ã€ŠThe Meister&#x27;s Short Stories | New Story Every Chapterã€‹


 1. Lonely Creature

    Eyes pierced into Melial from every direction, clawing at his soul. The silence was even worse. Each empty second took a piece of his heart and left the rest bare and shivering like a wounded beast. Two wings as black as night sprouted behind Melial¡¯s back, reaching into the pinkish sky above, unfurling into a cloak of shadow. It rose out of his back along with an agony that was slicing his mind apart, a billion new senses hammering into his head in a terrifying rhythm. A long black feather drifted onto the yellow grass at Melial¡¯s feet. As soon as it hit the ground, he knew things would never be the same.

    Captain Larlo stepped towards Melial, blonde hair reflecting the blood-red sunset. The captain who had taken a weak Melial under his wing and protected him since the age of 7. The Larlo who had been a friend. That Captain Larlo marched towards Melial, hand on the blade at his side that had taken the blood of many before. Larlo¡¯s cold gaze didn¡¯t waver, blue eyes piercing. He never did.

    Melial looked towards the rest of the company, pleading for any understanding. Just returning his gaze would mean something. Not one of them looked back. Vira didn¡¯t. Melial stumbled. ¡°Get away!¡± His voice came out raw and primal. Unhuman. Larlo and death marched towards him. The cadets screeched, voices rising like a tidal wave. A hand fell on Melial¡¯s shoulder. He slapped it off with a flash of his dark wing. They shouted his name, but their voices drowned out as his senses adapted. His wings drummed a deep, heavy sound as if they had always been there, and Melial rose into the setting sky. But a voice rang clearly.

    ¡°Melial!¡± Vira shouted, singing true. He could always hear her. Vira stood among the company like a lone island in the ocean, a golden paradise against a burning hell, yet she didn¡¯t get any words out. Her mouth stayed open, and her brown eyes said the same message as the others. Melial would never be welcome. That was all he needed. With tears dropping from his eyes, he turned and flew away, bursting towards Kalagor Peaks, home of beasts and demons ¨C now the home of Melial.

    Under night¡¯s blanket, Melial hid. He couldn¡¯t sleep. His heart bore the weight of a thousand. Yet, instead of feeling slow, he felt electric. New blood pumped through him, and his body wished him to try it, to prowl in the night. He didn¡¯t. His friends had been his meaning. Vira had been his purpose. Without them, the world was black and dark. An unforgiving abyss and a meaningless existence.

    Melial had always been proud of his survival skills; however, grotesque beasts fused with demonic influence challenged him day-by-day. He was an intruder in two worlds. And the food, the meat of those beasts, sent savory rushes down his spine even when he knew it shouldn¡¯t. To live was to reject all he knew, but he didn¡¯t care anymore. No one did. No one ever had. Not enough. Not one person had searched for him, wanted him. Melial let the small things take hold of him, let the thrill of the hunt contaminate his mind. He let order out the window for a cutthroat savagery even though he wished to keep it. To feel anything, to know he was not dreaming, he had to.

    And then Melial met a real demon, someone like him. Two blood-red eyes bulged out of his head. Jagged purple wings stretched to the sides as wide as a tree. He donned a magnificent suit as black as night. Coarse green hair filtered down his face.

    ¡°Are you going to keep staring, hatchling?¡± The demon snorted, gliding down from a branch. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you have made it this deep into Kalagor. Some demons would have killed you for your lack of a proper greeting. And do not just stand there without speaking. I know you are capable.¡± He stopped a few feet from Melial, who stood, eyes wide. ¡°Name?¡±

    ¡°Melial,¡± Melial coughed, voice cracking.

    ¡°And how long has it been since you became a demon?¡± The demon asked.

    ¡°I... don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Of course, you do not.¡± The demon clicked his tongue and studied Melial¡¯s torn clothes, leaning closer. ¡°A man of Sparta,¡± he laughed, ¡°Former man. And the conditions of those clothes... you know that a demon does not have to be uncivilized, right?¡±

    Melial grunted. Something seemed off about the demon. He was too -

    "Well, friend, you undoubtedly believe that being a demon is a curse.¡± The demon placed a hand on Melial¡¯s shoulder, and a sweet, alluring sensation ran down it. He began to ask why but felt he should stop as the demon continued. ¡°I was the same once, and I failed and failed. You do not have to go through what I did. I can teach you how we are better in every single way.¡± The demon rose to the trees. He was magnificent, Melial felt he should think. ¡°Better than humans and better than life itself. For we are not temporary. We are immortal. We are the truest creation of the gods. The most perfect. We are what humans wish they could be.¡± The demon closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were pitch black. ¡°My true name is Zethrius Vin Lazadel, leader of the Bloodhounds.¡± Zethrius stretched a claw out. ¡°Will you join me on my journey?¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Melial shook the claw back, though a small part in the back of his head screamed against it. Melial¡¯s shoulder was still sweet.

