering my head while leaving little room for air to accumulate, I hear it¡­ the roar of the mountain.


    In that moment I felt so insignificant, I felt like my life is no longer my own, I tried playing with nature thinking it my playground only to find out I was never wanted here, I don¡¯t belong here. It was then that I felt anger boiling my blood while sorrow was cooling it down, and fear was whispering in the background. I was awakened, betrayed and abandoned. With that I let go of my consciousness.


    Waking up I lay there crying, waiting to be embraced by the weight of the world, thinking that my time with Clam was too short¡­ why did I ever want to leave my baby girl behind to chase some long forgotten dream? It wasn¡¯t fair to her. I¡¯m her family¡­ then I think of Sarah, how I wasn¡¯t what she wanted me to be, how I was demanding and unsupportive, but she still held her loving gaze towards me¡­ her smile was made from all the best in the world, made me forget¡­


    Nothing¡­ there¡¯s nothing, no pain, am I dead? Probably not, I can still feel my tears rolling, freezing along my face. Must have made it huh¡­ ¡°haha¡­HaHaaahaa¡± I laugh aloud, feeling ridiculous for tearing up like a school girl at my age¡­ can¡¯t see anything though, total darkness.


    I try to find my way to my tent, there¡¯s a flint striker in my pack, I could use it to light my gas stove and use it as a light source. I feel my way around and find a snow wall, going along with it I slowly start to succumb to fear yet again. What if I caused a chain reaction? What if I made another avalanche happen? What if I don¡¯t find the flint striker? Those questions went on a wild looping rampage inside my mind, spawning guilt and doubt. All I could hear was my ragged breathing and how the snow submitted to me beneath my feet, with every step I made¡­there was only me in the embrace of the dark and nothing more, truly frightening.


    Keep going, don¡¯t stop, no point in stopping, I won¡¯t achieve anything that way. Keep going and find the flint striker¡­ keep going¡­ keep go¡­. I fall down.


    My breathing is merely a wheeze, like trying to drink the last drops of soda with a straw, difficult.


    Can¡¯t breathe¡­ I glance at my watch and note that its 4:52pm, already in the danger zone, if I black out again I¡¯m dead¡­ can¡¯t let that happen¡­ I start crawling along the snow, desperately searching for my gear, only luck can guide me in the right direction¡­


    Suddenly my right knee bumps into something, slightly buried in the snow, my earlier stunt must have kicked off a layer of snow near the rock face. I turn to my right and soon enough I find my tent, quickly entering inside and grabbing my pack, my hand finds the much needed oxygen bottle. Pulling my mask in place I secure the bottle to the tube and press the switch.


    Taking a few deep rapid breaths proves to be a mistake as I almost black out again, taking a few moments in order to steady my breathing to a reasonable tempo and fight the dizziness, I partly regain my rationality. I check my watch again, 5:13pm. I won¡¯t last long¡­


    I rummage through my pack for the flint striker and gas stove, turning the stove on and grinding the flint I finally manage to light it after a few tries, getting my yellowish flame as confirmation. Now with a light source I breathe out a long and stressed sigh¡­


    This will be my grave huh¡­ how fitting.


    I pull out my camera and set it up, pointing the lens at my face I start speaking¡­< Hello to whoever finds me> I wave my hand < My name is Vincent Bellow and as you can probably see I was yet another unfortunate victim of the man eater¡­ sad as I may be at my lost life and future I feel mostly fulfilled. I led a good life and lacked for nothing. I would make this a will but I honestly have nothing more to give away, well nothing but all the gear that is found besides me.


    I did try to make it out if it makes any difference to you, didn¡¯t work out though. So here I am recording this tape in hope that someone finds me before it becomes useless. Heh this is probably going to be weird, with me being dead by the time you¡¯re watching this and all¡­ but I¡¯d like to ask for a favor, a dead man¡¯s wish if you will¡­


    I have a daughter, her name is Clementine Schwartz, she¡¯s a medical intern in Germany, berlin. Her contact information can be found on my body, besides the camera, I can only hope you would be so kind as to deliver her this camera, without this specific recording please, this recording is relevant only to you, the one who found me. In no circumstances must it be left in the camera, destroy it as soon as you finish watching please¡­ I won¡¯t let the mountain take me. May you have a pleasant life whoever you are, goodbye.>


    Now for the last message for Clam¡­ I sit there smiling at the camera, the yellow light from the gas stove flickers across my face at random intervals¡­


    <¡­ Heh, remember the time when you tripped on your toy phone and tried to call an ambulance with it, all while bawling your eyes out? Or when you thought that a porcupine was a fluffy mouse? Or how you made dolls out of corn¡­? My little Clementine, all grown up now¡­ you don¡¯t need me anymore...


    You know¡­ when Sarah died, I thought I lost myself, I was a broken man, shattered by guilt and grief. I thought I lost it all, I felt no sunshine hit my skin, no light reach my eyes¡­ You brought me back Clam; when I was at my lowest point... You cried, it made me irritated, and I held you up so you would quiet up. You pulled your voice in, your eyes met mine, and it felt as if you were studying me¡­


    And then you just laughed¡­ a laugh so innocent it left me dazed, a laugh so pure I couldn¡¯t help but join in with you. The worst of all days just got so much lighter with you in my arms. The pieces of my broken self were being slowly put together, with every minute I held you to my chest¡­> I wipe some stray tears from my eyes, and clear my throat.


    <...Now I know you must be upset, I know I am¡­ I would like to tell you to move on with your life and be happy, but I know I have no right to. I know what I must have made you go through by recording this message¡­ and I¡¯m sorry, truly I am¡­ when the avalanche struck I was asleep, can you believe that? I had a weird dream and woke up in the middle of the night, but my watch said otherwise, it was about 7am, I was stuck in a bubble of air caused by the avalanche, it had covered a ledge by which I made camp, near the Bazhin Basin. I had less than 11 hours of air by then, that¡¯s not counting the time I spent asleep.


    I tried making my way out, but the snow collapsed and I was almost buried alive, well prematurely I guess heh. Then I lost consciousness and nearly suffocated, barely managing to find my pack in total darkness and reaching an oxygen bottle. And before you start cursing at your Pa, remember that I had and probably still have Hypoxemia, not the light kind. So here we are¡­


    I want you to know that while I am devastated at what I must have caused you and at the whole situation, I am not afraid anymore. I accept this. I wish you could answer me right now, you have no idea how badly I miss your voice¡­ don¡¯t hold this against me.


    I love you, my little Clam.>


    ¡­ I turn off the recording. My chest aches and my mind is splitting apart. The fa?ade is over and I can finally show despair on my face, I can never see my little girl again, that¡¯s the worst of it, not the loneliness, no, that I¡¯m used to by now.


    I take the last of my noodles and heat them up, no use in dying on an empty stomach right? Having saturated my body I glance at my second ice axe which I left at the tent. The shadows dancing on its metallic surface make it look so surreal. I take a long hard look at it before taking it by the handle.


    ¡°Can¡¯t let you take me Nangy, you know that¡­ honestly, It was a pleasure seeing you again old friend, shame it had to end this way.¡±


    I point the pick of my axe towards me while steeling my resolve¡­ ¡°My terms¡±¡­ I remember my first climb as the pick enters my throat and exits to the left of my spine. Missed huh¡­


    My back presses against the cold stone of the lover as my body slowly goes limp; a final breath escapes my mangled throat¡­


    My terms¡­

 Chapter 1: Before

    -Vincent Bellow-


    I wake up to a weakening heartbeat, am I still alive? This feels strange, like a dream. Can¡¯t move my limbs, can¡¯t even feel them. Am I paralyzed? Maybe, or perhaps I''m frozen stiff. I did try to kill myself, maybe it¡¯s the blood loss. Is this what it feels like to pass on? Not too bad then, not as frightening as I always imagined it. Can¡¯t feel my heart anymore, must have stopped. I wonder what Clam will name my grandson¡­ with that thought I drift away from my consciousness¡­


    I regain my senses, only to be met with an ever encompassing darkness, for a moment I remember the terror I felt in my tomb, but it passes quickly enough for me to just shake it off. Is not the same, not as menacing, I would even call it inviting, warm. I momentarily see a fading scene; it resembles a man sitting on a chair. The recollection passes and I bask in the warmth offered.


    I stay in this familiar place, pulling closer to the warmth with every chance I get, the closer I am the clearer I can think, the more I can hold on to. I feel like if I don¡¯t reach the warmth I would disappear. So I pull harder, and harder, sometimes stopping and looking around, noticing flickering lights all around me. I pay them no mind, I have something I must do.


    I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ve spent here by now; I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything resembling time in this place, just the flickering of lights. I''m stuck by the way, can¡¯t pull any further, the stronger I pull towards the warmth the fiercer I am pushed back, sometimes even losing ground and having to pull back to the ¡®barrier¡¯ as I¡¯ve named the phenomenon that¡¯s preventing me from reaching the warmth.


    While I was stuck I tried calling out to the lights, only to find that I could not do so. No voice came out, now that I think of it I have no body here, it¡¯s just my consciousness¡­ just me. I tried reaching out to one of the lights, couldn¡¯t make it, seems like I can only maneuver towards and away from the warmth. After giving it some thought I consider that I''m not alone in here, the warmth I strive for may as well just be one of the many lights in here, maybe the flickering is caused by someone reaching his warmth, or being pushed away by it. Shame there¡¯s no way to confirm this.


    I begin to feel comfortable at the barrier, no use to fight it if you can¡¯t beat it right? So I stay here, observing the lights, I noticed that most flicker while a few just shine weakly, eventually I start searching for a pattern to entertain myself. There was no pattern to be found; the lights flickered so randomly, sometimes starting to form a consecutive sequence just to break it in a haphazard manner, some shining for a time only to flicker out of existence in a few flashes of light. I grew irritated at the inconsistency.


    Soon after abandoning the thought I start counting them, no pattern needed, just counting the flickering of one light, after it disappears move on to the next one, comparing the number of flickers each light makes. I made mental notes on the highest number of flickers, some reaching the hundred thousands while others fade away after only a few flickers. This is how I spent my existence here, counting the flickers. Once, while I was in the middle of observing and counting a flickering light I felt a push, a rejection from the warmth. The barrier, as if expanding, was pushing me away.


    It got colder and colder with each push, I refused to be rejected, I struggled and refused to move, and the barrier flickered. My thoughts froze on me, just until the next push awoke me from my mental stupor. I was one of the flickering lights now, as realization hit me I grew afraid, no matter how much any of the lights I counted flickered they always fade away, without fail.


    Again I am pushed, further away this time. I need to concentrate, the barrier didn¡¯t move before, so why did it start now? As I ponder on the possible answers I am once again pushed away. Feeling desperate I fall back to my previous attempts of pulling closer, only to be pushed again. Every push takes me further away from the warmth and presents me to the cold, I feel it encircling me now. I don¡¯t like the cold. In a last ditch effort I push the barrier, and it obeys.


    Surprised and overjoyed at the same time I push again, the barrier once more heeds my desire. I continue with steady progress and return to where I first encountered the barrier. I drew confidence from my new found knowledge and pushed on, intent on forcing the barrier to submit to me. Many lights faded out in the dark, yet the barrier stood strong and hindered my passage.


    Push after push proving pointless as I felt the warmth moving away, as if the barrier protects the warmth. Anxiety washed over me as I grew restless at my lack of success. Soon all I could focus on was the warmth that was kept away from me on one end, and the merciless cold that I¡¯ve witnessed devouring countless lights on the other.


    Turning away from the barriers I resumed counting the flickers, one after the other¡­ I observed many lights fading away and many more being born into existence, most didn¡¯t last long. The barrier didn¡¯t try to force me away since its last attempt, it seemingly knew I was here to stay.


    As I was counting the flickers of a newly born light something drew my attention, an ¡®old¡¯ light, a light that shone ever since I first started counting the flickers, seemingly the only one older than me now¡­ Consequently, what grew my attention was that it too started to flicker. This saddened me somewhat, I drew comfort from knowing I wasn¡¯t the only one continently shining, the thought of this light fading away has sown a seed of fear in me¡­ maybe I too would only last so long¡­


    The old light was gone now, and I am now the ¡®old¡¯ one it seems. Looking back on the barrier that stood tall through all these cycles, a forgotten emotion covers my being, loneliness. I once again try pulling myself to the warmth, no success, pushing provided the expected result. Rejecting the thought of once again counting the flickers I try something new.


    I don¡¯t pull myself to the warmth, and nor do I push the barrier, no. What I decided to do was to push myself to the barrier while pulling it to me, letting it encompass me. No resistance. I feel the warmth embracing me as I fall prey to slumber again¡­


    ___________________________________________________________________________________________________


    -Walled City of Rodun; Western corner-


    -Innienette-


    ¡­ *sigh* The kids are being rowdier than usual today, can¡¯t even filter out the noise anymore¡­ must be because of the rumors that recently got passed around¡­ how did they manage to convince me to teach kids again? I thought I finally earned my freedom but no~oo¡­ ¡®You¡¯ve imprinted on them¡¯ they said¡­ ¡®No one else can manage¡¯¡­ boosting my self-esteem and dragging me back to this torture chamber¡­ I digress, better finish up quickly and go back to my research¡­


    ¡°Quiet!¡± I yell, sighing again I make sure to make eye contact with each and every one of the unreasonably loud ¡®kids¡¯, seeing as they¡¯ve settled down a bit I press on¡­


    ¡°Looks like you all want to end todays lesson early¡­ I have no objections¡­¡± this draws their full attention, heh, can¡¯t help but tease them a little¡­ make use of what you have eh?


    ¡°But¡­ you have to convince me that I wasn¡¯t talking to myself earlier; I want a briefing on each of the main races¡­ Let¡¯s start with the Karisha, go!¡± I sit back in the stiff wooden chair with a grunt, I hate this chair¡­ if I¡¯m such an ¡®irreplaceable asset¡¯ the least they could do is purchase a comfy chair, heck even a padded stool would be appreciated¡­ next meeting its either they replace this damn monstrosity or I¡¯m gone for good. The looks the kids are making pulls me back from my inner rant and a smile makes its way across my face, they can be cute if they try.


    Some are brainstorming, some are furiously trying to mix and mash their knowledge together in hopes of coming up with something presentable, while others have almost visible smoke coming out of their ears. The sight pulls out a few muffled laughs from my side.


    A few moments pass and I¡¯m surprised at their cooperation skills, the numerous groups of kids began working as a whole, compiling singular knowledge for the sake of the many. Surprising indeed¡­ shortly after an older girl named Cam¡¯ly is pushed ahead of the rest to meet my gaze, looks like she was the chosen representative. Seeing this as appropriate I motioned for her to continue, she was a bright little girl.


    Puffing her chest out, as a show of confidence no doubt, she begins speaking¡­


    ¡°The Karisha are an aqua species that evolved to breathe air and walk on land, they look like humanoid lizards, averaging at 3 meters in height. They are blessed by the Goddess Iacta of water and given the gift of speech. Although they are peaceful in nature, they learned to protect themselves and eventually to attack others if antagonized. Even though they have settlements on land their kingdoms are built under water, spreading across the great Viriden Sea¡± This got her cheers from the other kids, if I hadn¡¯t noticed her clenching her fists around her pants I would¡¯ve bought the ¡®leader¡¯ fa?ade¡­


    ¡°Next¡­Tunge.¡± I briefly state, leaving the girl no time to bask in her newfound glory. Silence spread across the room as all eyes were on the poor girl; seemingly nervous at first she quickly regained her composure.


    ¡°Eh¡­ Well, the Tunges¡­ yes, they were once human but a small sect took a different evolution path and were blessed by the God Petram of earth. They were given the gift of greater strength and reduced in stature to be closer to the earth. Eventually they grew tired of racial politics and withdrew underground where they built great cities. They never disappeared entirely thought; they just didn¡¯t care as much about the outside.¡± Mhm, not bad.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Yes¡­ a bit on the short side though, next¡­ Elves! ¡± This proved more interesting that I first thought, its fun seeing their faces in the background, reacting to every word we speak, quite fun indeed hehehe.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try¡­ The elves are forest dwelling people, almost human on the outside but strangely different on the inside. Their pointy ears are the only way to differentiate between an elf and a human. The elves are blessed by the Goddess Foliume of the earth and given the gift of time.


    Thus their lifespan is considerably longer, some having reached passed 200 cycles of age, and while that was once considered a positive advantage it also meant that their young were aging slower and thus only reached adolescence at about 30 cycles, almost twice as long as humans. The elves are fairly reserved, and mostly keep to themselves but are quite aggressive if one were to intrude upon their land uninvited.¡± Impressive¡­


    ¡°Well said Cam¡¯ly, next are the Neph!¡±


    ¡°*Ahem* The Neph live high in the mountain tops, they are blesses by the God A¡¯uru of wind and given flight. Thus they conquered the skies and built their cities on mountain tops, it is extremely difficult to visit one of the said cities without help or permission by one of the Neph, and it is said that their cities are magnificent to behold. They hold a special place amongst the races, mostly as result of their pacifistic natures; rarely would you see one of the Neph engaging in conflict.¡± Quite a boring race they are¡­


    ¡°Next are¡­ Humans! ¡± Should be easy enough talking about your own race.


    ¡°Hehe, we humans are thought to be the offsprings of giants, having inherited our ancestors free spirit we once roamed the world, in small tribes, preferring a changing climate we mostly populate the central continent. We are blessed by the Goddess Pulvics of fire, the mother of the first giants, and are gifted adaptation.


    That same gift being the reason for the evolution that the Tunges went through, and eventually leading to the separation of our ¡®two¡¯ races. While it is hard find faults in us, we can be considered impatient¡± You could say that again¡­ impatient being too mild a word to describe humans.


    ¡°Plenty of faults could be found in every race, no one is perfect. Remember that little ones, next are the N¡¯ani¡± This should be good¡­


    ¡°The N¡¯ani were once tree dwellers, said to be ancient trees that came to life, they have light brown colored skin and have high affinity to animals. They were a secluded bunch that mostly never left their forests and groves, taking care of both beasts and plants alike. They were blessed by the god Serenus of life and given the gift of knowledge. Even with their gift they remained unchanged, preferring to lead their life as they have all along.


    At a time they were protected by the Elves, being seen as spiritual leaders and guides, this soon grew to annoy the N¡¯ani, as the Elves were beginning to become possessive, so they abandoned the forests, taking all life that would come with them. They made their new home in self-made caverns, stretching across as far as the eye could see, containing life in all colors.¡± Cam¡¯ly looks into my eyes as if expecting a treat, well she did practically pass my test so I throw her an apple I planned to eat afterwards, which causes a gasp as she barely caught it, seemingly frightened by my gesture, amusing. I flash the kids a wide smile implying I was satisfied.


    ¡°Well done. ¡°I gesture to the door with my left hand while grabbing another apple from my basket with my right and taking a bite.


    ¡°¡­¡± The kids don¡¯t move, what¡¯s more unsettling is that they aren¡¯t making a sound¡­ now this just feels weird.


    ¡°W-what is it?¡± I slightly stutter because of their intense stare¡­ oh no, they can perceive this as a sign of weakness¡­ how do I fix this? I begin to panic¡­


    ¡°Can you tell us of the demons that were spotted in the north a few years ago?¡± A boy, not much younger than Cam¡¯ly finally breaks the silence¡­ thank you, you¡¯re my favorite now, uhmm, what was his name again¡­


    ¡°Yeah! The demons, tell us about them!¡± before I recall my saviors¡¯ name my thoughts are interrupted, eh might as well¡­ sigh¡­ great now I¡¯m sighing inwardly too.


    ¡°Well I know a legend about them¡­ will that suffice?¡± yet another smile creeps its way onto my face.


    ¡°Yes!¡± They¡¯re answering in unison now? Where was this discipline when I was teaching about healing herbs? Slightly annoyed I begin my story¡­


    ¡°Very well¡­ Long ago there was another race of man. They lived in the desert to the far west, and were called the Ante. They had scaly skin as a result of the suns exposure, varying in coloration by either age or gender. And took pride in their ability to thrive in those harsh conditions, and their pride was not unfounded, for the desert was also home to many dangerous beings, some of which are even reminisced in our legends to this day.


    They were blessed by the Goddess Ignis of fire and given the gift of sense. They had used their blessing mostly for finding water in the desert and building numerous oasis¡¯s as their cities. They were a people living by a simple code of two phrases; In peace give life. In war give death.¡± Taking a moment to look at the faces they were making went unrewarded, how they are now reminds me of the younnuns back home. Faces stoic and bodies unmoving, apparently annoyed with me stopping my storytelling.


    ¡°*Ahem* Now, seeing as we¡¯ve gotten passed that part of the story let us focus on the important part, the interesting part¡­. How the Antes fell.¡± Stopping yet again to take measure of their faces I was rewarded with a glint of anxiety in their eyes. Yes¡­ this was what I was looking for.


    ¡°As we¡¯ve already learned from the introduction of history, their patron goddess, Ignis gave them ¡®sense¡¯¡­ but what wasn¡¯t written down in the history books was the reason she had blessed them. She had seen their battle potential, they were a hardened race, and weakness was filtered out of them even before birth. She wanted them to conquer the other races in order to show the other gods her supremacy.


    But it hasn¡¯t occurred to her that the Ante people would not blindly follow her wishes, and after her repeated demands of obedience were refused she grew angry. They didn¡¯t use her gift as she had designed it, they weren¡¯t grateful for her blessing, they ignored her¡­ fully intent to survive on their own.


    Her patience dwindled and she finally drew her breath and projected her voice onto the mortal Ante people.


    ¡®It appears I have made a mistake¡­ ¡®She said¡­ ¡®You are not worthy of my gifts! Seeing as you don¡¯t even use the ¡®sense¡¯ I gave you I shall take something else instead¡­¡¯ So she took their sight, forever dooming them in the darkness. ¡®And as repayment for your impudence your people shall suffer my blight. May you stumble and fall¡­¡¯


    The newfound blindness was a growing seed of panic, even with their mentality, suddenly losing one of the primal senses was a devastating blow, thrown together with the blight the Antes had little hope for survival¡­.¡± I¡¯m interrupted with a sudden question.


    ¡°Ma-Inni! Ma-Inni! What¡¯s a blight?¡± A reasonable question¡­ but I was just getting to that¡­


    ¡°Well¡­ it¡¯s a like a curse, but different, for example; a curse can be cured no matter who inflicted it, but to lift a blight the one responsible had to be killed. And to remedy a blight inflicted by a god was unthinkable.¡± Seeing that answered the question I continue.


    ¡°Now where was I¡­ ah yes, ¡®The Blight of Ignis¡¯ was a mutation she inflicted on the Antes, when their young would be born their immune system would let all heat pass through their exterior skin and burn up their delicate insides. All temperatures above freezing would cause this, just at different speeds. So the Antes traveled north, abandoning their homes and cities.


    For cycles they traveled, and after every birthing cycle they left little pyres along their path. The Antes grew desperate, they were becoming weak, low on food and morale, and lacking their vision they did what they could to survive; hunt, scavenge, forage, and pillage.


    This earned them no small number of enemies and some even used the opportunity to attack and weaken the once great race. After years of war and travel the Antes were reduces to mere thousands. Nothing more than a small shadow of the once hundred million strong race of warriors¡­ now they were only weak blind barbarians to the other races, not even worth the effort to subjugate or enslave, mostly because of their lack of sight.


    According to legend on their travels their scales turned as black as night¡­ some say it was to camouflage themselves in the cover of darkness, but from what we know they were too prideful to hide in the dark, even in those circumstances¡­ others say it was because of their rage, their anger growing so fierce that it influenced their coloration¡­


    It was never mentioned when or even if they made it to the north, as none bothered to go after them. But if the reports from a few years back are to be believed then maybe they did make it¡­ or maybe it was a different race altogether. The whole baseline of the Antes connection to the demons is their change of color just before their sightings were lost.¡± Finally finished with the tale I feel a slightly peckish¡­ should get some steamed veggies later¡­ mmhmm¡­

 Chapter 2: Friend

    Authors'' corner:Thank youDaryun, for taking your time to review such an early work. Made my day </img>">


    ___________________________________________________________________________________________________


    -F''yn -


    I am F¡¯yn, a slave. I¡¯ve been a slave for 41 cycles last winter. I was told that this is an achievement of some kind, they expect me to be proud¡­ to be happy to have survived so long, it goes without saying that I hate my existence. I faced death many times; sometimes it feels like all I need to do is stop. Stop resisting, stop driving myself forward, it seems so inviting. All I have to do is take its hand¡­ But alas I cannot, the lives I¡¯ve taken push me forward. I feel that if I take my life I would condemn those who could have been here, in my stead, if that makes any sense.


    Thus I''m stuck in this cycle of torment¡­ can¡¯t kill myself because of the people I¡¯ve killed, cant let myself die without resistance, kill other people. Repeat.


    I guess I could blame my younger self for being too proud, back then I had hope of freedom. I had a drive, I wanted to live. So I killed, killed every man or woman I¡¯ve faced, honing my skills in the process. I was good before, but cycles of death and violence just made me better. They made me the best. I once feared death, heck, I still do; just not in the same manner. I saw many men scream and cry at the embrace of the father, their terror left its imprint on me. I didn¡¯t want to go like that, I still had hope for a future, for a family of my own saying their farewells as I lie in my bed; letting the father guide the way in silence.


    Now I just long for the end, there is no future for me here, I''m just an instrument of entertainment for the foreign masses. How did I end up here you ask? It¡¯s rather simple really¡­ I was just beaten half to death in my sleep and enslaved. I felt great injustice dealt to me, but to my surprise this was a fairly common occurrence in these lands. Apparently Tunges were fairly rare to these parts, and were greatly sought after for their greater strength and stamina, mostly for mining. After I was caught I was swiftly ¡®labeled¡¯, in other words I was branded. And just like that, my life ended overnight.


    Lately I¡¯ve started having these monologues in my mind; I think it¡¯s an early sign of insanity. A last struggle of my mind to keep me focused. You see, I had my tongue cut out for speaking in a ¡®dull language¡¯¡­


    ¡­ a thrown spear whispers in my ear as it passes blissfully close to my head, pulling me back to the match at hand¡­


    This is why I hate free for all¡¯s, they¡¯re mostly composed of many ¡®kids¡¯, as I¡¯ve taken to calling the newly acquired slaves. They reek of fear and piss. Their freedom doesn¡¯t seem lost to them yet, beneath the fear there is hope. This annoys me more than it should, I take a moment to regain my calm as one of the kids runs at me, intent to kill clearly visible on his face.


    He has a sword in one hand, a buckler in the other. Seeing as I wield a spear he must be stupid. The kid tries to lunge at me, but is stopped by a spear piercing his left thigh; not too deep though, wouldn¡¯t want it getting stuck. He falls to the ground, seemingly losing consciousness from the sudden pain. Lucky kid, gets to die a painless death in his sleep. I pierce his throat and watch as life fades from his eyes.


    A battle cry pulls my attention away from the kid. I turn just in time to watch a mountain of a man behead another, impressive to say the least. Not many can behead a man cleanly, takes practice. His deep laughter sounds menacing to those around him, and amusing to the audience, who roar in approval. His gaze sweeps the arena when it is met by my own, his laughter stops. His stance turns defensive, and he slowly makes his way to the weapon wall, as if sudden movements would provoke me. Amusing¡­


    He picks up a tower shield and a couple of javelins, holding them in his shield arm. He also exchanges his broadsword for a battle axe. All the while I just stand there, watching.


    After a silent moment our eyes meet once more. He slowly starts making his way to me, his steps firm, his breath steady. I smile thankfully; it¡¯s been seven cycles¡¯ now¡­ seven cycles of no real danger. For seven cycles all my opponents were greenhorns sent to slaughter. With this one I have a chance¡­ my smile broadens as I take to a low guard stance, the tip of my spear pointing downwards. A tower shield can be problematic to deal with if the opponent is balanced, so the trick is to either take it away, or unbalance them.


    The man stops, a fair distance away; probably 20 meters. As he starts sticking the javelins into the ground I take this moment to look around. I notice the audience, they enjoy this ¡®game¡¯, never in all my time in this arena has it been less than half-full. I start dreaming of my possible release, how grand will it be I wonder¡­ I am awoken with a javelin sticking out of the ground, close to my feet.


    I smile at the man and nod in recognition, he answers with a nod of his own and greets me with yet another thrown javelin, this one aimed to my chest. The weapon flows through the air at incredible speed, but alas it does not find its target. A stationary opponent has too much freedom of movement, a much better option is to throw a spear at a moving target... harder to avoid. Another javelin reaches for my life, only to end up in a surprised kid¡¯s back; he didn¡¯t even realize what happened.


    Realizing the futility of his plan he abandons the javelins, taking up his axe and shield and closing the distance, ever so slowly. I take this time to think of a strategy¡­ he probably plans to use the axe as a hook of sorts, pulling the spear as it slides to the side of his shield after an attempted attack. This could potentially break the shaft of the spear and leave me vulnerable¡­ what I need to do is take away his mobility¡­


    I notice that he¡¯s about five meters away now; I step forward to meet him. I make the first move, aiming my strike at the bottom of the shield. This surprises the man, he probably thought I would go for the legs first, and he would be right. Under my guidance the spear glides along the bottom of the shield with the flat side of the blade, the man notices this and tries to pull back his leg. This just causes him to lose balance; it serves little to save him from my blade. The spear was true to its aim and reached its target perfectly, it being the man¡¯s calf.


    Letting out a furious roar the man doesn¡¯t give me any time to follow through, he overlooks the obvious pain that¡¯s clearly visible on his twisted face, with full intent to use this moment of opportunity. He pushes his injured leg forward, keeping me from retrieving my spear. He then uses the bottom of his shield to break the shaft with downward impact, leaving me with little more than a broken stick in my hands.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I notice an upward swing of his axe, clearly aimed at my fingers; which were still holding onto the broken spear. Changing my hold to a half-staff guard, I position the shaft in place to intercept the axe head by its hook. As soon as the axe reaches the shaft I pull inwards, making him put more pressure on his injured leg; which still has the broken spear head embedded inside. Thus disturbing his balance yet again and pulling him a step towards me.


    He knows what I intend to do, I can see it in his eyes. Anxiety, a telltale sign of fear has taken root. The instant he took that one step I was already moving again. Releasing one hand from the broken shaft I pull it away from the hook of the axe, stepping forward to position myself on his weak side; the side with no shield to cover it. I stab at his unprotected abdomen; just beneath the ribcage, aiming for his liver.


    At this single moment he is exposed before me. He can do nothing and the realization dawned on him at the moment his axe made contact with the broken spear shaft. At this single moment he was at my mercy, and mercy he shall have. I twist the shaft to the left as I move out of his zone, now leaving the rest of my weapon imbedded in his flesh.


    He let go of his axe and shield, eagerly trying to pull back the blood that just doesn¡¯t seem content with its container any longer. Dropping to his knees in shock, petrified at the thought of death embracing him. His eyes again meet my own, only this time there is no subtle confidence, no determination, only fear remains in his eyes.


    His face, frozen with terror and pain is shaken; a pleading stutter is let out ¡°P,Plea-se¡­ hel-p¡­ me¡± I nod at his words. There is a subtle change in his eyes; they now contain a tiny speck of hope in them. I bend down and reach for his dropped axe, picking it up I walk to stand behind the man. The sound of a muffled sob makes its way to my ears, I give the man some time for closure; a final moment to make peace with himself. As soon as the sob stops the axe makes its way to sever the spine of the man; swiftly ending his life.


    My actions draw an insane roar from the crowd, yet I am deaf to their cries. My gaze still solidly locked at the now dead body lying at my feet. My lips are moving to form a soundless farewell ¡°May the father welcome you with open arms, friend.¡±


    ___________________________________________________________________________________________________


    I lie in a cold box made of stone which I¡¯ve taken to calling home along the cycles. Today¡¯s battle made me feel alive; I haven¡¯t felt that way for a long time. My thoughts drift away from the present and pull me back to the past. To a time of curiosity, a time of youth and freedom.


    ¡­ Being raised in the great city of Lutom I was beseeched by thoughts of ¡®what lies beyond¡¯, just as every young Tunge. I often found myself daydreaming of the outside, of running beneath the sky, of bathing in the sun¡¯s rays. Although art such as paintings and literature of the outside world were fairly common in our city, I was assured that firsthand experience had a much heavier impact.


    My father once told me that when I was born, the first thing I reached for was a hammer. And after I decided to apprentice at the local blacksmith, or metalsmith as he would often correct. The old Forgemaster was a friend of my fathers, a kind woman; she had this air about her¡­ she felt warm, just as the fires she worked with. She worked the metal as if weaving and guiding it to shape, often I found myself baffled by her displays. Her words were ¡®don¡¯t try to change the metal, just show it the way. It will shape itself¡¯, these words fell on deaf ears as all I could manage was beat the metal to a rough form. I could never manage to do what she did; she was a true master of her trade.


    I then began to wonder if I could become as good as her if I applied my whole life to the trade. So I asked my father what made a master, well a master. He then smiled knowingly and laughed at my troubles, as if he wore my shoes before I could walk, and he did. He explained to me that one has to be taught a trade, but mastering it is a solitary struggle. It cannot be taught it must be achieved.


    For cycles I tried bending the metals to my will, trying to show them the way while still guiding them along my pattern. For a time progress was made, then as if agitated at me, the metal just stopped complying. If I strike it; it bends, plain and fragile. I didn¡¯t know what changed, what had I done to make the metal displeased at me? Then my mentor enlightened me¡­ we, the Tunge people, were given greater strength by our patron god. Some have it since birth, while others develop to their potential with time.


    After my little realization my whole path to being a ¡®Master of metal¡¯ was shattered; my strength being incompatible to the smiting technique of the old Forgemaster. I was assured that I could just try another technique, that no loss is too big, that I had great potential. But I wanted to master the ¡®weaving¡¯ style, and if I couldn¡¯t, then I¡¯d rather master none at all.


    Thus I abandoned my passion for metal, and decided to take up arms, train to be a soldier; a fighter and protector. The standard weapon being the spear, we would often spar with only the poles, striking and blocking, lunging and deflecting. Fun times¡­ I liked the spear; It made me think of the old Forgemaster. Weaving the opponent to my design, to my pattern, I was both happy that I found a different area to apply my passion, and regretful that it couldn¡¯t be in my masters¡¯ trade.


    Cycles later I decided that a boring life of guard duty isn¡¯t the life for me, and made my way to explore the outside, fulfilling a childhood dream. I traveled far and wide, it was a bittersweet experience¡­ while at first I was awed at the wonderful sights, I eventuallyfound out that people aren¡¯t as friendly as they seem. I was robbed a few times, the cause being ignorance and trust. Once I almost died protecting my belongings, I quickly turned tail and ran as I just couldn¡¯t best the offenders.


    In our little quarrel I may have killed or severely injured one of the three that attacked me, this caused them to chase me down, we played a game of cat and mouse for a few days. When I thought they had finally lost my trail and calmed down I was caught. They broke into my room at ¡®Merry Mug¡¯ inn, still remember the name of that damned place¡­ I digress; after they broke in they started a severe beating session. Then sold me to slavery, wasn¡¯t even much, only a few drinks worth of coin¡­


    That¡¯s the story of how I ended up here, in the arena. A sad little tale of ignorance and curiosity, all of this could have been avoided¡­

 Chapter 3: Giant

    Authors¡¯ corner: I won¡¯t be spending next weekend at home, so no chapter will be coming next week </img>


    ___________________________________________________________________________________________________


    I am Tok¡¯rit. I was born of common blood, but quickly noticed that I wasn¡¯t like the other kids, I was bigger. I was stronger. So with the guidance of my uncle, I trained to be a fighter; a warrior. At the age of 15 I could spar with adults, two cycles later I could hold my own against a hardened warrior of the banner. My uncle was one of the Banner, a mercenary group who often joined in exploration campaigns.


    So after my coming of age I quickly joined the company, I became one of the Banner. Both my father and uncle were proud of me, proud of my potential. But what kept tugging at my heart long after I ventured out of my little village was the face of my mother. She was a sweet woman, soft to a fault. She would often try to be stern only to fail and cry in apology. I loved her dearly, but I was a man now, and I wanted to see the world.


    Still, the way her stare fell upon me just before I set out¡­ She didn¡¯t look sad or reluctant to let me go any more. She didn¡¯t cry or weep. She just gave me an empty gaze, devoid of feeling. Her eyes empty of the sparkle she always had when she looked at me, she didn¡¯t wear her smile; which always set my soul at ease. I wanted to stay and ask for her forgiveness, make her look at me like she always did¡­ but my pride didn¡¯t let me. I made my choice, and I would follow through.


    The first night out in the wilderness I couldn¡¯t sleep, each and every time I closed my eyes I saw her stare. Her empty eyes meeting my own¡­ that night I shed tears of guilt.


    Life with the company was¡­ unique, for lack of a better word. I did get to travel quite a lot, but exploration campaigns weren¡¯t as common as I thought. Over the course of 4 cycles we only went on a single campaign, while spending most of our time protecting stray villages. The experience wasn¡¯t bad though¡­ I did get to prove myself a few times, the first man I killed was a scout, a bandit scout to be exact.


    ¡­We were at a village called ¡®creek village¡¯ named after the brook that the village was built besides. As the sun began to set and its rays were dimmed I was on patrol. We took turns patrolling the village, 10 of us were checking along the outskirts of the village, with some distance between us, just enough to hear if there¡¯s trouble. While 5 were patrolling the inner village, in case a bandit got through unnoticed.


    The rest of the company were either sleeping in camp or drinking at the village inn, we would cycle the duties. The ones checking the outskirts were relieved every 3 hours, while the others were relieved every 4 hours. This way we were rested enough to fight if need be. That evening it just so happened that I noticed a figure run in close proximity to the tree line besides the village. I decided to call out to the figure, it may have been a villager, I wouldn¡¯t want to call the others in that case. And even if the figure would be spooked I would know it¡¯s an outsider of sorts, and report the news as normal.


    Seeing as I¡¯ve noticed it, the figure walked out of the woods, it had a stature of a man; dressed in a worn out cloak that was hiding most of his body. The man claimed that he was lost, and that he wanted to ask for some water and a place to rest. I heard this story a few times before, so I wanted to check if he was truthful¡­


    ¡°You said that you were lost yes? Are you a traveler? Where were you headed, and how did you stray?¡± I asked him in a stern voice.