    Time passes faster for a demon, for time is of no consequence to one. Melial strut down Bloodhounds¡¯ halls. Red carpets drew down the middle of a grand hall of gold and silver. Banners of demonic houses hung from the ceiling.

    ¡°Melial!¡± Nera shouted, getting his attention. Ravenlike, she stood next to Zethrius and Piche, wearing a black dress that draped down to the floor and on top of it. She waved enthusiastically, black hair contrasting her pale skin.

    ¡°Our favorite man!¡± Zethrius grinned, teeth baring. He donned that midnight suit of his like always, and his green hair was slicked back. He rested against a luxurious column, which had gold running up and down in lines.

    ¡°What were you talking about?¡± Melial asked, waving back to Nera.

    Zethrius stood silent.

    Nera leaned closer to Melial. ¡°Sparta,¡± she whispered, breath chilling Melial¡¯s ear.

    Melial¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Are the Bloodhounds attacking? When?¡±

    Nera giggled.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Zethrius replied, narrowing his red eyes at Nera, ¡°We are invading Sparta. A formality, really, for we will obtain it no matter what method. As for your other questions, does it matter? Does Sparta matter to you, Melial?¡±

    Melial paused. An answer was on the tip of his tongue, but it refused to come out. What was it again? What had he wanted to say?

    Melial smiled as he found what he assumed to be it. ¡°No. It does not matter at all.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Zethrius smiled.

    Melial was sent out on the second day of the invasion. Ribbons of blood danced in the air, twirling from human to demon to human. Blood pooled on the coarse dirt of Melial¡¯s home. Blood turned Sparta¡¯s once great walls into stunning murals with streaks of red.

    Images of humans flashed before him. Each time, before he knew it, their body slumped, and Melial¡¯s black wings would rumple, bloodied. But the walls were turning beautiful, reddening with blood each passing day. However, on the fifteenth day, he asked himself if the crumbled walls were still beautiful. This time, he did not have an answer, and he did not know why he did not.

    ¡°Melial!¡± Someone shouted, piercing through the noise. A human girl, it sounded like. ¡°Melial, you have to wake up!¡±

    It was so familiar. But why could he only pick out this voice among the endless clattering of his mind?

    ¡°Please, come back!¡±

    It had to be a daydream, but which was real and which was not?

    ¡° - never stopped looking. I never stopped. I¡¯ll come back for you. I will.¡±

    ¡°Melial, are you okay?¡± Zethrius asked. They stood on the ruins of a Spartan outpost and the remains of toppled houses and families. Bodies lay strewn like the victims of a hurricane.

    ¡°I am... a demon of the Bloodhounds,¡± Melial answered, but he felt sick to his stomach.

    ¡°Yes, you are,¡± Zethrius laughed. He patted Melial¡¯s shoulder twice, alluring power piercing into it. ¡°Yes, you are.¡±

    Melial felt like he was in Sparta¡¯s heart, a large plaza with, eventually, steps leading to a pantheon. But how did he know that? How? Two slim black swords pulsed in his hands.

    A woman with no face stood in the center of the plaza, a bronze sword held in her hands. On her right, a muscular man brandished a longsword. He too was faceless. Faded. Wispy. Melial tried to peer into the two, but he was locked out on the doorsteps. They must be the dream, he thought.

    Melial moved in a second, his body and mind two separate beings. His midnight wings swooped in wide arcs aimed for the man¡¯s head, jagged edges reaching for the taste of blood. But in one fluid motion, the man parried the wings. Was that possible? Two wings the size of men themselves stopped in their tracks. The man roared and pushed Melial back.