    ¡°Aye there stranger, there is no need to ask all these questions, I can see I¡¯m not wanted here¡­ I¡¯ll be on my way.¡± says the man with a frown on his face, as he starts to back away.


    Just as he turns around I notice a bulge of some kind on his cloak, making it stick out in contrast to the otherwise ragged piece of cloth. My reasoning told me that the bulge was a weapon, probably a poorly strapped sword. I again called out to the man, making him stop in his tracks.


    ¡°Do you know how to wield that weapon, ¡®traveler¡¯? I ask with feigned humor, my palm already on my swords handle.


    The moment my words fall on his ears he briskly draws his short sword, holding it with both hands, pointing it at my face.


    ¡°Now! He¡¯s alone!¡± he yells, while looking behind him.


    I panic at his words, I didn¡¯t expect others to be in close enough proximity to help the man, my eyes swiftly move from tree to tree, eagerly searching for archers and arrows heading for my life. The man sees this as an opportunity and turns tail, his call for help was a bluff¡­ and I fell for it. If he makes it back to his men this could be a tough fight, I don¡¯t know how many there are¡­


    In yet another moment of panic I spin the sword in my hand, wrapping my index finger around the cross guard and resting the blade in my palm, this felt natural. And I threw the sword, just as I would throw a spear. My aim held true, and the sword pierced the man in the back, silencing him forever. I don¡¯t know if it was luck or skill that guided the blade, but I was satisfied either way. The now dead man¡¯s body was imbedded in a tree trunk, my sword being the support that held him upright.


    The man¡¯s previous scream got the attention of two of the Banner men and they came running to the source of the noise. When they reached me they were surprised by what they found, and commended me on my throw, praising my strength in the process.


    Later that day; once the sun has finally set, a spotter was sent in the direction the scout had come from, in search for the bandit camp. We would raid them tonight, end the plight before it even begins. We would later check if there are any bounties to be collected.


    Upon the spotters return he reported that the bandits are around 60 in number; quite a large group¡­ if not for the scouts blunder we would¡¯ve definitely suffered rather large losses. While we number around 100, some are drunk after patrol duty, others are asleep. An unannounced surprise attack would¡¯ve overwhelmed us. Thankfully we now had the advantage of surprise and preparation.


    We set out into the forest, spreading out in a semicircle formation, moving slowly through the vast labyrinth of bark and leaves. The crunching noise of the dry blanches and occasional grunts accompany us to the nearing field of battle, the keenest of our hunters being the ones who actually lead the way, guiding us in the darkness of the forest.


    As we draw near the bandit camp our hunters¡¯ gesture to stop, there seem to be a few lookouts. The bandits appear to be quarreling over something as distant voices can be heard. The flickering of their campfires which spread some much needed light in the darkness also serve to announce the approaching raid. I grow nervous; my sweaty palms grip the sword tighter, squeezing the leather of the handle, which makes a squeaky noise.


    Our hunters signal us to spread out, encircle the camp and draw our bows. The agreed upon signal to fire being a whistle. I do as instructed, take position besides my fellow Banner men and take aim. I was never good with a bow, but accuracy meant little now, I just had to fire an arrow and engage in a melee. The hunters being the ones to take out the other archers while the rest of us clash with the dismayed foe.


    I grip the nocked arrow as if my life hangs on it, fearing that it would slip through my sweaty fingers. I try to steady my breath, but the pace of breathing I¡¯m so used to just seems to elude me. My mind produces all kinds of scenarios, which only serve to stoke the fires of fear in me.


    The whistle is heard, my arrow flies free of its captor. My mind is cleared. I rush out of the tree line, and cleave an arm at the elbow of some man who almost unsheathed his sword. The flow of the sword showing me the way forward as I stab at his gut, then push his body clean off with my boot. A sparkle grabs my attention; a man is swinging his sword at me, the reflection of the fire in the steel being my savior. I don¡¯t have enough time to block with my blade, so I use my bare hand to slap it aside. I then use the pommel of my sword to smash his head in.


    My next victim is almost cleaved in half as he charges at me with a battle axe over his head. Seeing this display a woman bellows in anger and madly swings at me with her blade. I parry her blow while slicing her leg in the process; making her bend a knee, following the flow to swiftly meet her neck with my sword. The edge of my blade passes through her soft flesh, meeting little resistance. I meet her gaze with my own, her face forever frozen in terror, tears still streaming down her face, as if she was still alive.


    I stand there, bloodied. Surprised at the sight, it tears me away from my calm state and feelings of anxiety rush my mind. I look around, as if only now acknowledging my companions, they cheer for me. The battle was over; the bandits now lie dead or wounded.


    We take what we can, weapons, armor, coin, and question the survivors before quickly relieving them of their pain. Taking the heads of the leaders we set off back to the village, to celebrate our great victory.


    I gained the title of ''Giant'' with my display onthe field, my stature being a part of the reasonas well. We drink and laugh, we fight and cheer, overall we wash away the fear we previously experienced¡­ but soon our laughter turns to mourning for the few we lost. Not many, but they were a part of us, a part of the Banner¡­


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Every cycle the company takes a few weeks off, some go home to their families, others go to a city and squander away their earnings, be it on pleasure or gambling. I always spent my time in cities, I didn¡¯t want to see my mother¡¯s empty eyes again when I set off. I was a coward of sorts, my uncle always nagged me to return home with him, maybe even stay for a season or too, we had enough money. But I just couldn¡¯t¡­


    At the beginning of my 32nd cycle, I was in the city of red sand, that being a local name of course, the true one being ¡°Cassia¡±. From what I¡¯ve heard Cassia was the founder of this region, and the city was named after her, quite the honor¡­ though the locals only called it ¡®red sand city¡¯ because of, well the color of sand or dirt found around it.


    As I was taking a stroll in this city I couldn¡¯t help but gawk at the sights, the city was grand beyond belief. I could truly say that I have never seen anything like it in all my travels. The outer city was called the ¡®commons¡¯ and was a huge pub of activity, being both a housing and a trading area. Most if the merchants only had permission to sell there so one could always hear haggling in the streets.


    The inner city was what awe spired me, the buildings were huge, the streets wide, and the amount of people in one place was unbelievable. The pounding of hammers would echo through the streets, the scent of freshly baked pastries carried me from corner to corner¡­ the colorful shops and stores that littered the streets left me speechless. And the ladies¡­ they looked different¡­ they even smelled different, many a time would I turn my head surprised at the avid smell of strawberries, only to find myself staring at a woman.


    I spent my evening at an inn, famous for their lively environment and rich flavored mead. Soon enough I found some drinking companions and we shared our stories, laughing and cheering one another to continue. I then went to a brothel with my new found friends, and spent my night in the embrace of a beautiful woman who smelt like peaches.


    In the morning I asked around about some sightseeing sites, and was told to visit the arena if I don¡¯t wither in the sight of blood. I did just that, unknowing what to expect.


    When I finally found my way to the arena I was welcomed by a grand sight, a magnificent manifestation of man¡¯s ingenuity. The whole construction appears to be oval shaped, with cleanly cut and polished stone covering the floor. The magnificent marble columns; which support the grandiosely tall ceiling provide me with a sense of freedom and security. Truly a wonder of human ingenuity.


    It takes a few moments to regain my composure, once my head is my own again I pay the entrance fee and eagerly step inside. I am welcomed by a wide corridor littered with paintings of battle and statues of warriors of all kinds. I marvel at the art when I reach a stairway leading upwards. I quickly ascend the stairs, impatient to see if they lead to the top.


    On my way up I was met with a number of exits, but I decided to reach as high as I could, all the while the roar of the crowd pushes my excitement further towards the limit¡­ at the end of the stairs I am met with an archway, after passing through it the smell of sweat makes me cover my nose. The sheer number of people is astounding, no wonder it reeks so badly¡­


    The next moment the sight before me is finally taken in, the thundering sound of thousands of people howling and cheering; the noise makes it seem as if the arena itself is alive, and howls for blood. I follow the gaze of the nearest man, who seemed so intent to shout and bellow that he didn¡¯t even notice my attention at all.


    Down there, in the blood covered sands of the arena, a small man could be seen¡­ the man was dominating his opponents. At first I thought that he may have been set to fight multiple men at once, but I latter found out that they were too intimidated to take their eyes off of him. The man wielded a spear which seemed to dance along the bodies of his opposition, drawing blood with every move. The spectacle was marvelous to say the least.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what a man such as this was doing fighting in the arena, surely he could do better as a merc, heck he could probably start his own company. I ask the people around me, most don¡¯t even register my existence; they¡¯re too transfixed on the dance below. After quite a few repeated gestures I finally managed to get someone¡¯s attention, I quickly proceed to relieve my curiosity before the man¡¯s focus inevitably shifts away from me.


    I found out that the man below is the arenas champion, the eldest slave to ever survive in the arena, an old Tunge, skilled beyond measure. With my short term curiosity satiated my gaze again shifts to the sands. The Tunge was toying with the others, purposely drawing out their lives, as if taking pleasure in the act. The distant smile of the Tunge was sending chills down my very core.


    Cycles passed and I progressively grew addicted to ¡®Cassia, the city of red sand¡¯, whenever I have time I spend it there. My money never staying in my pocket for long, I''m welcomed in ¡®the Blue Wing Brothel¡¯ with open arms and legs, the local inn and tavern patrons sing at the mere mention of ¡®the giant¡¯. Tales of my travels reached the ears of the people in recent cycles; I enjoy the attention and fame.


    As time passed my debts grew, the company provided too little to cover my expenses. I started looking for work on the side, while still staying in the city. I took some bodyguard jobs, even day time guard duty. With every passing day my anxiousness grew, so much what it threatened to devour me.


    I asked around so more, and I found out that a tournament was held in the arena, a free for all, with the winner being the last survivor. An enormous profit can be made by winning, more so by betting. My mind was made; I scrapped every bit of coin I could manage, and signed up for the fight, feeling confident in my skill.


    The night before the tournament I once again spent in the embrace of a fruit scented woman. Waking up in the morning I made my way to the arena; still as grand as I remember. I made my way inside, only this time from a different entrance. A man guided me to the waiting corner. The tournament would take place at the end of the normal battles.


    While we were waiting we had refreshments provided for us, from wine and fruit to mead and soup, guess this is a last meal for most of them.


    A loud gong signals the beginning of the melee. Stepping out of the gate I see many of the people running for the weapon walls, and I''m inclined to do the same, choosing a broadsword heavier than most, a fitting weapon for me. I wait for the opposition to thin themselves out, no use in tiring myself needlessly. I stay with my back to the wall, bidding my time, carefully observing my surroundings.


    Most seem as mere children, trying to prove their bravado to be true¡­ no matter, I have my reason to be here, don¡¯t need to meddle in theirs as well. I notice a few of the men eyeing me, seems I need to put on a display of sorts, make them fear my approach.


    I walk in their general direction, stopping just a few meters away. I bid them to come as my voice rumbles through their ears.


    One of them backs away, as if sensing the danger I pose to him. The others weren¡¯t as smart. I deflect a thrust to the side with the middle of my blade and follow through to slice at the neck of the attacker. Not wasting any time the others rush at me as well, one wielding a spear, while the other wields a mace.


    The spear being the first to reach me; I redirect it to the right of me with my sword, blocking the approach of the mace wielder. I then step in and swiftly stab at the chest of the spear bearer. The mace wielder flinches at my display and takes a step back, too bad he lost the chance to disengage when he didn¡¯t listen to his instincts.


    Stepping around the body of the spear bearer as he stumbles and falls, I take the initiative this time. Letting loose a raging howl of a battle cry from the depth of my stomach, I take the mace wielders head clean off, a satisfying thud sounds at my feet. A deep laughter escapes my lips, this gains the approval of the crowd as it erupts in a load cheer of approval.


    My gaze sweeps the arena in search of other opponents willing to taste my wrath, whilst fueling my laughter further. Suddenly I am met with a different set of eyes, these eyes are measuring me¡­ the one they belong to doesn¡¯t fear me. It takes but a brief moment to come to a conclusion, its either me or him, I would rather end this sooner rather than later, wouldn¡¯t want him taking advantage of a moment of weakness or the like.


    My laughter comes to a halt, and I take a defensive stance, just in case he decides to throw his spear, I then slowly make my way to the weapon wall. A spear is difficult to deal with if the handler knows how to use it, so I take a large shield and an axe. If all goes well I can hook the spear head with the axe and break his spear on the shield, then let him taste metal. I also take a few javelins; I want to test his reaction.


    I steady my breathing and focus on shifting my weight with every step, a steady body equals a steady mind. The man smiles at me, there is no malice in his smile yet it frightens me, I wreck my brain for the reason and soon regret finding the memory.


    This was the spear dancer, his smile being the herald of my end.

 Chapter 4: Echo

    Author¡¯s corner: Sorry for the wait, if nothing unexpected happens I should have at least one chapter released every weekend. Maybe more if time allows it. Thank you for reading and enjoy.


    ______________________________________________________________________________________


    - ???? -


    I¡¯m drifting in an endless ocean of warmth, the currents guiding me to an unknown destination. I am aware of myself yet I¡¯m strangely detached. I have no desires, no purpose¡­ I feel like an empty shell, enveloped by the warmth, all I know is its embrace and comfort. This is so pleasant¡­ so warm¡­


    As I drift along with the currents I feel an occasional pull in a certain direction, the pull isminuscule, as if asking for my permission. I choose to continue with the flow and it obeys my desire. Along the currents way I feel other pulls, some stronger than the last, others weaker, nothingforcefulthough.


    My essence is shaken when I feel a change, a slight chill; so insignificant that I start to wonder if what I felt was even real. But then I felt it again, in the distance¡­ at the end of the current of warmth. The end... The coldgrowsstronger as I try to struggle against the currents, I try to focus on the other pulls I felt, the warm ones¡­ yet I can¡¯t grasp them, they are too far for me to even feel now.


    I try to resist the current yet I fail, it is too strong, too dominant. I try to push away from the cold yet I can¡¯t, the pull is absolute. I try to stop myself, pull back from the cold while simultaneously pushing the cold away, this worked before¡­ but now it is not enough. I can¡¯t resist¡­ I panic as the end nears, as the coldenvelopsme, as the warmth abandons me¡­


    ______________________________________________________________________________________


    -Murus of the Many -


    I walk the perimeter of the tribe¡¯s territory with a fellow sentry. We don¡¯t talk, we never talked. We just go the rounds, check for dangers, anything that moves and isn¡¯t of the tribe is a danger. We walk, leaving a deep trail in the thick snow. The dawn duty sentries flatten the snow every morning, and theduskduty flattens it every evening. It still rises to knee height between the clearings.


    We walk past a checkpoint, the guard there reaches out to our sense with his own. Acknowledging him we pass onwards, to the nextcheckpoint. We usually pass betweencheckpointstwice before another team relieves us. A few hundred paces after the checkpoint I sense something, I send my sense out to my partner, not willing to speak out loud. He sends out his own sense in agreement and we slowly start moving.


    The thing I sensed before is alive,hot-blooded, and big, it was anUngul, a fierce creature with a giant frame and strong enough to topple trees if need be. The both of us would not be enough to deal with the beast is it became hostile. We sent out a wave of distress to the nearby sentries and guards in hopes of support, while in the meantime brandishing our weapons in silence.


    The Unguls are territorial, I don¡¯t remember anyone reporting of one nearing our borders¡­ the best guess to make would be that it left its pack not long ago in search of a territory to mark as its own. We cannot allow that, we are warriors of the Many, no mere beast can take what¡¯s our¡­ this line of thought breeds a deep anger within me, my heart races in anticipation, my breath quickens in anticipation of combat.


    I send my sense of anger and bloodlust to my partner as I clench my weapon tighter, he pars my bloodlust with his own and we take that moment to charge at the beast. Our battle cries are met with a ferocious roar, filled with power and pride. Pride, we too once had that; alas power is all that is left¡­


    I raise my spear to lunge, as another spear; one identical to mine flies past my head and gets stuck in the great beast¡¯s right shoulder. I lose track of my partners doing as my spearhead meets bone and the beast roars in defiance.


    Breathe; I pull my spear out of the beast. Breathe; I lunge again. Breathe; I stab at its left leg. Breathe; the Ungul breaks the shaft of the spear. Breathe; I sidestep as its massive paw comes down to where I was a mere half a second ago. Breathe; I draw my right axe from my belt. Breathe; I throw it at the beast''s paw as it covers its face from the arrows of my partner. Breathe; I draw my left axe as the beast stands back on its hind legs and roars a mighty roar. Breathe; I dash forward with all I¡¯ve got¡­


    The Ungul notices me and tries to smash me by slamming his paws, which he brings down from above his head with the full force of his body. A shimmer of fear is ignited in my being as a vision of my death is presented before me¡­ I have lived my life in hopes of once being one of the heroes in the stories of old yet time has shown my dreams to be a boy¡¯s ambition.


    I am one of the Many, my duty is to protect our kind. Once we are back to how we once were we will take vengeance. Avenge our suffering, avenge our dead and stillborn.The Blight of theGoddess they say, bah¡­ I have always seen the truth¡­ The mother was the one to abandon us, and the father welcomed both us and our children.


    How unfortunate were the ones of old to draw the attention of the vindictive one¡­ How blind were they to their folly? It bears no weight now¡­ it holds no meaning¡­All that we have left of the old ones now are just stories; stories of glory, stories of greatness, strength, wealth, ingenuity, marvel, and beauty.


    What does it matter when our young don¡¯t survive their Greetings with the world?! How many must we burn for the bitch to be satisfied?! How many will never even get the privilege to question?! To struggle?! To live?!


    The shimmer of fear passes and a burning anger takes its place, time quickens once more and I return to my battle. The paws that bring my death are ever so close¡­ Clenching my teeth I leap to the side of his injured arm that I previously hit with my other axe and strike the beasts weak knee. This causes the beast to howl in pain and lightly pull back his right paw, which almost ripped my chest open as it tore through armor and scales alike.


    I roll 3 paces away from the beast, facing its back as it howls still. The pain does little to silence my anger as I leap on the beasts back, sticking my axe head in the stock muscle of the beast, past the fat and fur. I roar as I stick my left hand into the now open wound, feeling as I¡¯ve taken a reasonable hold I swing my axe once more, this time towards the creature¡¯s neck. The desperate flailing of the beast misguides my blow, and it lands in the side of its neck instead of the spine. The next moment I''m slapped to the side with the powerful paw of the beast. A split-second later a tree greets my body as I make contact with its tough bark.


    Feeling mangled and broken; the whistles of death once again enter my mind. The father is smiling at me, he¡¯s been waiting. He¡¯s waiting for all my kind to join him¡­ it¡¯s only a matter of time. A few more generations and we would be no more. No¡­ We are the MANY, we fight to live, fight likethe old ones once did. One day we will regain what we¡¯ve lost! You can¡¯t take me yet¡­ Do you hear me, father?! I must live to protect those who are yet to know life¡­ I can¡¯t go with you yet¡­


    Wrestling to gain a clear moment of focus I spread my sense out to observe the battlefield¡­ The beast is breathing heavily while slowly limping away, out of our territory. My partner is crawling to me, injured, not as bad as me though it seems. His sense prods me about my wellbeing; if I can walk or limp with his help. I send out my struggles to even breathe, I then compulsively cough out a mouthful of blood.


    Spreading my arms on the snow while lying on my back relaxes me, the cold isn¡¯t as menacing as it once was¡­ now it seems, inviting¡­ I retract my sense to my body alone and prod around checking if I can survive the day. This endeavor proves futile as I black out from blood loss a moment later.


    I feel myself regaining consciousness as I awake, I survived¡­ spreading my sense I observe the damage, broken bones and torn muscles, minimal internal bleeding. A few days of rest would get me back on my feet¡­


    ¡°Murus¡­ glad you¡¯re awake¡­¡± I spread my sense in the direction of the voice, its Cali¡¯ce¡­


    ¡°I''m not so weak that i would die from some broken bones, little flower.¡± Relief is present in my voice, and while I feel that Cali¡¯ce is somewhat anxious I decide to let her deal with it, no need to poke at things better left alone.


    ¡°Ura¡¯uye took care of you while you were not with us, you held the Fathers hand for a time there, it seems as if he himself chose to leave you with us¡­ but that is not what I''m here for¡­¡± There is it¡­ that anxiety again¡­


    ¡°Little flower, what is it?¡± My voice comes out dry and coarse as I cough a few times, pain spreading quickly along my body, I can take it¡­


    ¡°Your One¡­ She is about to greet the next, I thought you should be at the Greetings¡­¡± There is conflict in her words, she must have thought I was still out of it and just ran to check in case I was awake. Cute of the child to worry for an elder, but a the Greetings are not to be missed.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Then I can¡¯t lie in bed while my One is Greeting the next young, I must be there¡­¡± I grunt out the last words as I motion to sit on the bed.


    Cali¡¯cerushes to help me up and I send a wave of gratitude to her. I lean on her shoulder and take a step, seemingly steady on my feet I slowly continue withCali¡¯ce. We walk along the long tunnel; everywhere is the same, hard cold ice. Our residence is deep in the mountainside, the ice caves serving as our Greeting grounds. The young need the cold to survive¡­ yet most are extinguished by the very same cold.


    I sense a hopeful anticipation, with specs of anxiety. I recognize the bearer of the feeling¡­ this is my One, she and a few other females are bracing for the Greeting to begin¡­ I quicken my pace, hoping to reach her before it begins. Spreading my sense in her direction I make contact, I send that I''m here, I''m here with her, whatever happens, we are together, she is my One.


    I''m repaid in kind, with a feeling ofaffection and gratitude, the anxiety she felt before is now gone. My pace quickens once more as I feel a painful jolt from her side, I leaveCali¡¯ceand sprint to the Greeting caves as fast as I can, I want to be there¡­ My bones creak as I roll down on the hard ice of the cavern. I couldn¡¯t stop, so I decided to fall, what do I need a body for if I can¡¯t abuse it a little?


    I walk to my One just as the newborns are coming out¡­ one, two, three, four¡­ five. I swallow my feeling of amazement as I steel my nerves for the next few moments.


    The young came out in a soft, flexible, egg-like shell covering them, the small little gems are pulsating with the mother''s energy, so healthy¡­ if the shells don¡¯t freeze in the first few moments it is a good sign.


    They will be set by the wall, in the corner and placed apaceapart from each other. There they will hatch in two to five days¡­ a silent moment passes and I feel emotions of grief from the surrounding ones, I spread my own feelings sorrow for their loss¡­ focusing on my young I notice one was slowly freezing.


    This is normal, not all survive the greeting, and much less survive the following year. My mind lingers on the slowly extinguishing life force. I start to imagine what kind of future this child could have had¡­ my thoughts drift to a different plane, an imaginary plane of existence my own has father told me about.


    A plane of happiness, a plane without sorrow or sadness, where the lost thrive and laugh, sing and dance, love and embrace¡­ I dearly wish for this child to go to that plane. The waiting time is finished, and we, the blood of the lost, must say our farewells.It may be so that the young have not been with us for long, but they were part of us still, for these few moments they were part of the Many¡­


    I place my arm on the still freezing soft shell of the child and ask forgiveness as I wait for the others to join me¡­ when each and every one of the blood has an arm on a lost one we start to chant for their safe departure¡­


    ¡°Little footprints~ in the snow


    Making water~ drip and flow


    Leaves are falling~ touching ground


    The Moon is hiding~ letting the Sunshine, all around


    Little footprints~ in the sand


    Facing forward~ to the sea


    Little droplets~ spreading wide


    The sea howls~ with delight


    Safely guiding~ to the other side¡±


    Finishing the chant I send a final farewell to my lost one¡­ suddenly a feeling of deep radiant bliss overwhelms me and I gasp for a breath in surprise¡­ Regaining my composure I steady my breathing and check the surroundings. Everybody seemingly felt either the feeling of surprise I sent out or the feeling of joy I got myself.


    A feeling of shock draws my attention, it is from my One. She focused her sense on the lost one¡­ I copy her doing and notice that the life-force of the child is stronger now, almost as much as in an unfrozen shell, this is unbelievable¡­ the ice is still there, it just as if it doesn¡¯t matter anymore¡­


    _________________________________________________________________________________________


    - ???? -


    It¡¯s so cold here¡­ I don¡¯t like the cold¡­ I don¡¯t WANT the cold. Why did the warmth abandon me?! What have I done to be rejected? Was it that I wanted to continue with the current? Did I do this? Did I choose this?! No¡­ no- no- no- no. I feel it eating at me, feeding on the little warmth I have left inside me.


    I start to fade away; I feel the cold enter my being¡­ its apart of me now, just as the warmth once was. This scares me, a vision flashes before me¡­ a man lying against a rock, the man looks content, but his eyes are tired and vague. A smile crosses the man¡¯s face, not a smile of happiness, no¡­ a smile of solitude. The cold takes the man¡¯s last breath and the vision fades away.


    I too am alone, there is nothing here, now the last of the once embracing warmth is replaced by a biting cold. It is vicious in its pursuit of my being. I feel its desire for me. It hungers for me to join in its endless suffering. I can¡¯t fight it¡­ I can¡¯t win¡­ I''m slowly becoming one with the cold¡­ ah, it¡¯s quite comfortable¡­


    Maybe if I just let go I can even enjoy the colds company, maybe if I join it we will both be complete¡­ maybe I am the cold already, and the warmth that lingers in my memories is what¡¯s holding me back¡­ makes me suffer¡­ maybe if I just let go, I won¡¯t be alone anymore¡­


    A feeling comes over me! The feeling is neither warm nor cold, it just is. The feeling is sad; a feeling of guilt, a feeling of regret. And as the gloomy feeling washed over me I heard something, words wereimbeddedin the feeling¡­


    ¡°I am sorrylittle lostone; my will is not enough to keep you with us.¡± I was not alone anymore¡­ someone spoke to me¡­ I''m not alone! The heavy embrace of the cold held little meaning now, the lost comfort of the warmth held no sway either¡­ I marveled at the thought of company, I felt my being shine in delight. I wanted to reach out to the feeling that spoke to me.


    I focused all that I oncewas,and all that I now am to find the source of the feeling¡­ it was outside the cold. I outstretch myself beyond the cold, I need to reach the feeling¡­ I try to talk to the feeling beyond the cold, I try to yell, scream, shout, bellow¡­ I can¡¯t reach it¡­Was this another trick of the cold? Give me hope and rip it way right after? Then just let despair take over¡­?


    ¡°Goodbye my blood, may the Father be gracious in his reception.¡± There it was again! Another feeling spoke out, this one was different from the last. This feeling held a deep flavor of loss embedded in the words. I had to reach it this time, I can¡¯t be certain there would be another chance, and even if there was, I can¡¯t hold off the cold for long.


    I have to make it work this time; I don¡¯t try to speak, instead, I copy the way the feeling used words, weaving them into an emotion. I wanted the feeling to know what I felt. I wanted it to see my happiness, my joy. So I sent out a wave of my feeling, my essence, myself¡­ with a simple phrase woven inside; ¡°Thank you¡±.


    Feeling fulfilled I once again witness the sight of the lone man lying against a rock, with a content look on his face. I understand now¡­we¡¯re not alone. With that, my consciousness slips away.

 Chapter 5: Nothing

    - ???? -


    [I walk down a muddy path, darkness all around me. in the distance ahead I see a dim light, barely big enough to notice, I walk toward it. I hear whispering in the surrounding darkness, the words are foreign to me. Occasionally, as I walk, a silhouette would come out of the darkness and stand in front of me. It would stay there until I walk up to it, and it would then turn around and walk ahead a few steps before fading away.


    I grew accustomed to the phenomenon, ¡®just reach the light and rest¡¯ is what I thought. My surroundings don¡¯t change, no matter how much distance I cover, nor does the dim light grow any closer. A silhouette walks up in front of me again, whispering in its unknowns tongue, almost as if it¡¯s expecting a reply. I dismiss its actions as I did to the other silhouette before it. They hold no meaning, I must reach the light.


    Unlike the others, this silhouette does not move when I reach it, it just stands there, its whispers sound so much clearer than the others. I look at the shadowy figure and try to touch it, only to be met with a nothing as my hand passes through the shadow. I see no reason to stay and walk around the figure, yet the whisperings are ever present. The specter follows me, speaking to me.


    I can make out a few words of the specter now, amongst the rambling I heard the words ¡®Why¡¯, and ¡®Left¡¯. I walk faster and faster, almost running now, but the silhouette is still behind me, almost screaming at me. Another specter walks out of the darkness, the previous one walks up to It and they exchange their whispers before the one who has been following me goes back to the darkness. The other silhouette stands before me now, it smaller than the last.


    I walk up to it and it too does not fade away, it stands face to face with me, whispering¡­ I start feeling strange; as if I should recognize the figure or at least the words it speaks, but I can''t. They are too foreign, too strange, too old¡­?


    ¡°What are you?¡± I ask the silhouette only to be met with more whispers


    ¡°Who are you?¡± The silhouette stops its whispering at my question, a hand emerges from the shadowy body and points at my chest. The silhouette then turns around and fades away into the darkness. I place my hand on the spot that the specter pointed at and look down. I can''t see myself¡­ I place my hand in front of my face but I still can''t see it. No matter, yes¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter, I must reach the light.


    ¡°Why¡­. Left¡­.?¡± I turn at the sound of these words and am yet again met with a silhouette standing before me. I feel it looking at me with sorrow, its whispers almost muffled by the darkness. I walk passed it, the light¡­ the light is important, I must get to it, these shadows hold no meaning.


    ¡°WHY¡­. LEFT¡­.?!¡± The specters voice thunders in my ears I briefly turn around and look at the silhouette, only to see nothing but the darkness¡­


    The light seems brighter now, I feel I''m getting closer, maybe I can finally reach it. Two shadows emerge from the darkness, both stand tall and quiet, no whispers exit their mouths. Instead, they speak words meant for me to understand.


    ¡°Why do you walk?¡± Ask the specters in unison.


    ¡°To reach the light,¡± I answer plainly.


    ¡°Why have you left?¡± Again they speak in unison.


    ¡°Left¡­? Where did I leave?¡± They make no sense¡­


    ¡°WHY HAVE YOU LEFT?!¡±]


    I open my eyes in fright, there is no sign of the darkness anymore, there is just nothing¡­ where am I? It¡¯s cold here¡­ I feel strange, this is weird¡­ I am aware of myself but I see nothing, there is no dark nor is there light. I feel something around me, but I have no idea what it is. The cold feels so real, how can there be nothing here? I try to move around only to realize I''m in some sort of confined space. I can feel liquid around me now, cold liquid. Beyond it lays some sort of a wall, an egg shaped wall, it feels soft and alive.


    The cold isn¡¯t so frightening now; it¡¯s just cold, simple cold¡­ I remember hearing a voice, feeling a voice. Where am I? I¡¯m not alone anymore am I? The thought is comforting but I can¡¯t feel the voice that spoke to me before¡­ah, so tired¡­ maybe I should sleep some more and then try to spread out again. Yeah, that¡¯s what I¡¯ll do, rest and try again¡­


    I wake up in the same cold container, the liquid is constant and stable, I feel safe here, it¡¯s nice. I try to spread my being outside only to find more cold. Notliquidthough, just cold. I push further and discover some strange rocks. They feel soft, just like my wall. I try to push through the ¡®shell¡¯ and find the same cold liquid that surrounds me even now. There, in the heart of the liquid filled rock floats a being¡­


    Surprised, I pull my being back to my shell, my safe, cold shell¡­ Did this being in the rock speak to me before? There were multiple rocks like that one, why didn¡¯t they speak to me? Did I invade its home? Will it not speak to me again? I take a moment to calm down and regain my rationality. With my distress calmed down I spread my being around myself. Trying to get a good feel for my container, I feel myself floating in the center of the shell, the shell is pulsating¡­ why haven¡¯t I noticed this before? Maybe it didn¡¯t pulsate before? ah no matter, cold liquid surrounds me ,just like the other being I felt, nothing new here.


    I push further, outside my shell. I once again reach the other rocks¡­ better to call them shells too now. I enter the one I visited before and once again it¡¯s just floating there, in the middle of the shell, so peaceful. I try to feel what the being is, maybe talk to it again. I try to greet it but I''m met with silence, I feel weakness from the being. It can¡¯t be the one who talked to me before; I felt emotion embedded with words that time. I surround the other being with awareness and probe it, I seem to be asleep, maybe I should try one of the others.


    Leaving the being to its rest I depart from its shell and search for another one, which isn¡¯t too hard as they¡¯re practically spread out not too far from each other. When I spread out my being before I felt about 6 other rocks or shells. I will by awareness into a shell next to the previous one and explore its insides; again I find the cold liquid and a being in the middle. I probe it, just as I did to the one before, and try to speak to it. No answer. It too is asleep, I try others, only to find them sleeping as well. It seems I''m the only one awake.


    I spread my being further out until I reach another wall, this one being colder than the shells, it¡¯s harder too. I spread as much as I can but it seems I can¡¯t get passed the second wall, either the wall is too thick or I can¡¯t spread far enough. Thinking it inconsequential I return to my shell and sleep once again.


    I awake to the now familiar cold liquid, spreading outside my shell I check up on the others, they¡¯re still asleep. I return to my shell and try to feel the outlines of my body; yes I seem to have a physical body. I first found out when I probed the other beings, we seem to be the same. I feel comfortable in this body, it feels natural, can¡¯t move around freely yet, but I can and move just a little. I have one head and five limbs, them being two arms, two legs, and a tail.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.My body is covered with soft little scales, it seems my body is fed by the liquid; it seeps inside my body through the scales. Now that I focus on it I can feel the scales harden little by little as the liquid passes through them. My arms and legs have five fingers each, with tiny, soft claws. It seems I don¡¯t have enough control to wriggle my fingers one by one yet, I should practice. The tail is different, though, I can slowly move it around in the liquid. It is quite draining though and I feel sleepy again.


    I wake up with renewed vigor and decide to experiment a little. If I can spread my being and probe others then maybe I can influence the intake of the liquid into my body. I spread out by awareness, stopping just at the inside of my shell, and start slowly compressing the liquid. This soon proves too much and I am forced to stop as I succumb to exhaustion.


    I wake up and refocus my being, while compressing all the liquid in the shell is too draining, is it possible. This time, I¡¯ll try something else, I spread my being just outside my body and push the liquid that¡¯s inside my zone into my body through my scales. A refreshing feeling encompasses my body, success. I continue slowly taking in the cold liquid until exhaustion takes its toll again.


    The cold welcomes me back as my consciousness returns, I check up on the other shells and find that they¡¯re still asleep. No surprise there I guess. I then weakly stretch my body, working on flexing my joints and moving my tail. Once I¡¯m done I continue with my little routine and push the liquid into my body as I did before. little by little the liquid drains from the shell, and my soft container shrinks and begins to fold onto itself, nothing drastic, just slightly different than before.


    Time passes as I carry on with my routine, and the others have begun to awake. When I check up on them I can sometimes feel their curiosity or their fear of the cold. Their shells are now noticeably different from mine. While theirs is still well rounded, smooth, and still pulsating with power; mine is folded and shriveled up. I feel more in control now, more capable. I can move my arms and legs on command and use my tail to level out some folds underneath my body, so I can comfortably lie on the bottom of the shell. Now that my body took in almost two-thirds of the liquid I can¡¯t float in it anymore.


    As I spread my being to check up on the others like many times before I feel something, I feel emotions; excitement¡­I feel ecstatic, there are others as well! Maybe they are the ones who spoke to me. I search for words in their emotions yet find none. This saddens me somewhat but I''m still happy to find others, maybe I can reach out to them¡­


    I spread my awareness to one of the beings that I felt emotions from, this one is big¡­ they all are. Maybe we¡¯re different? Or are they different? They don¡¯t even have a shell¡­ maybe I shouldn¡¯t probe them, and just see what happens? No, they are here as well so they surely aren¡¯t hostile¡­ or are they? Maybe they¡¯re here to take the others¡­ but they¡¯ve just woken up. They didn¡¯t even take in most of the liquid; they must be weak and sleepy like I was in the beginning.


    Fear sprouts in my being; I must protect the others¡­ I''m the eldest. I shrink my being, leaving just enough to cover all of the others including myself inside. I use the rest to harden the outskirts of my being, compressing all I am into a wall, a safe place for me and the others. I feel the bigger beings approach, stopping just outside of my wall. They exclude a feeling of confusion, one of them reaches out to touch my wall, pressing down on it. The force the being pushes with against my wall is immense, I can¡¯t take much more. I try to push against the being only to be extinguished¡­ my efforts were for naught. I hope the others will be safe as my consciousness slips from beneath my grasp.


    _________________________________________________________________________________________


    -Murus of the Many -


    The time has come¡­ I finally get to hold my young. My One and I are walking hand in hand down the ice corridors with the other mates, all of us are excited and impatient to pick up our offspring¡¯s. This greeting was the biggest in a long time now, just the two of us produced five young, they can still be taken by the cold, yes, but nonetheless¡­ Greeting five young is a rare phenomenon.


    All together we all Greeted thirdly-eight young ones, thirty-eight potential future warriors of the Many. Ah, I''m so proud right now¡­ The one who has overcome the cold is the reason for most of my pride... I haven¡¯t heard of this happening before, and what he did¡­ He felt my despair and radiated a feeling so bright it swallowed up all the grief at the Greetings. The pure happiness he excluded, I just can''t fathom how he did what he did.


    A curious feeling calls out to me from my left ¡°Murus, you must be excited¡­¡± It¡¯s Asa¡¯di, my One.


    ¡°Of course,I am love, but aren¡¯t you the same?¡± I ask teasingly as I remember her fit of hysteria when our young fought off the cold. A largely concealed wave of embarrassment is emanating from my One, only soon to be replaced with a warm feeling of excitement.


    ¡°No use hiding it from you now is there¡­ I can¡¯t wait to meet them, they¡¯re ours you know¡­ ours.¡± Another wave escapes from my One, a wave of distant grief, she remembered our lost ones no doubt. This was our third Greeting, no young survived the previous ones. I grow agitated at the memory, how many were taken by the cold, with the decree of the Goddess¡­ But the Many shall survive through this, we must.