    Melial grinned. He launched into the air, wings rumbling, and spiraled towards the man with meteoric speed, his twin swords aiming for the man¡¯s heart with an unstoppable force. Just before blood spilled, the man rolled, easily gaining a distance far from Melial¡¯s strike. Melial laughed, sliding onto the ground, and shot up again and again from every single angle, but the man was always ready. Had there been a human this formidable?

    Melial¡¯s eyes widened. His grip on the swords loosened. ¡°I¡¯ve fought you before, haven¡¯t I?¡±

    The woman began to move closer to Melial, calling out words that, for some reason, Melial couldn¡¯t hear, but the man stopped her, putting an arm out in front of her as if to protect. He nodded to Melial.

    Melial clenched his fists. He trembled. Why did his gut tell him that something was so seriously wrong? ¡°Do not play with me! Leave my mind untouched!¡± Melial yelled, throwing a sword at the woman. The man easily deflected it to the side, but Melial was already in the sky by then. The sun was setting, pinkish dots melting into a blue canvas. Such a sunset had happened before. Beneath him, Sparta was ruined. Had he done it? The walls had crumbled. The homes had been demolished. Was it him?

    Melial screamed and barreled towards the plaza, wind scraping his skin. The man and woman watched him come, unfazed by him even if he was a demon. His heart sank, and he didn¡¯t know why. He grasped his remaining sword with both hands. The man¡¯s cut blonde hair matched the glare of the sun. His posture was proud and full like a man of position, like a captain. The woman studied him, bronze skin glittering, brown hair tied behind her head. Her eyes were the stars themselves ¨C blacks as deep as space and browns as soft as the twilight. She was impenetrable and formidable, a castle against a raging sea. A golden paradise against a burning hell.

    Melial crashed into the ground beside them, knocking a cloud of dust and debris into the air.

    ¡°I can see you.¡±

    ¡°We were always here.¡± Vira softened. ¡°Always and forever.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Melial laughed, wiping a tear from his eyes. ¡°I know.¡± Finally, he knew what truly was beautiful.

 2. Gladiator In Infamy

    ¡°It¡¯s him, isn¡¯t it?¡± a voice whispered.

    ¡°He¡¯s much shorter than they say,¡± another remarked.

    ¡°His muscles are smaller too,¡± a third smirked.

    ¡°Look at the way he sits. Slouched. Lazy. He¡¯ll die soon, I¡¯d say.¡±

    ¡°And he deserves it. Straight to Tartarus for that murderer.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, Fortuna lay on his side.¡±

    ¡°Then let Mars strike him down.¡±

    ¡°Fortunatus!¡± Gaius called over the noise. The thick man stood by the iron gate to the Colosseum. He pointed at Hadrian with his scarred hand. ¡°Your turn.¡±

    The stone walls trembled and shook, kicking a cloud of dust from the ceiling. Men cried and ran up to their iron bars, begging for freedom before it slipped from their grasp. They could hear the mass outside, the shaking and booming of the Colosseum that ran in chaotic rhythm and chased after blood, a furious storm that turned flesh into sand, lives into laugh, reaping glory-chasers and the innocent indiscriminately. But those who simply existed in the arena, wading in the storm, floating forever into the bottomless dark-blue depths of Neptune¡¯s great seas, survived.

    Hadrian held his sword with both hands. Its edge was dull, and rust had claimed it many times over, yet Rome had put a mask atop it and made the fraud shimmer and gleam. Hadrian stared at himself in the sword¡¯s reflection. A cold iron helmet wrapped around his skull, shielding him from the roars of beasts and Rome. Darkness had found its way into every corner, and the tunnel into the Colosseum was the darkest.

    The gate lifted, and Hadrian entered the tunnel, waves of light gushing in. As waves and waves of Rome pounced and snarled above, hungry for blood and flesh, the tunnel trembled, drumming deep sounds like heartbeats over and over. The sun grew ever brighter like a spotlight. The voices wilted, and then there was only Hadrian and his blade.

    Hadrian ate the evening bread slowly. Whether it was because he lost his appetite or to make the taste last longer, he could not tell.

    ¡°Fortunatus! That¡¯s what they call you, right?¡± A boy hopped into a seat opposite Hadrian with his own bowl of food. ¡°Is it alright if I sit here?¡±

    The bread¡¯s flavor rushed through Hadrian, and Hadrian relished every moment of it. A warm taste, albeit hard and rough at the first bite.