    ¡°Calm yourself my One, the past is behind us,¡± Asa¡¯di presses herself against my arm and places her hand on my heart. ¡°The future is before us now, let us welcome it together.¡± I take her hand into my own, take a deep cold breath, and calm down.


    ¡°You are right as always my love, let us welcome it¡­¡± We continue along the ice tunnels, briskly walking to the Greeting caves, now in silence.


    As we approach I sense a feeling of fear, this confuses me. I stop, spreading my sense to the others, checking if they felt the same. Having my suspicion justified we continue on, slowly. My One holds my hand tightly, and I return the gesture. We step through the cave entrance and spread our sense onto our young, thirty-seven eggs. One is missing! I quickly spread my sense further, deeper; to check up on the eggs only to be stopped just before the first few, what is this; there is something akin to a wall that stops my sense from passing through the front.


    I walk towards the barrier and put my hand on it, It feels solid¡­ I press down with a little force andsense the barrier shaking before my hand is pushed back. I rub the arm that was rejected by the barrier with my other one, and think about what¡¯s happening here¡­ the others are now coming closer, surely they are just as curious about what happened as I am.


    I sense that the barrier has shattered, must¡¯ve been much weaker than I thought. The others have carefully started to sense for their young, and my One has started doing the same. She found all five, but was surprised to discover one of them to be shriveled, and dried up. Her surprise was what drew me out of my short, dazed state. The four were normal and healthy, ready to ¡®hatch¡¯, but the last one, the fifth one¡­ he was different. He was the one who survived before, it seems like he also sucked in most of the energy¡­


    Normally, when young hatch, we gather leftover liquid energy from the shell, and feed it to the young, after mixing it with cold milk. But this one has almost used up all of his liquid, in the span of five days, haha¡­ truly a special one. He also seems like the only one to be asleep¡­ there¡¯s still the question of the barrier from earlier. Was it one of the young? Can¡¯t be one of the Many¡­ and seeing as there is no one here, it must be one of them.


    Did my little one do it? With what he¡¯s done so far, it would be more believable than one of the other young doing it. Then there¡¯s the feeling of fright I sensed before, maybe he was frightened by us? And set up the barrier to protect the eggs? A brave one if so, I¡¯ll have a good time teaching him about the ways of the Many ¡­

 Chapter 6: Flame

    -CaptainHourig Eideann-


    There will be no hiding, no; not as long as the wind knows my name. There will be no running, no; not as long as the earth and sky embrace me as their own. Tonight I shall die, I know that now, truth be told I had no doubt from the beginning, but it¡¯s difficult to forsake life until you reach the line.


    And many have crossed that line today, yet I am just now standing in front of it. Shame is not something you feel when you''re about to die, no. Some would say it would be fear, and I could argue that point, but I am not too inclined to at this time. What I feel now is euphoria, I feel free, unchained, real.


    The control we all strive to is elusive is it not? Just when we''re about to reach a steady point it changes its pace and leaves us behind, chasing after it. Yet now, when all sort of control is taken, no; stripped from me, do I feel lighter than I ever felt before, as if I could soar if I would just wish it, I feel truly alive. And don''t get me wrong now, I knew I was, and still am very much alive, but it just feels so different now, so much... more.


    Closing my eyes I face the skies and inhale through my nose, the air is filled with an assortment of smells, first and most noticeable is the rain, the slight fragrance of ash in every drop that hits my face, then comes the smell of earth, the mud and dirt, following that enters the smell of feces and vomit, with a slight tang of metal.


    I exhale, didn''t realize how long I held that breath, yes tonight I shall perish. My fathers` sword is long lost and buried in the mud of this graveyard. What I have left is a battered shield I picked up along the way up here, my armor discarded long ago to save what little stamina I had left.


    I stand here in the rain, puddles of diluted blood all around me, decorated by what were once people, my people. Beneath my feet lies the last of my men, gasping for air with an arrowhead sticking from his back, this poor soul is the last of what makes me who I am, and soon to be who I was; a commander, a leader of men, a symbol. All of that matters little if you have no men to lead, to inspire, to die with. Tonight I shall die alone, and I will lie alone, unlike my men, who had me by their side, yes... tonight I shall die alone.


    I take a knee and put my hand on a blood stained cheek of a hero, his eyes are unfocused but I still see some life in them, the misty marbles meet my gaze and I see a spark of resolution in them, his hand reaching for mine. We had a code of sorts once, seems like a life time ago, if a man or woman from the unit were to perish the others, the living would take their signet and place it on the family''s porch, no words were needed. By now it¡¯s no longer relevant, as I am the last, and it doesn''t seem like I have much more in me.


    I refocus on what''s in front of me, on -who''s- in front of me, and squeeze his hand. "You''ve been through enough my friend... I will join you shortly" with the words spoken I unsheathe his belt dagger and plunge it into his heart. His lips move as a silent last breath escapes them, now I am truly alone. The rain that seemingly stopped when our eyes met has resumed its fall, hopelessly trying to wash away the sins of men from its dear mother.


    I stand, taking the dagger with me in my ascent, around me echo the screams and cries of the fallen, it feels as though the world will never again know silence.


    The enemies are closing in on me yet again; I have lost count of the number of warm bodies that have slipped from my blade, not to stay warm for long. Soon more shall fall, my flame will not be extinguished in the rain, I strengthen my resolve and prepare to bathe it in the blood oil of my enemies before it¡¯s whispered away from me.


    They approach slowly, they feel the danger that I embody, no greater respect is given to a warrior. One more breath leaves my lungs, not alone though, it accompanies my voice, furiously following in its wake, my last battle cry; "LET US JOIN OUR BRETHREN IN GLORY!"


    My heart pounds at my chest, my veins bulge, my eyes sting as sweat slowly rolls down from my forehead. Memories long forgotten stream into my mind, reminding me how I became who I am now. The long walks, the cold nights, the bitter laughter, light whispers of love, heavy curses of remorse and hate. My life was not perfect, no life is, the weeds of happiness grow in between the anguish and the sorrow, do they not?


    I blink away the past and return to the present, my shield the unbreakable mountain and my dagger an unrelenting vortex of death. This hill is mine, and every inch of ground that is taken from me I return with death, an equal exchange.


    The wind howls its displeasure as metal meets metal and steel meets flesh, disturbing what would be a quiet night below the moon, the giant ever watching eye of the sky. Legends whisper of the lingering gaze of the eye on fields of great battle, where the fallen rise to fight once more, forever forbidden from release. My thoughts race to a time long forgotten and the desire to live once again sprouts roots within my mind. For a moment, a mere moment I am a man again, not a wolf amongst sheep, the flow of battle still guides my body yet I feel my sword struggle against my commands, I feel my shield crack in protest of my design.Stolen novel; please report.


    My flesh is pierced and my skin torn, being a man is being weak, one needs to ascend to a higher being in order to thrive; a man is fragile, a man is soft, a man can die. To be a force of nature in the flesh is to be a wolf amongst sheep, a god amongst men.


    My feet find balance in the mud, my shield swatting away a spearhead and my dagger finds cheap purchase in the offenders¡¯ neck. Mud parts way with my every step, raindrops fail to meet the ground as my blade leads them in its wake. More blood is spilled with every breath, and more shall follow, my departure will be with a grand following. No man of battle is to step across the line alone.


    Men of battle¡­ an honor to be amongst bearers of such a name, all nations have them but none are the same, some bred to lead, others born to fight, a man¡¯s worth will always be equal to how many lives he took. I was raised to lead, so I was taught diplomacy and strategy instead of war, logistics matter as much as the battle itself I was told. No war is won on an empty stomach and no man is a soldier without guidance.


    I have always thought that I was special, that both ways are mine to take and forge, ever the fool, only now do I understand that I was born to fight, my ¡°leadership¡± worth piss and shit in comparison, well now I was set free, now I become what I was born to be¡­ death to my enemies.


    I stand, letting the rain touch my face, it¡¯s warm. I struggle to remain on my feet, exhaustion set its sails towards my weary mind, yet I live. The battle is broken but not yet over. The enemy still strong in its advance, the first wave was stopped, yet the second remains, so does the third and fourth if the rear guard have failed to regroup.


    What will I be worth at the end of this I wonder, will I be hailed as a hero or scorned as incompetent. Will my father be proud or will he hate me for failing to return. I sigh, it matters little, my gaze wanders to the hastily advancing wave of steel and flesh. Soon more shall join their brethren in death, more shall decorate this land, and more shall accompany me in the crossing.


    The wave threatens to wash me away yet I am firm, the wave tries to drown me in steel yet I am strong. My body is slowly chipped as they come at me four at a time, I know I cannot win this, but this is how I will be remembered, a mountain amidst the wave, a legend to be known.


    A horn is blown twice, and then thrice in quick succession, the rear guard broke the third wave and reinforcements approach the second, information I value little, for there is only me and the enemy now, no time for false hope, my mind racing with keen purpose to remain alive just a second longer, one more breath and one more life, yes one more, always one more.


    Their stance shaken, their will broken, their blows are swatted away like flies, yes fear me, imprint my visage upon your minds, those who survive this day will not forget me... Their faces shift, blur, change. Their bodies fluid like water, my body not my own, orders are not followed through, my flame an ember in the wind, vision forsakes me and my knees meet the ground, the still warm blood greets me as I fall.


    <hr>


    I stand in a pool of water, no reflection is held in its surface. A sound is heard, a voice is sung, floating lightly across. It sings no words, but the melody holds meaning, a lost embrace, a sad departure, reason uncertain. The voice grows bolder, ambitious and with clear purpose, nohesitation present amongst the noise of resolution. The melody draws me in, and I long to find its source, for what could produce such intent?


    My steps do not break the water¡¯s surface, its face undisturbed and clear, I feel myself ever so closer to the target of my curiosity. Moments pass and so do my thoughts, soon there is little of me left. The voice overpowering my being, how can it be so sure, so set upon what it desires, how can It know, as I search for reason I find my gaze at my feet, set upon the waters yet again, only now I see a reflection. Where there was no semblance to my existence in this place before I now see it, staring back at me, with lips moving in song, in a wordless song of guidance.


    <hr>


    My eyelids separate only to once again return to their embrace, the sun is just above the horizon, greedily spreading its light on all below it, present company included.


    I sigh, some would find it comforting to yet remain alive after facing certain death, I do not account myself amongst those men. My ending was my own, my choice was set, my resolve did not waver! I was to meet my men in glory and honor, not lie on this¡­ plank and slowly die from a battle long passed, where is the honor in that?! Will I now be remembered as a fool who lost his unit and died from infection on a rotting plank?!


    No, need to calm down; breathe¡­ the Lady just gave me another chance at glory, there must be a reason for me to live, the dead know no time, they can wait. I will build upon this disgrace and see it never happen again, a man who set foot at the line must be allowed to cross it, it is only just, it is birth right to all warriors, to have that taken is to be toyed with, an insult I would not bear again. A groan escapes my throat as I try to move, the pain flares like wild fire and dyes my vision white.


    My eyes open in hurry, as if the white tang of pain will latch its fangs at me again, a moment passes and all that remains of my weariness is discomfort and anxiety, this bloody plank is ever the welcoming presence. I take my time to look around the place that holds me, the sun long set and torches light the surroundings. There are only empty beds as far to the right as my eyes can turn with no assistance of my head, white clean and spotless; to the left I find the same scene, a medical tent then? My eyes return to the comforting position of staring at the ceiling, there are multiple escape shafts for the smoke to leave. This would prove a disadvantage¡­ unless I was moved to a safer camp, far behind the enemy lines, if this would be the case then how long was in the land of dreams? A long sigh escapes me as I return to the place my mind is so used to by now.


    Opening my eyes I see the same ceiling as before, it seems the times of day I awake are random, as the sun is in a different position yet again, now the final rays of its light fade, and threaten to leave the world in darkness until its heroic ascent once more in the next morn. My body unmoving, my scenery ever the same, madness is surely soon to set roots, just so my mind can indulge itself in interest. We are meant to move, to discover, to remain a prisoner in your own body is torture in the purest of forms.


    I have not seen faces or heard speech in the time I have spent here, maybe this is torture, what reason would my people have to shackle me to this FUCKING PLANK AND LEAVE ME TO THE SHACKLES OF MADDNESS?!


    The bloody bastards know not of honor, their fear worth piss if they dare to leave me alive, the battle lost and they believe themselves above MY GLORY?! They took away my great entrance to the company of my brothers and sisters, my warriors¡­ JUST TO LEAVE ME ON THIS¡­ plank¡­ No I shall not give them what they want, I shall not scream, I shall not beg or make false threats, I shall bide my time, yes¡­ remain still; focus on the line, the freedom I felt at its borders. Yes, freedom, I shall not be chained again, not like this; I will be free to choose how to live or die. Let the bastards believe me beneath them, let them believe me to have slipped from my mind, let them believe me weak.


    And once my ember feeds off of the wild flames of pain and returns to its former glory, so too shall I.

 Chapter 7: Puddle

    -Je¡¯troc, guard of the arena-


    I yawn as I stand in formation at the entrance to the guard center, awaitingcommandfrom the guard captain. The process of being commanded is a lengthy one, never does the captaindeemus worthy of seeing him on time, it¡¯s always the same, we wake up long before the sun warms our windows, stuff our faces with as much gruel as we can get before standing in formation outside the center, and wait.


    Sometimes we have enough time to take a quick nap and restore somemuch neededprocessing power to our tired minds, other timesitsbarely enough for our eyelids to close once. And once the captain does arrive he always wears the same look of disappointment, never have I seen him smile in front of us, heck, I have never even heard of him doing it.


    Every end is also a beginning is what people say, in some cases that might be wrong, but in this one it always strikes true, after the captain is finished with his mental abuse of his dear guards the immediately begins his verbal version, of how we are unworthy of serving his master, of how we shame the very uniforms we wear, of how he would rather have a bunch of women serve him instead of us, at least then he would not be so frustrated all the time.


    To tell you the truth it¡¯s all routine, it¡¯s a part of a guard¡¯s duty to be ridiculed, that serves the purpose of proving your worth, as well as being antagonized from the moment of waking up. I know of a few that have chosen to serve as guards, never have I understood them, haven¡¯t really tried even¡­ they seem like a different sort of men, wanting to ¡°do their duty¡±, a stupid bunch really, doing their duty by watching over the beasts that die for a bunch of nobles to laugh at. They could always go and be soldiers, heck even officers¡¯ maybe, but they don¡¯t really want to fight for what they believe. Being a guard is as much as being a soldier to them, stupid as they come, they stay.


    With the words spoken he finally gives us our assignments, I am to switchwiththe kitchen night shift and at dawn; when the staffarriveI will be patrolling the cells until the branded get their release to break bread before the games. Every branded gets a meal before his first battle, as even slaves don¡¯t deserve to die on an empty stomach, the ones that survive their battle get to eat an additional meal before returning to the cells, after which they need to earn their meals. They get no training time, as to keep the competition based off of their raw talent, the ones that have enough talent to survive will sharpen their skill accordingly, at least it¡¯s what the management preaches. I personally think they just like watching men die an early death.


    As for me, well¡­ I don¡¯t care much. I¡¯ve been here for a few years now and have nothing to really brag about, no ¡°great uprising¡± or ¡°rebellion¡± took place, justdeathand more death. It does have a special appeal, I won¡¯t lie; a battle to the death is as exciting as they come. No man is safe, no endingknown, fate is uninvolved in the games, only the men who fight have a say in the arena. Once they¡¯reunleasedupon each other their lives are their own again, they hold the future, they live more in that moment than any other man, they are immortal¡­ at least that¡¯s what I think, and not many agree with me.


    Life sure is dull in a sense; I have never imagined that I would end up where I am now, a pitiful guard, taking orders from a low life turned guard captain. I knew the man before my life went to shit, he was a thug that used to beat old-timers¡¯ for protection money, not better than road bandits, only difference was that he was smart enough to wear a scarf to cover his face when the beating took place, not that it takes a genius to recognize him by his stature, not many grow to be that big in these parts, but I guess that was enough of a hassle for the city guards to just let him off and say there¡¯s no proof.


    The cities are beautiful when one looks from a distance, just as a woman walking down the street always looks young and pretty from behind, our eyes deceive and lure us closer, making us see what is not there. The cities are the same; they will seduce you in withpromiseof profit and luxury only to grab you by the balls and follow along with either a debt higher than the city walls or a brand on your forehead, and I am of theformermentioned group. My father was a merchant, a pretty good one at that, I used to travel with him in the family caravan, from village to village and from city to city, peddling wares purchasedalongthe road or at the nearest harbor.


    Along the way I met a girl, a woman, the fairest flower I have ever seen, oh the eyes she had, as if she was looking at exactly what she wanted, and she knew how to get it. Needless to say I was ensnared, I felt as if for but a moment I could be like her as well, I felt as if I knew what I wanted, and what I wanted was her. Two weeks after our first encounter I was married, the celebrations were magnificent, we had wine and fruit; nothing was amiss. And she¡­ that woman was nature in the flesh, a goddess who decided to grace me with her gaze; I walked the ground as my carpet and wore the sky as my crown.


    A flower withers with age, but women wither with time. And as some time passed I no longer felt her gaze upon me, she was the same, yet not the same. I still loved her of course but I needed something, I wanted something, I just didn¡¯t know what that something was.


    On the evening of our arrival to the city of Cassia my father gave me the answer, he offered me a night of freedom from my thoughts, a night of nothing, which was exactly the answer I was looking for, nothing, a chance to clear my mind and start over with a clear purpose. So together we went to the pleasure district of this ¡°great¡± city, together we went as father and son to indulge in what we were offered. When we got to one of the ¡°Houses of Companionship¡± I thought that these women were peddling in sex and discretion, I was wrong.


    What they sold was passion, release, and false promises. I remember falling in love twice in my first two hours there; the times they were¡­ the first few days were mundane after that night, empty. I could not look at my wife the same way I had before, she no longer held that sway over me, I could taste the indifference in her voice, I could see it, and so I ran away. One last time I thought to myself, no harm done, I would throw away the hand fate has dealt me in the morning, this night was to be mine and mine alone, that was when I snuck out of the inn with a pouch of small coins I had in my bag.


    That night ruined me, I got drunk and passed out, waking at dawn on the next day I had a terrible headache, my throat felt dry and my knees weak. I felt around my body and found my coin pouch still attached, the rest of these people were probably less sober than I when they fell asleep.HeckI didn¡¯t even remember where I was, the whole night was a blur. After gaining stable footing, I slowly made my way forward and around the drunkards, above the old wooden doors to the outside I read the name of the Inn that held me as a patron, ¡°The Misty Brew Tavern¡± it read ininterlinedsilver letters. Pushing the doors open had lead me to the street, the cold morning air filled my lungs and a chill ran down my spine, the sun was slowly making its way up in the horizon, the first rays of sunlight barely creeping above the buildings, a mere moment of observation was enough for me to avert my gaze back to the still cold cobblestone road, the shadows of the many building keeping it safe in slumber from the menacing warmth of light.


    Now and again I wonder if my choices were my own, or were they the workings of some figures in the shadows that opened the door and guided my way to misfortune and hardship. Very little is influenced by us, much less so by our hands; and my hands failed on multiple occasions. Once I got back to the inn there was no one there, not a soul, I didn¡¯t think much of it at the time but now, now it just seems so bizarre. Every step I took in that abandoned inn lulled me closer to despair, the monster called fear was greedily eating away at my mind, with every step the world seemed to become smaller, I was suffocated.


    The creaking of the floor planks brought endless questions to my mind, the stale smell of mead and candles followed with answers I didn¡¯t wish to hear. It was my fault they left, they wanted to leave me all this time and I made it easy for them, she never loved me, I was just additional weight on the horses, they were probably laughing soundlessly on my behalf, the dimwit who ran away for some strangers company and cheap whores embrace, just to return to an empty bed and absent wife.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The period of time following the incident was chaotic to say the least; I decided to stay a guest in the city, forgetting that it was the host at the table of my grief. I drank and fought, gambled and smuggled, I stole and I raped, I was a disaster on two feet, two human feet, at one time I didn¡¯t think myself human anymore, I was afraid of looking in a mirror and seeing my true self, the demon, wearing a foolish man¡¯s face. The fear that fed on my mind since that day had never left me, the only companion in my decent to madness, I committed deeds that were unforgivable to the former me, to the normal me, to the old me.


    But fate is a strange lady, years went by and I saw the opportunity to become human again, I could change, become a better man, leave the past behind and start anew, alas fate is indeed a strange lady, vindictive would be a better choice of words. The world crumbled in my hands just as I was reshaping it, and a certain noble offered me a hand, I could transfer my debt to him in exchange for servitude, with the alternative being hanged; I of course took his hand in my own.


    So after all that befell me all I know now is boredom, I don¡¯t even watch the games anymore, I don¡¯t wager or gamble, I just sleep eat and walk, walk eat and sleep. That is my life, and the life of those like me¡­ I sigh as the kitchen staffs finally arrive and I am relieved from its halls and make my way to the holding cells. There lie the ones whose fate is worse than mine, a sorry bunch of creatures really, while I think of myself as inhumane, these people; well they¡¯re just beasts, fed to fight and die for the pleasure of the masses, for damaged beings like me, who come and watch for the sole reason of knowing there is someone worse off.


    On the way to the cells I stop to wash my face, ridding myself of the last bits of sleep and dreams, now; awake and focused I make my way to the outside. The little courtyard between the kitchens and the cells is my favorite place in my narrow world. The first step outside is always accompanied by a breath of fresh air, unlike most of the arena, the courtyard is the only place the servants, including the guards can enjoy the undisturbed shine of the sun, and of the aforementioned fresh air; as it is the only region with an open roof.


    The world is big, huge even; I know that for fact¡­ my time with the caravan was well spent on reading, so there was always this awe that was reserved for new sights and places. Right now, right here though, my world is small, so small that it holds no change, leaving me stagnant and dying inside, not that it matters much, what is known to me about myself is enough that I won¡¯t even try to change anymore, it always bares ill fruit for my mind.


    This is my world now, and it holds no more than it should, yes¡­ I have just enough. With that thought I open the door to the cells, the smell would be disturbing had I not been used to it by now, the management lets the branded bathe in exchange for coin, yes they make coin. Not much but they have their own economy here, the management built it. After every match one survives one receives a coin, one coin for surviving and one extra for every additional man killed. The coins have no value outside the arena, so they can¡¯t be used to buy the branded their freedom; it¡¯s just another way for the management to control the herd.


    Some use their coin for women, some for food, some for water, and some for clothing or even armor if they live long enough. I walk from cell to cell, just looking at them, thinking of what lead them to where they are, what choices they made and what choices were made for them, what lives they had before they were taken, never again to return to past times of happiness. In this place you hear a lot of stories, some make you gag, other weep, some are just plain stupid, other are well deserved.


    I like to think that we were all people once and that the world decided to change the status quo, the lady playing her cards and tossing a tantrum is how I imagine it, the tantrum being how all of our lives went to shit.


    I pass by a cell and my eyes meet a similar pair on the other side of the bars, the eyes disappear in the darkness only to reappear once more, like flickering flames in the wind. A second chill runs down my spine today, I feel the eyes watch me, look through me, they see the real me, not the skin I''m wearing, they see me as the monster that is looking back at me every time I stare at a mirror, they see me for what I am.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me¡± I whisper at the being in the cell, there is no answer.


    ¡°I said don¡¯t look at me¡± I whisper louder this time, still no answer.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± My question bears no fruit, yet the eyes are still locked with mine, my stomach turns and I am ready to gag and vomit, my fears grow and the monster is yet to be sated, I want to run away and hide from the world, I am not ready to face my fears, I am not ready to be seen.


    ¡°Speak!¡± I bark at the orbs that seem to flicker in and out of existence, as if they¡¯re a figment of my imagination, one more trick that fate decided to play on my behalf. Why must it be me that suffers, I''m sure there are countless others that could take my place, I did not want any of this¡­ it¡¯s all her fault, that whore¡­ she probably ran away with my father, he was always behind my back, staring¡­ waiting for the right moment to take what was mine, he lured me to that damned place in the first place, it was his idea¡­ he put all of this in motion, he¡¯s probably sitting with her right now, laughing at how they made it all work, at how much of a fool I am, at how much I deserve what I got¡­


    ¡°Stop looking at ME!¡± The words leave my mouth in a frenzy, and I take a step towards the cell bars, no answer.


    ¡°You sit there and judge me as if you know what road I took to get here,¡± I swallow a sob and more words flow from my broken soul, ¡°the thorns I crawled through are still with me to this day, they cannot be pulled out, the wounds I bear CANNOT HEAL.¡± I scream away at the orbs that are the cause of anger I now feel, still no answer.


    ¡°You look at me as if you¡¯re better than me, as if you know what¡¯s wrong with me,¡± no answer, ¡° SPEAK THEN, tell me, enlighten me with your wisdom oh great one¡­¡± The silence continues and I feel cold sweat; slowly rolling down my back.


    ¡°You know nothing of life you beast,¡± The eyes that still stare into my own seem to be holding the answers to questions not yet asked.¡± you hold no sway over me with your silence,¡± It feels as I my mind will break if this continues. ¡°I know who I am,¡± a sob escapes me as I realize I am only a shadow, a shadow holding onto the last bits of darkness before the sun takes it all away, and I disappear. ¡°I am better than you-,¡± The air in my lungs stops its ascent and my mouth stills its movement, my mind races to approve of my words yet It fails to deliver false truth, I am the same as him, I just live in a bigger cell. I hear ringing in my ears, my mouth goes dry, I feel nauseous; my little world is fake.


    The silence continues and no cell is asleep; yet the silence drags on still. The eyes are still locked with mine, the only difference from before being that mine are now moist with tears of realization. I know what he wanted me to understand, it¡¯s not something spoken with words, I can yet be free, I still hold control over myself, I am still me. I smile, for the first time in years; I smile. I feel as if all this time I was drowning yet only now do I surface, taking a long breath of air I feel it pass through me, it feels almost sweet, it feels right, it feels mine.


    My mind is clear, after all these years I am finally my own again. I head to the corner table, each step taken makes me feel so much better, it¡¯s the right choice, I know it. I glide my hands over the worn wooden frame and I feel every odd fiber, every dent and crack reveal themselves to me, the dust rising; eager to follow in the wake of my design. I reach a flagon, one which was probably left by the guard from last shift, taking it by the rough handle I catch a whiff of liquor, sniffing it reveals nothing new so I decide to down it in one go, it tastes of earth, slowly spreading through my body until it reaches a resting point, from which it spreads its warmth about in my frame, warming my core.


    I enjoy the moment until its passing and place the flagon back on the table, my gaze meets a rusting key ring, I recognize it as the object of my desire and grab it with my fingers, slowly swirling it about in the air. I hum a song I often heard as a youth, it was popular in quite a few of the villages we passed through before my meeting with that woman, ¡°The Plans of Tomorrow¡± it was called I believe. I approve of my memory and smile once more, turning around I start making my way to the cell again, keeping my pace in accordance to the humming of the song.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say to the bearer of the eyes as I open the cell, ¡°as you helped me find my freedom I would like to do the same.¡± I don¡¯t wait for a reply as I turn to face the door to the courtyard, tossing the key ring along the way. I exhale as I push the door open, it seems as light is starting to make its way above the horizon, comforting. I glance at the only tree in the small courtyard and make my way to it, thinking about how it¡¯s still a part of the bigger world, the man made walls doing little to stop nature, much less divide it.


    The hum is carried away with the wind as I reach my destination, I place my hands on the bark and feel the perfection of it, everything is perfect, and everything is unique. I can become a part of this, I have the freedom to choose that for myself, my eyes were opened to the truth now, I was always free, just too scared to realize it alone.


    Turning my back to the tree I lean onto it, my back sliding down along the trunk up to the point of my decent to the cold ground of the earth. I feel my arm touch my belt and glide along the scabbard that holds my knife, time moves so slowly now, It feels like it¡¯s been forever since my back was pressed to the tree, an eternity in its own right. A silent clink is heard as my knife leaves its home and my eyes rest on the blade in front of them, the sun is not yet high enough to illuminate my world, but right now this blade looks so clear, so magical, it looks just right; as I observe it from every angle. My freedom is my own, my world is my own, and my life is my own. With that thought I trace the knife along my neck while my gaze still lingers on it, not daring to look away, lest I find out this is all a sick fantasy.


    A sharp breath escapes me as the blade divides what was once whole, separating my skin and letting warmth escape me, soiling the ground with my life blood. I smile once more, blinking away the tears that found their way to the outside, set on following my example to freedom. My eyes wander to the hand, my hand; which is still holding the now crimson blade. Alongside it, a puddle of red expands and grows, drawing the eye to its sole ambition of becoming more than it is now, I blink once and discover that the puddle met the first rays of light, now both of them share their warmth with the ground, a comforting thought.


    The light has now made its way to me yet I feel it not, I see it, but it does not share of its warmth with me. I turn my gaze to the source, the sun, now being high enough in the sky to be visible; it¡¯s so smug and arrogant¡­I wonder if one day it too shall find the heat escape from it, I wonder if it too shall look for warmth yet find none with the lights departure, for I am certain that its light will not stay with it forever, just as mine hadn¡¯t¡­

 Chapter 8: Fruit

    -Myrac-


    What does one need to survive, food, water, sleep? If so then what does one need to live, Is it not the same? I was taught to use what I can, not to waste resources, survive in order to live, but what¡¯s the point of survival if life stays the same; you get to live yes, but what for? So you can struggle, fight, and die.


    I hear a clink and a door opens, it¡¯s my door; the door that held me prisoner for far too long, the door that was my most hated enemy as well as my only true companion in the nights spent here. Its creek used to whisper of my demise, yet now it holds promise of freedom, riches, and revenge.


    Ah, how delightful it would be to pluck the fruits of my hatred, and feel the gentle and intoxicating glamour of revenge bathe my weary soul. I can picture it now, the bliss of the moment washing over me, the regrets erased away before the gleam of expectations, fulfilled.


    I remember my struggles up to this point, never has my life been a steady one, I¡¯ve always experienced more than my fair share of downs, as well as ups. Life is easy though, it¡¯s only complicated to those who dive too deep for its meaning, its do what you want to do or die doing it, take what you want to take or die getting it, go where you want to go or die getting there. The answer dawned upon me when I was still a child, watching my father working his craft.


    My pa was a fisher, he used to provide our house with fish and what we didn¡¯t eat; he would sell at the markets the next morn. The sea was generous and the fish plentiful, so times were good. Often times I used to wake with the sun and run to the shore, from there I could see him on a nearby cliff, reeling in creatures of wonder and mystery. My pa wanted the fish, so he took them, the fish wanted the bait they were attracted to, and they died getting it, so simple yet so subtle.


    The sight bore its meaning deep into my young mind, not yet realizing what it came upon. My childhood could be summarized in watching the waters after that point; I just sat on the sands and listened to the waves, felt the breeze, and wondered what¡¯s out there, beyond the horizon, what marvels does it hold hidden far from sight?


    Heh, my Ma once came up to me on the shore and said, ¡°Our eyes only show us that which can be seen, our imagination reveals the rest, now close your eyes; what do you see?¡±, at the time I remember saying nothing to her, just thinking about what she said and what it meant. Now I think I finally understand, Ma was wrong, imagining what¡¯s beyond won¡¯t help you see it. You need to get closer, will your eyes upon it and take what¡¯s yours for the taking, and my freedom will be mine again.


    I smile as I look at my hands, the shadows dance along them as the candle from the hallway flickers with exertion, these hands have brought me much, they brought me all I had, and all that was taken from me.


    When I was a lad I built myself a boat out of dead wood, it wasn¡¯t any good, and it sunk on the first buoyage, I built one more after that, it looked more like a raft than a boat but it didn¡¯t sink. I Learned from that and improved my design and structure, took long months but I had it, my first boat, my first real boat. I stocked it with three days¡¯ worth of food and drink, and sailed off, the days flew by and it was time to go home, I was a lad so the realization that I have no idea where I was sunk in just then at that moment, ignorance is truly bliss.


    Frightened and alone in the water; I was lost, my freedom felt like punishment instead of success. A week spent at sea alone can drive a man insane, the sea is never quiet, sometimes it sounds like its speaking its own language and you¡¯re mad that you don¡¯t understand it, other times it¡¯s shouting at you to behave, if not whispering you to give up. For some time I counted myself as amongst the dead, drifting along the sea to the waterfall of new life, in a sense, I was truly dead when I was on that boat. But what it took to bring me back wasn¡¯t the waterfall of life, no, it was a literal splash in my face, a wave hit the boat; filling it with two buckets worth of water.


    I remember sitting up, coughing the water from my lungs, and staring in awe at what was in front of me; it was magnificent, she was magnificent. She was holding onto my boat, her face resting on her folded arms. She was looking at me with fascination, intrigue, was I the first human she met I asked myself then, was I that much of a sore sight if not?


    ¡°Who are you?¡± She asked me in a damp sounding voice, still looking at me like I was a new type of fish that got caught on her hook. I felt insulted that she asked me who I was, and not what I was, did she know I¡¯m human then, was she real? The question bounced along the walls of my tired mind and found its way out, and into existence. ¡°Are you real?¡± I asked her, my mouth still being wet with salt and my lips; which were cracked from the sun, started bleeding from the mere movement, my voice sounded hoarse, unfamiliar, even to my own ears.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The melody of her voice carried by the weight of her answer released something in me; life started flowing from my eyes, the same taste as the salt water. ¡°Look,¡± she sung, ¡°you have a little sea in you as well.¡± She finished while gently catching a falling tear from my cheek, I had so much words left to speak, so many questions to ask, yet my mind only knew of one worthy of her attention, ¡°What¡¯s beyond the horizon?¡±


    ¡°Everything¡± her reply came in the company of a smile, as if I was supposed to know the answer to my question.


    That smile she had, I remember it being contagious; when I laid my eyes on it, it spread to me as well, causing my lips to crack once more and a yelp to escape my sore throat. She laughed then, the breeze carrying her voice far and wide, and my heart began to beat to her rhythm. ¡°Would you like to see it?¡± her question tore at my mind until only one word was left to speak, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Rest then,¡± she pressed her cold hand to my cheek,¡± and when you awake I will show you the way.¡± Her voice flowed through me, soothing my restless mind and pulling my eyes shut, I felt her touch leave me as I was drowned in the land of dreams.


    When I awoke she was nowhere to be seen, her presence a memory, her touch a phantom. I laid there; on the sand, for what felt like hours, but what was probably days. The sun handed its vigil over to the moon, the waves rose in honor of their lord; threatening to take me back to their embrace.


    Still I lay there, unmoving and alone. Trying to decipher the memory I had, was she real or was she just a figment of my imagination? Was she the beyond? The waves made their retreat with the coming of the sun, but I remained unmoving. Then it struck me, it was her that I see when I close my eyes, she was my beyond, my heart still beats to her rhythm.


    My mind was set, I would find her again, I knew I would. So I took to my feet and started making my way to the nearest village, not that I had any hope of finding one quickly, as the beach didn¡¯t look traveled. I don¡¯t really know how much time has passed since my awakening, but one night I saw smoke rising as the sun made its descent. Making my way there I had hope of warmth and company, maybe even passage to a city or the sort, but when I got there¡­ it was just so much more.


    People of all kinds were dancing around a huge bonfire, its embers floating in the wind as others were cheering around it. Many more fires were spread along the clearing, with twice as many tents in between them. Meat was being cooked, wine was being spilled, sounds of laughter rose with the smoke of the fires; into the evening sky. My feet carried me over to the side of the clearing, I didn¡¯t know how to approach these people, some species here I have never seen before. My eyes wandered back to the bonfire, the dance of fire was so enticing, so familiar, I felt at home there, so I stayed.


    Yet this place, this I will leave behind after burning it to the ground. I stand to my feet, the door is open, I hear others shuffle their feet, exiting their cells, gathering, whispering of escape. They speak of the old one; no one knows his name as he does not speak. He¡¯s a legend in these walls, I haven¡¯t been here enough to know much about him and the others are the same, he¡¯s always been here it seems.¡¯A relic from times past, here to remind the others that this would be their end, no matter if it comes in form of a sword or old age.¡¯ Is what I used to think before I bore witness to his display, he is no mortal.


    I hear whispers of how he tore at the soul of the guard with his gaze alone, how else would he get the keys thrown in his cell. The people here are hardened, these are the veteran cells; they keep the newly acquired slaves in a separate hold. I quickly think of how many ways this can go, and I don¡¯t find many that end well. ¡°We need weapons,¡± I whisper to the crowd, some turn to face me, while others quiet down, ¡°we need to be wise in dealing with this chance.¡± My words carry weight, as more faces turn to pay attention now, ¡° Take what you can from here,¡± I say while looking around, ¡°break that table and chair,¡± I point to the left corner of this poorly lit hall, ¡°use whatever means you can, if one has a weapon have three others follow.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Making sure everyone¡¯s heard me I precede with my plan, ¡°Once we¡¯re all divided amongst our groups and ready, we¡¯ll go outside and spread out in the courtyard. We need this to happen quickly, so when we¡¯re all ready, we¡¯ll pour in quietly, in and to the sides. When every target is accounted for we¡¯ll end them.¡±


    Complaints start surfacing from the crowd, "What if they alert the guards?!", one of them growls. "Aye, we would best storm them in and take control of the hold!", another hisses. A dull clanking sound is heard in a steady beat, all eyes turn to find the source; locking on to the figure of the old one, the Immortal.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have much time!¡± my words flow out like venom. ¡°If they yell, or somehow sound an alarm from the kitchen; we still kill them, only then we¡¯ll need two groups with weapons at each doorway to the other rooms.¡±


    ¡°Once the kitchen is cleared you have no reason to follow me, but remember, we are free now, don¡¯t let them take you back here.¡± I am received with some nods of approval, a slight chance at success is still better than none at all.


    The muffled sound of breaking wood echoes through the hall, some here decided to use the few heartbeats of time to pray to their gods; some offer gratitude, others beg for guidance. My mind turns elsewhere, I recall my first raid with the party, boarding a cargo vessel carrying valuable ores. The thrill it was, fighting for your life on a little piece of land in the middle of the sea. Like nations fighting over territory, so were we. Fighting for what we sought to gain and keep, protect and conquer, we were the patriots of the sea.


    Back then it was simple, follow orders until you can only hear the beating of your heart and let loose what it holds inside. Each side pushed the other to the point of surrender, sometimes it was psychological warfare, following a ship from a distance, slowly closing in. Never too close, but always in sight. Other times we would turn off our lanterns and ram the sighted ship in the middle of the night. Me personally, I prefered the waiting game, even if they didn¡¯t give up straight away it still weighed heavily on their spirit, and a weary sailor, tired from lack of sleep was much less inclined to put up a fight.


    My time was mostly spent at sea, I grew closer to it than ever before, I was addicted. Land started to feel unwelcome and foreign, its surface too hard and my feet too steady. I longed to return to the waters, to the freedom that was offered only to those who chose to take to the sea, making it their home. What turns a place into a home though, Is it the door, the bed, the walls, or is it family?


    For me it was where I took off my boots before climbing into the bed, the waves rocking the ship and guiding my way to slumber. It was where I unstrapped my sword and felt safe instead of anxious, where the horizon was my only view, reinforcing my mind with possibility of endless discoveries beyond it. My home lies at sea, carried by the wind and supported by the waves, and it will always remain so, my home.


    Time is up, the men stand ready and the door slowly opens, and light starts pouring in through the gap. With my hand covering my eyes I step forward; my feet gently brushing against the grass. Scanning the courtyard with my eyes I spot a guard; lying on the grass, with his back pressed to a tree trunk. His eyes are open, but the ground is soaked in his life blood, his own hand still holding onto to the knife. His frame is still, unmoving, serene.


    A figure emerges from behind me, moving in the direction of the resting guard with clear purpose in every stride. I recognize the figure as the Immortal one, my gaze follows him as he bends a knee before the guard, no noise is heard as he stays there for a few heartbeats. After which he reaches out to close the still open eyes of the guard; whose name escapes me, in a show of respect if i¡¯ve ever seen one.


    One more moment passes by until the Immortal stands up, and turns to face me; pointing down at the guard. I follow his finger and my eyes catch the sword, as well as the knife the guard carried, ¡°Take his weapons.¡± I say, to no one in particular. I return to the task at hand, to the feeble plan i came up with. ¡°Get in positions,¡± I mutter as I keep moving along the wall; drawing closer to the kitchen doors with every step. ¡°Keep quiet and stay low.¡± the words ride on my breath as the doors slowly open, and we start pouring in. Keeping low and moving stealthily, we spread out, waiting for the others to get inside.


    There are no guards in the kitchen before feeding time, they only patrol here once the cages are opened and we are in chains, so the people here present little danger. I signal the ones wielding weapons to move into positions, so that each and every one of the staff is dealt with in the shortest amount of time possible.


    The kitchen itself is the smallest part of the room we¡¯re in, most of it is the table hall, consisting of small tables with a low ceiling and no chairs. The staff here work behind a counter to the right of the door we entered through, where the ceiling is also higher, as to not suffocate the staff, with the heat rising and all.


    We move to; and around the counter, staying low and quiet. The closer we get; the hotter the air becomes, steamed meat and vegetables fill the air as our time to act draws near. The clanking of the cauldrons muffles our steps, and the smoke from the fires hides our presence. The time has come.


    I wave my hand forward and the men spring to action, the kitchen staff are six in number, two women stirring the cauldron, one man feeding the fire with wood, and two more men are chopping the ingredients, with one more woman mixing bread dough.


    The very same woman was to first to go, as she was the closest to us from the right of the counter, next were the men, being dispatched swiftly with a blunt hit to the back of the head each. By this time the rest of my kill squad almost made their way to the cauldron, that''s when things started to go wrong. The man stoking the fire saw their approach and got up to yell, his breath leaving his body before he could be silenced.


    ¡°Two groups to the doors, now!¡± I yell, the time for stealth is up, the opportunity lost. ¡°Keep to the left of them and wait, once they open unleash hell.¡± I receive grunts in reply, the pressure is felt by every man here. ¡°The rest of you, search the kitchen for whatever weapons you can find.¡± This was the most probable outcome, plan for the best but expect the worst, right? Shit.


    I grab a knife from one if the tables and walk to the rightmost door, whenever we finished our meals we would always take the leftmost door, to the arena, safe to say that wasn''t the way out. ¡°Open the door, slowly.¡± I whisper, as I turn to the man to my left. ¡°And if I take a step back, throw your club straight through.¡± I receive a nod and the door opens.


    Beyond it appears a hallway, lit with torchlight, light footsteps can be heard from the distance, good. ¡°Close the door,¡± I whisper as I take a step back, ¡°I have an idea.¡± I walk back to the kitchen and beckon the rest to follow, once we¡¯re all gathered I start going through the new plan.


    ¡°The guards were going the other way, this means we still have some time-¡± im interrupted by one of the men, a tall one, built for speed rather than for strength. ¡°Than why not lay ambush to them?¡± he speaks, with anxiety dripping from his words. ¡°Too risky, I would have as much of us alive as possible,¡± I answer, building on the momentum I continue, ¡°What I suggest, is for one of us to wear the dead guards attire, and take another one of us with him along the hall, in loose chains. As they pass the guards in the hallway, they will end them from behind, dragging them back here.¡± I let the thought soak in before the questions start to flood in, and to my surprise, i''m met with silence.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it that you all agree,¡± I look each man in the eye before I go on, ¡°Once we have their bodies as well, we¡¯ll strip them and outfit two more of us, then we¡¯ll repeat the process. Three guard with three prisoners, walk the hall until you see it branch out and take the turn together, any guards you see, you kill and take them back here, and if you happen to find a group of them, don''t engage, come back.¡± The plan is not perfect, but it¡¯s something to work with, hope is a mighty weapon if wielded right.


    Once we had the first pair outfitted, one in uniform, and the other in chains, they set out. The blood was washed away with hot water, as to not provide the other guards cause for suspicion. Time slowed its pace to a crawl, the men and I stood on our toes, ready to cause havoc if the plan were to fail and we¡¯re discovered. Sweat slowly made its way down my back, my mind racing with all the possibilities I failed to think of. What if they manage to find a way out and leave the rest of us, what if they get lost on the way, what if they¡¯re discovered with the bodies of dead guards on the way back.


    I loosen the grip on the knife I held, noticing my knuckles return to its previous color as blood resumes its travel. I feel my heart pumping blood faster to compensate its previous blunder, the body needs to be balanced if one''s head is to remain on his shoulders. I look around at the men who share this position with me, how did they get to be where they are now, what do they call themselves, where shall they go. Now is not the time to be making conversation, this I know, maybe we¡¯ll get another chance after our future is secured.


    A knock is heard on the door, my eyes dart to the wooden structures, my body tense but ready, ¡°Open it,¡± I whisper through gritted teeth, I need not tell the men to get ready, each and every one of them a veteran, they know what to do, without me being here to remind them. As the door opens all of our tension evaporates, the pair returns with broad smiles on their faces, eyes shining with satisfaction.


    ¡°Here¡¯s to drinking on the job,¡± says the one who wore the chains as he drops a dead guard from over his right shoulder, ¡°never thought it would be that easy, I tell ya.¡± he finished saying as he tugs on the chains he previously wore with his left arm, dragging two more guards that are attached to each end of the chain.


    ¡°We met the guards on their return rotation,¡± said the one dressed as a guard, ¡°they offered a nod as they passed by me and my prisoner.¡± he smirks as he looks down at the two bodies he just dropped behind, he dragged them by the laces of their boots.


    ¡°We now have five more vacancies to fill.¡± laughs a man, built as a boulder, his muscles are as if wired onto his frame and strained to maintain their tension. ¡°The ones that match their frame,¡± I say while looking down at the bodies, ¡°get dressed, the rest of us will wear the chains, we leave when ready.¡± The moment the words leave my mind the situation changes, hope is our leader now, and I its voice. Awe was present in the eyes of every man here, never before has anyone escaped from the arena, and now; thanks to the Immortal one, we have a chance.


    ¡®I will have what was mine¡¯, the thought echoes from the corners of my mind, slowly increasing in volume, reminding me of what was lost, and what is to be regained. My name was taken together with my home, the former replaced with a brand, the latter with a cell. At sea I believed myself without equal, a part of nature in the flesh, wreaking havoc from shore to shore, island to island. No fort was too big, no ship was too fast. That was until my first encounter with true power, it was then that the sea itself abandoned me. The waves turned against me, the winds betrayed me, lightning rained from the sky; thundering with treachery.


    I was powerless, helpless, and small. What I witnessed that day I believed to be a dream, a nightmare. I had only heard tales of such events, thinking them exaggerations of chance. But my eyes were swiftly opened, just in time to gaze at the chains being placed around my arms. A small part of me died that day, together with my men. I watched them being chained together to the mast. I watched the oil barrels being emptied overboard and into the water.


    I watched the oil being set aflame. I watched my ship burn. The screams I heard pierced my soul, and tore at my mind. I heard my name being called with every dying screech, with every hollow wail. My captors told me that I should be thankful that the smoke obscured the sight of their faces, but it just left more to the imagination.


    ¡°Help me spread the oil,¡± I speak to no one in particular, my mind being elsewhere. ¡°this place will burn.¡± Questions are asked but I hear them not, actions must be taken, this place will burn, and from the ashes I will pluck the fruits of satisfaction at worst, and at best the fire will provide a reason for so many ¡®slaves¡¯ to be herded off from the cells at the same time.


    I turn to face the men once more, finally regaining some clarity of mind, ¡°The flames shall aid in our escape, people are to be occupied by the fire, not by us.¡± I explain, ¡°Oh and what a tale it would be, would it not?¡±, I finish with a satisfied smile. More is to be done, but the kindlings are in place, soon a feast will be had, a feast like no other.

 Chapter 9: Pillar

    -Lord Rustan Cetabone-


    I lay in my bed with my eyes open, it''s warm, too warm. My back is sticking to the wet sheets below, I feel dirty, how can that be possible though, how can something that comes from the inside of our bodies make the outside feel dirty? ¡®Fascinating¡¯, I think as I wiggle my toes, searching for the outside of the blanket i''m covered with. I would lay on the ground if I could, alas my wife never allowed it, still firmly holding onto my chest. Even now I yet feel her touch; which never went unappreciated, except for this night, this night it¡¯s a nuisance. The warmth is unwelcome, it''s keeping me from a good night''s sleep, gods know I deserve it.


    The bed''s too big, the covers are too large, why did I comission such a waste of space, the reason eludes me no longer as I turn to face my left. Imagining the sleeping face next to me in the darkness, she would always seem to be having a pleasant dream.


    Time slows to a halt, my mind being in a plane of its own, it''s hot, hot and quiet, this is my fate it seems. Thinking of what has to be done tomorrow provides me no comfort, the fake smiles and hushed whispers are to be dealt with on a clear mind, clear and well rested mind. I should just leave this all behind, liquidate my assets and start over. Maybe travel east, I heard tales of wines made of fermented eyeballs, vile, but interesting.


    They say once you take a sip you get to see a fragment of the bearers memories, and if you quaff a whole bottle you get to live a whole new life. Probably over exaggerated rumors, but every rumor takes root from some semblance of truth. I should order a batch to be delivered, if not for the experience itself, then for the bragging rights that follow, should at least earn me some points with the bigots here.


    Thinking back to the court meeting tomorrow offers me no respite, oh how I hate the fools that loiter around like flies, looking for a chance to lay their eggs in an open wound. I will have to divide the profits from the arena accordingly. The nobles offer slaves they purchased for the games, and their percentage from wagers placed they collect from me, accordingly of course. Never has there been a time that selfish opinions were kept in one''s mind, amongst the court it''s either yell or be yelled at.


    I have enough troubles as it is without those greedy bastards pulling at my hair, such as maintenance, games design, participants, events, funds, logistics. All of that falls on my shoulders, no aides to help me as finding someone to trust with funds is harder than all the tasks combined. The coins are plentiful, prestige sufficient, but is it worth it? I¡¯d say not.


    Pressure is building with every cycle, the masses want more and more. Enginuity is necessary, an open mind is a must, the people want new events with every season, fail to meet their expectations and your pocket shall undoubtedly suffer. Each cycle I hire the opinions of commoners, young and old alike, and ask of them their thoughts on the game''s design that either I, or some of my servants came up with. My methods were the ones that earned me my position, ¡®Prime Administrator¡¯, given by the Marchioness herself.


    The people need no reason to long for blood, those with less than fortunate lives will always long to watch those whose fate is worse, the games are meant to keep their aggression on the surface, as to not let it sink in and take root with malice.


    Some could say I act as a peace-keeper of sorts, all are happy when I finish doing what I do; commoners, merchants, nobles, travelers and even mercenaries take pleasure in the games. From time to time I orchestrate an event, free folk get to fight in the arena against varying odds, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose, just as the future tends to be blind, until the present shows it the way. The people get to see titans of battle fight and die, then they see a young lad, keen on proving his worth; and surviving long enough to grasp success. Other times the lad dies a tragic death, it builds drama. What¡¯s going to happen next time, people will ask of themselves, as they lie in their bed with the thought lulling them to sleep.


    Sleep, the palace I oh so long for, the escape of reality that it represents, and the memories it brings up¡­ Maybe my mind doesn''t want to remember, to perceive of what I witnessed, the horrors i''ve seen, and the shadows that follow; still haunt me to this day. Life wasn''t always so simple, luxury and wealth aren''t so easily afforded, at least not in my case. Me, I started with war, it was both my mother with how it raised me to be a man, and my lover, with how it made me strive for attention. At the beginning it was rather uncanny, death and fear ever present in the shadows. But with the passage of time it became facile, the fear would only linger in dreams and not in reality, my whole world has changed.


    I''m a man like any other, human in all aspects of possibility. Ambitious without direction, set upon a destination unknown. Time stops for no man, me included, I once thought that I was akin to a river, flowing down the mountain of age and wisdom, spreading out to infinity once the sweet waters of life reach the salt waters of what lies beyond life. Now I know better, now I think of my being as the one of a pebble that is trapped in the river''s current. Ever dependant on its destination, having no control over the force or the direction of its flow.


    This line of thought makes things easy, easy to accept. No matter what happens, you have no control, you walk a set path; tailored especially for you, by the conditions you were born to. Disheartening but true, the fortunate tend to stay as they are, so do the unfortunate. Every life has a road, no one knows how or why it was constructed, but every human follows it, thus rendering us all in the never ending cycle of fate, as we call it.


    Battle after battle I would lose both friends and companions, my people would perish, leaving me behind. I would honour their passing with victories, slowly painting the ground crimson, as the offender''s blood would flow down deep, deep into the earth. My throne was built upon the ashes of both friend and foe alike, until only I remained, alone and unbending. There remained no one to mourn for me if I were to lie down and perish, I didn¡¯t want to withdraw from this world in that manner, so a family was created. My child who rose to be one of the pillars of my mind, soon fell, just like the others; leaving me once again, in mourning. But in his passing he left me a gift, a grandchild of my own to care for, a future to look forward to.


    His child, now my treasure; Yuranna.


    How much solace can one so small offer a tired mind; much more than deserved. Only thirty odd years ago, I could not even imagine being called ¡®Grampa¡¯, the notion never entering my mind. The title was above and beyond the limits of what I could grasp at the time, my purpose being tied to revenge and self pity. With the birth of my son I witnessed the birth of a future, I would have given him the world and more, if he would only ask. I saw him crawl, I watched him fall, I heard him cry, I smiled when he walked, I laughed when he ran.


    With his birth came my retirement from the battlefield, at the rank of ¡®Lieutenant general¡¯. With my release I was granted a seat amongst the high council, my opinion mattered little in the day to day meetings, so I seldom attended those, and even when I did I took my son with me. With time I gained management of the arena, and the responsibilities that came with the honor. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The passage of time saw fit for my son to grow, become more man than child, more man than boy, more man than me, and I was proud of him, so proud¡­ By the time he stood on his own two feet; on the foundations of the name he has build for himself, my hairs turned grey. He was my legacy, my name was his to have, his joy was mine to share in.


    Was.


    He went down a different route from mine, combat was in his blood, yet his mind was more refined, he traveled, invented, rectified, discovered. The name he¡¯s made for himself was one of wonder, adventure, and discovery. With each summer he would leave, and return the following winter with tales of his travels. I would walk him to the gates, and no further; a sign of trust in his return. I would gaze upon his back as he left with his entourage, a ¡®figure of the future in the flesh¡¯ I would call him. And when he returned I hailed him as a hero, wine was our common acquaintance as he shared his tales of wonder, I remember how his eyes would sparkle as he explained how his newfound knowledge could be used to the betterment of the masses, and I would smile at his commitment.


    Glory can be achieved in many ways, and his was the most noble.


    Was.


    When he left one summer he spoke a parting phrase, the last I would hear of his voice, ¡°Life has so much color Pa, try to look for what you cannot see, imagine the possibilities.¡± Maybe he meant for me to gain happiness for myself, but he was my happiness. Maybe he meant for me to see the beauty in life, but he alone was more than enough for me. Maybe he meant for me to find myself, and accept who I was, but his was all the acceptance I needed. I was content, so my words to him were simple, ¡°Bring some of those purple flowers you spoke of, your mother would love them.¡± And so he left with a smile, and a promise he would not get to keep.


    When the winter winds arrived, and the frozen crystals of snow started to cover the land, he was yet to return. When the warm descent of spring set to melt away its predecessor and bring color to the world, he was yet to return. When the summer sun bathed the city with its warmth my heart remained cold, for he was yet to return. Only once autumn has arrived, and the landscape began to wither in anticipation of winter''s arrival was he returned.


    Was.


    He was returned in body alone, his eyes forever shut in slumber, his smile an absent feature, never to reappear again. I saw him brought on a cart, covered by a blanket of linen. I watched him as he lay there, unmoving. I began to hear whispers of his voice, only to realize it was my own, repeating his last words in a mantra, ¡®Life has so much color Pa,¡¯ Where?! Where is this color?! ¡®try to look for what you cannot see,¡¯ for what purpose is there sight if your smile is forever taken from this world?! ¡®Imagine the possibilities¡¯ to what end?!


    My sight grew dim, my knees grew weak, my hands reached for his resting face. I was supposed to leave first, he was to live! My sharking hands took hold of his head, my mouth moving soundlessly, my lips tracing words not spoken, ¡®My son.¡¯ I took his body, carrying him to where we last sat together, not a soul disturbed my actions. When we arrived to the clearing outside of the city I laid his body on the ground, with his back to a pillar of long lost memories. Sitting next to him I spoke, words flowed in the wind, easing the passing of the sole reason to my pride, I told tales of old, legends he was eager to listen to before took to slumber as a child. I spoke of the happening in the time of his absence, I spoke of his innovations acceptance in the council, I spoke of how proud I was; of how proud I am.


    The sun slowly left our presence, leaving us to the stars companionship, I recalled the times he played on these pillars, and ruins. I recalled the walks we shared, the time he asked me about the stars, the meaning and purpose. His body slid down the pillar, and his shoulder pressed against mine in the middle on my recollection. I looked up to find the stars, ever present in the night''s sky, some shining brightly, others barely visible, with one that shone like a beacon, dwarfing the others. I cried then, my sorrow finally let loose, he was amongst them now, he was not alone, and so I too, wasn''t alone.


    I later discovered he was overcome by weakness, a disease they have not encountered before, some seem to be naturally more resistant than others. They met a tribe of people in the north, those people cared for the company, aided with what they could and nursed the ones that could be saved. Only twelve people survived the journey, out of the thirty-two that set out. I buried him next to his mother, in the mansion''s courtyard, his stone read:


    Doman of the Farthest Sight.


    Whatever purpose deems he right,


    shall see achieved by night''s delight.


    And those who wonder where he¡¯s gone,


    look to the sky; to the beyond.


    Of his tales will your heart sound,


    of clearest lakes, of darkest clouds.


    The joy he found, with him shall stay,


    For he¡¯s the one, who conquered nay.


    -In honor of Doman Cetabone, beloved son beneath the skies.


    After the funeral one of his companions brought a bundle to my doorstep, he claimed it was the child of my child, and once I gazed into its, no, her eyes, I knew it to be true, for she too had the sparkling; deep blue eyes of my son. I wanted to ask the figure why has it decided against telling me earlier, but brushed the thought aside as I was not in the best of minds at the time of my sons return. I once again looked to the sky, only then I smiled, my world being empty no more.


    Time has passed and sometimes i¡¯m still brought to the point of being apprehensive, what if my lot in life was to be different, what if I was born to bring more than sweet promise of death; now made entertaining, to the masses. What if I could offer more for Yuranna, what does she want to do I wonder, what would she strive to in the future¡­


    My thoughts are cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps, drawing closer with each thud to the outside of my door, I get out of bed, the covers sticking to my skin; refusing my departure, and reach for the door just as a knock sounds against its frame. Opening it I look upon a sweating servant; Rovut, huffing for breath before speaking, ¡°Apologies M¡¯lord, this one did not mean to disturb your slumber, but...¡± His back straightens as he regains some of the wind he¡¯s lost in his rush. ¡°Speak your mind, and hope that you have not awoken the child.¡± The situation is quite serious it seems, as the servants expression remained straight, he has no doubt in the importance of his message.


    ¡°The arena M¡¯lord, It¡¯s set ablaze,¡± I frown at the news, but more soon follow. The situation is dire indeed. The flames have spread too quickly, now reaching to the surrounding venues by the arena. The slaves inhabiting the arena grounds are presumed dead, or dying. Guards were seen vacating their positions and rallying people to help in quelling the disaster. I briskly dress in somewhat formal, but simple attire, boots and all. I order Rovut to arrange a carriage with the swiftest horses in the stables, and then I make my way to Yuranna¡¯s chamber, two doors down from mine.


    Her sleeping visage is the definition of soothing, but alas time is of great import. ¡°Yura, awake darling,¡± I whispered in her ear, trying not to frighten her in her waking. She slowly opens her eyes, barely keeping her eyelids separate, ¡°Wh¡¯t hap¡¯nd to t¡¯e horsie?¡± She grumbles half asleep, still living the happenings of her dream. ¡°The horsies are outside little one, let''s go meet them, yes?¡± My persuasion is on point as I receive a nod in reply and she raises her hands at me, ready to be carried.


    I make haste to the carriage outside, rushing past the servants who offer greetings and as well, hurry to start with their day, not yet realizing the situation. ¡°Are there really horsies outside, grampa?¡± asks the little lady whose right cheek rests on my left shoulder, whispering her inquiries directly into my ear. ¡°Of course darling,¡± I huff with exertion, my body isn''t as fit as it used to be, ¡°they¡¯re waiting for us just outside, have I ever lied to you?¡± I ask with a smile as I meet her eyes, she smiles back and snuggles closer to my neck.


    ¡°All is ready M¡¯lord.¡± says Rovut as he bows at my approach and steps in to open the carriage door. ¡°Excellent,¡± I reply, before stepping into the carriage, once inside I turn to face him once more, ¡°Have Serol and Maya come to the council hall, and have them bring the ledger of the prisoners from my office as well as the guard logs, also notify Zeeke of my absence, have him watch the grounds, lastly have all news of the event sent straight to me, understand?" Urgency vivid in my voice as I press for confirmation. ¡°Your will, M¡¯lord.¡± He answers and rushes back into the mansion, Rovut is a fine man, capable but slow, a crippling combination, but with no ambition it does him no harm, he serves well, and loyally at that, too bad he can''t be counted on with numbers and digits.


    The carriage makes its way outside of the estate, and soon the column of smoke is visible in the distance. ¡°What is ¡®hat, gramps?¡± asks the little one with a yawn, it¡¯s still too early for her to be awake. ¡°Nothing my dear, rest now, you can pet the horses when we arrive.¡± I nudge the little princess closer, as the carriages lull pulls her back to the land of dreams she left not long ago. ¡°Promise?¡± she asks quietly as she settles in, with her eyes now closed.


    ¡°Promise.¡± I answer with conviction, as my gaze is drawn back to the giant pillar of smoke and ashes.

 Chapter 10: Lies

    -????-


    [ Again I find myself on a muddy path in the darkness, again there is a light in the distance. It seems to be farther than I remember. I hear whispers, strange whispers holding their words hostage. They speak no truth and no lie, they guide their noise to me. Letting me hear, but not understand.


    I do not move from where I stand, I just listen, and stare at the light in the distance. I wonder how long it¡¯s been there, how long it waited. I feel as if it¡¯s been a long time since I last saw it. It can wait some more.


    As I stand, the whispers continue. They sound louder now, they want me to walk on. I take a step and a shadow emerges from the darkness, into my path to the light, reaching my feet? I look down, and see only darkness again. A blurry figure stands in my path to the light. The light itself giving it shape, a form for me to see. I stop. And it takes a step forward.


    The whispers grow quiet, they listen, but no words are spoken. The figure takes another step, then another. Soon it stands before me, I feel its stare, but I see no eyes. Is it here to stop me? To wake me up like last time? Or is it just a shadow, given form by my imagination. Maybe an obstacle? Just like the warmth which always had a protector, maybe the light does as well.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± It speaks. The words sound hollow, empty. It wants a reason, a reason I can¡¯t give. I don''t know why i''m here, didn¡¯t choose to come after all.


    ¡°Why am I here?¡± I ask, or at least I think I do. I didn''t hear my own voice, but the spectre seems to have heard, it¡¯s hissing. I see smoke rising from its back, I guess it can''t stay too long in the light.


    ¡°Why are you here?!¡± It shrills, before dissipating and returning to the darkness.


    ¡°Where is this?¡± I ask out loud, again without hearing the words.


    No answer. I take a few steps forward and ask again, ¡°Where is this?¡±. Again, no answer. No spectres appear, no shadows emerge, no voice is heard. I try to look around, but as I turn away from the light there is nothing, only darkness. I focus my attention back to the light, it''s still there, where I left it. Did I leave it last time? I don''t remember, I recall seeing the light, hearing the shadows, then waking up in a cold place.


    What am I even doing here? The light still draws me in, I feel the need to reach it, but why? Is it because of the shadows? Well they¡¯re not here anymore as far as I can tell. When I woke up in the cold place, there was nothing, no light and no darkness, only the cold. And I haven''t reached the light last time as well. Maybe I should just walk away from the light, the cold at least felt real. It wasn''t trying to draw me in a certain direction, wasn''t pushing me away either. I-, I had a body there, I could feel¡­


    I try to reach out and touch my head, or at least where my head should be. Nothing. There¡¯s nothing there¡­ I feel my body, I know that I have one, I just can''t touch it, can''t see it¡­ See? How can I see the light? I try raising my hand to cover the light, and nothing. The light is still there, I can feel my hand being raised but it covers nothing. I try covering my eyes next, same result. I know I have a body, but was it real?


    I can walk, I can see the darkness and the light in the distance, I can think. But I cannot control what I see, I cannot choose, I¡¯m not even sure I can talk. What decides what is real and not? Is the darkness real because it¡¯s afraid of the light? Or is the light real because it¡¯s all I can see here? But if I am real, and I cannot see myself. How can the light be real if I can see it? This means one of us isn''t real, right?


    ¡°Where is this?!¡± I scream out the words to the surrounding darkness, or at least I think I do. I try to turn around again, to face the darkness and leave the light behind, to run away from it. One of us has to be real, and If it''s me then I choose not to follow the pull it has on me. But the light never strays from my sight. It follows my turn, and I soon lose all sense of direction.


    It¡¯s there, in the distance; forever in my sight, watching me. I try to back away from it, but I do not move, the distance stays the same. I try to look at the darkness around me, but I can''t, the scene I see doesn''t change anymore, the light either follows my sight or I am forbidden from turning away from it. Am I not a being of will?! Am I not¡­?


    What am I? I¡¯ve seen the spectres, the talking shadows need something from me. Maybe when I tried to reply to them before they couldn''t hear me. They exist here, so maybe they have power over me. They asked why I left, why I walk, and what was I doing here. I don''t understand their reasoning but maybe I can try to, try to understand them. Maybe the light is the answer.


    I start making my way to the light now, the whispers that lingered in the shadows are no more. The stillness of the surrounding darkness is calming, my existence is not a matter of import, I know I exist. The question is where is it that I exist. The silhouettes that walked out from the dark seemed familiar last time I was here. Maybe I left them, maybe I walked too far from the light and left them behind. And now the light wants me back, yes¡­ that seems reasonable. But why is it that the silhouettes could block the light and I can''t? If they are of the darkness then I would be too.


    Maybe I am the darkness here, or at least a part of it, that¡¯s why I can only see the light. It¡¯s the only thing here except from me, or again, a part of me. Every time I try to look away I see it, because I surround it, it¡¯s in my domain. But if that¡¯s so, then why have I no control here? Something isn¡¯t right, I can''t be the darkness, I would know. Maybe i¡¯m in the darkness, and the light wants to draw me away from it, maybe I did leave the shadows and the spectres are cross with me for that reason. So they only show me the light so I could leave again?


    So many questions, but no one to answer them. I can only do so much with no understanding of this-, this¡­existence? The light is closer now, I can almost feel it¡¯s heat. Heat, I remember this feeling, I remember warmth being familiar and inviting, but that¡¯s not the case this time. The heat I feel now is different, strange, frightening. I wants me, and I cannot resist it. I¡¯m given no choice, and no direction other than straight to it, but maybe some of my questions will be answered.


    The light flickers at my approach, I feel longing, and if I wasn''t so blatantly forced to walk forward; I would think it was my choice. What am I? I remember having two arms and legs, a tail, a mouth, nose and ears, but I couldn''t see. I had no eyes there, deep in the cold. So how can I see now? I am what I know, and I know what I am. I¡¯m no shadow, I¡¯m no being of light either. I should feel my limbs, yet I do not. I should hear my voice, yet I do not. I shouldn''t see, yet I do. This isn¡¯t what I know, so this cannot be, right?If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The light is in front of me now, its heat enveloping my being. How can I feel heat if I have no body here? This isn¡¯t real, the light isn¡¯t real, the darkness isn''t real.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t real.¡± I whisper, and my words are heard. The light disappears and there is nothing now. My sense of self returns and I am whole. I feel my body once more, my feet planted firmly in the mud, with my tail gently gliding along it. I feel the heat of the light still, it is there, I just cannot see it now, I can sense it. All is as it should be. I spread my sphere of being outwards, into what was once pure darkness, and I feel them. Countless beings of little substance standing all around me, they were the darkness before. They surround the light, they pushed me toward it.


    ¡®Where am I?¡¯ I will the words into my sphere of sense, my area of influence, my domain. I feel them all around me, shifting, merging and dissolving; before reappearing in a different location. They heard me now, but they refrain from acknowledging my question. This is their game, their home, they still hold power over me. I focus on the light before me, now without looking. I feel it, floating above the ground. The heat that escapes it is not as domineering as before. I place my hand on the light, feeling my palm burn away. But this still isn''t real, and with but a thought my hand returns to normal, and the light does little to harm me now.


    I retract my hand, now focusing a part of my will solely on the light, making a tight sphere around it, suppressing the heat and light that would escape it. And slowly, compress it with my will. I feel it struggle, and I feel the spectres shuffle in panic. I turn some of my attention back on the sphere of sense I have arround me, and with another thought I pull it towards me, making a small dome around myself, reinforced with my will. I hear spectres wail; as the light is compressed further. They have no power over me in my domain.


    ¡°What now, little light?¡± I ask with words flowing slowly from my mouth. The darkness cannot be without light, the spectres fear for their lives, for their existence. I compress the light further, the shrieks only help encourage me that this is right. What would happen if the light dies? Will this place collapse and I will be freed? Or will I disappear with the darkness in tow? But there is land here, I brush my tail along the ground once more, and the mud parts to confirm my thought. If the darkness is no more I will remain here, I am real.


    The light is struggling now, trying to push back my will, trying to escape. I feel my mind burn, the agony lasts only but a moment as I push it down.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± speaks a voice, I turn my focus on it and a being is found. It feels empty, but not hollow, a piece in a bigger whole perhaps. I feel fear and confusion emanate from it, the fear is for the safety of the light, the confusion is probably from my reinforced sphere, It cannot enter my domain.


    ¡°I don''t know where here is.¡± I answer, the sphere I hold the light trapped in stops shrinking by my will. I will have understanding of this plane. ¡°Where-, is-, this?!¡± I ask again, measuring my tone, and weaving the words into my domain, as I apply some pressure on the light once more.


    ¡°This is what you left behind,¡± one voice answers.


    ¡°We are the ones you¡¯ve left in the darkness,¡± another voice emerges from beyond my dome.


    ¡°We are those you¡¯ve pushed away,¡± a third voice whispers.


    ¡°We are the paths you would not follow,¡± the shadows speak in unison now, their voices float around my dome, trying to reach the light but are forbidden entry.


    ¡°We are those you did not choose,¡± the voices rise in volume, I feel the vibrations in the ground now. I feel the truth in their words.


    ¡°We are the ones bound by you,¡± and the plane stills, the vibrations are no more. The voices have nothing more to say, so they now listen, they wait.


    The spectres are bound by me, if what they say is true, and I know it to be so. They can only exist in the presence of the light, so the light must be me, or a part of me. The pull I felt was from myself then, to become complete? When I compressed the light I felt pain, so maybe we are connected somehow.


    They speak of rejection and imprisonment, they want me to release them, but not by killing off the light. If the light is destroyed then I too shall follow. But if they are held by me, then this plane is also mine¡­ So how could they influence me so? The truth I felt from them isn¡¯t whole, they¡¯re hiding something from me.


    I focus back on the light, it¡¯s so small now¡­ The heat I feel through my sense is now weak, the light is weak. It¡¯s real, the light is real, it too is afraid now. The spectres, the silhouettes, the shadows¡­ they feel wrong, they hold no lies in their words, but this doesn''t feel right. Can they fool my sense? Maybe they hold bits of truths in their emotions as well¡­ And if they said I left them behind, then maybe I did¡­ but how, and when? They said they''re bound by me, but they held power over me, maybe they knew how I would react, maybe they still hold some power over me. They lead me to the light, perhaps they also knew how I would react, and were feeding my sense of superiority. Maybe they want me to dim the light¡­


    What happens in the darkness when there is no light to push it away? There is no darkness anymore. But what is left if both are dependant on each other? I don''t see the dark anymore, I feel the silhouettes that were hiding inside. Maybe the darkness is keeping them bound, maybe they''re beings of a different kind, I still feel the substance they¡¯re made of. It''s strange, can the absence of light be physical?


    If the darkness is the cell, then the light is the key, and if it goes out the cell opens. They¡¯re prisoners¡­ my prisoners, and the light is some kind of part of me.


    ¡°What is the light?¡± I ask, as I slightly ease the pressure within my sphere of will.


    ¡°It is what keeps us bound.¡± the spectres speak in unison once more, their words hold truth.


    ¡°What are you?¡± I need to understand them, to know them, judge if their deception is of the makings of my limited understanding.


    ¡°We are what you could have been.¡± They answer, again their voices ring in unison, and again their words hold truth. If they are what I could¡¯ve been then we are connected somehow, I just don''t see that connection, how were they bound?


    ¡°Are you a part of me?¡± If the light is connected to me in this plane, it¡¯s possible that the darkness is too, and they are a part of said darkness. Each spectre feels empty, but they¡¯re countless in this plane, they represent something bigger, they¡¯re a part of something more. But they cannot be the darkness, so if the darkness is a part of me then they are not. Yes¡­ dark cannot be without light, and the light is a part of me.


    ¡°We are what you would not become.¡± The words are heard from around me, but not from everywhere as before, not all the spectres decided to answer this question. So they are not whole, yet. Maybe they are bound by being separate, maybe if the darkness is no more they will be whole, the countless pieces will flow together, and be free¡­But the words they spoke held truth again, and they said they¡¯re something I would not become, but I could have.


    Maybe they are a part of me, maybe once the light is no more, and the darkness is gone, they¡¯ll flow together, swallowing me in tow. Making me become what I would not, without me choosing to do so. They chose to phrase their words around my question as well, this feels wrong.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I ask, as I release the light from my hold.


    ¡°We are those who wait.¡± The spectres speak in unison once more, and again their words hold truth. But the question is left unanswered. I stand still, feeling the light nearby, it¡¯s heat radiates towards me. The beings are what I could have been if I were to so choose, but I didn''t; so they wait. They tell me no lies, but the truths they speak are vague. I cannot trust their words.


    I turn away from the light and start walking, my dome still surrounds me. The spectres can do nothing to enter it, it¡¯s mine, and I won''t permit it. This time I see my shadow in front of me as I walk, the light still shining at my back. The spectres whisper and hiss at my passage, but they cannot stop me.


    ¡°Why do you walk?¡± The spectres whisper around me, some louder than others.


    ¡°Because I choose to.¡± I answer.


    ¡°Why did you leave?¡± They ask, some are screeching, others hissing the words at my passage.


    ¡°Because I chose to.¡±]


    The cold returned to me, or did I return to the cold? It matters little. I sense around myself by slowly expanding my being, and find others like me. They¡¯re asleep. I can sense their bodies shifting slightly, and I can feel their senses mixed and floating together. While mine can cover them all, theirs is barely enough to connect them to one another. I feel some kind of energy flowing through that connection, they¡¯re sharing something. I wonder what it is¡­ Maybe they share words? Or ideas? Knowledge? They¡¯re safe, it¡¯s all that matters.


    I spread my sense to my limits, going deep into the cold hard rocks. In some areas I find hollow passages, beyond them just more cold rocks. In other areas I find nothing but the same old hard cold rocks. But in the corner of where we are right now I sense liquid. I focus on it and find it to be the same liquid I was once floating in. Now that I notice, I¡¯m outside of my shell, the others are as well. We¡¯re lying on some sort of soft ground, it¡¯s doing little to keep the cold away.


    In any case, the others are safe for now. The giants are also not here, and they didn''t harm us. So maybe they won''t do so still. I focus back to the others, they seem happy being connected to each other, maybe I can share in what they¡¯re doing as well. I spread my being over them, creating a walled dome of will around us, just in case. I then snuggle closer to the group and weave my sense in with theirs as I fall to the land of dreams.