    ¡°What¡¯s the secret?¡± The boy asked, ignoring his food and leaning across the table. His eyes were too bright. ¡°I heard you¡¯ve come back from the arena over fifty times.¡±

    Hadrian rolled his tongue around in his mouth. The bread was gone, but Hadrian could feel it in his mouth like it was still there.

    ¡°I¡¯ll pay you when I get out,¡± the boy whispered, glancing around. There was nobody else in the room. Was there anyone there that was still alive anyway? ¡°Hell, I¡¯ll be your servant forever. What do you say?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no secret,¡± Hadrian muttered. He hadn¡¯t spoken in a long time, his voice coming out rough and coarse. He almost didn¡¯t recognize it.

    ¡°There must be something,¡± the boy continued relentlessly. ¡°Something that you¡¯re doing differently than all the other gladiators that try their hand.¡±

    ¡°I wait, Tartarus.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re slaves,¡± the boy chuckled, ¡°You won¡¯t be punished. If anything, you¡¯d be honored in the great halls of Elysium, standing amongst gods and heroes. Fortunatus is here, they¡¯ll say! And they¡¯ll welcome you with open arms and glory beyond our imagination.¡±

    Hadrian clasped his sword. ¡°Surviving is no feat.¡± Hadrian stood, meeting the boy¡¯s eyes for the last time. ¡°The secret is to not care. The secret is to give up.¡±

    Hadrian went and walked away.

    The next day, the boy died. Dark-red blood pooled onto the arena¡¯s sand like a slow stream. A fleshy, oozing hole lay in his stomach. His once vigorous eyes stared at the open blue sky in a shocked expression, eyebrows eternally raised. He will never settle. His soul shall never rest. The boy hadn¡¯t even made it ten seconds, his corpse mere steps from the gate. The people of Rome were leaving the Colosseum in slow herds, filing out now that the entertainment was done, and eventually, Hadrian stood alone, corpses all around him. Death had claimed others, but it never claimed him.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Hadrian was getting tired. He could feel it. Spears that he had once dodged effortlessly now threatened him. In the last match, a sword had slashed across his chest, leaving a nasty gash that haunted him day and night like a thousand bestial claws. His body was weakening, and sleep evaded him. Soon, perhaps Tartarus would finally take him.

    ¡°Fortunatus, you haven¡¯t been the same as late,¡± Gaius whispered outside Hadrian¡¯s cell. ¡°You¡¯re dying.¡±

    Hadrian waded in the darkness. He couldn¡¯t see two inches in front of him in the night.

    ¡°They¡¯ll sing your name when you fall.¡± Hadrian could feel Gaius¡¯s gaze on him, though he couldn¡¯t see it. ¡°They¡¯ll parade the streets, telling half-truths of the legendary Fortunatus.¡±

    Hadrian closed his eyes.

    ¡°It¡¯s a shame for my best gladiator to die.¡± Gaius took a step away, foot echoing throughout the stone cells. ¡°But coin is coin, friend,¡± he sneered as he left.

    Hadrian marched out of the gate into a swarm of roars, the Colosseum quaking. ¡°Fight!¡± The Roman people ordered, thirsting for blood, ¡°Fortunatus, kill!¡±

    The sand was as coarse as ever. A boy, no older than 17, entered the other side of the arena. Even from far away, Hadrian could see the boy¡¯s anxiety. His grip on his sword was loose and weak. The wooden shield he wore on his left hand shook and trembled. He wouldn¡¯t make it a minute. But the boy could. He could make it if Hadrian... The boy¡¯s brown eyes met Hadrian¡¯s, and Hadrian saw a terror that shouldn¡¯t decorate the innocent, a punishment that shouldn¡¯t become the young.

    A horn sounded, and the arena erupted, fans clamoring and beasts loosing out of their confines. Hadrian dashed across, sand kicking up behind him with every stride. A bear had immediately reared on him, but he rolled under its sweeping paw. However, the boy had worse luck. An older gladiator seeking easy prey had approached him, holding a mace in his right hand. The boy stumbled, eyes wide, falling onto the sand. The gladiator brandished his mace, seeking to claim the lamb before him for Rome. The mace came down. The boy closed his eyes. And a glittering blade sprouted through the gladiator¡¯s chest.

    ¡°Up, boy!¡± Hadrian roared, spinning back around to confront the other gladiators. ¡°Up! On your feet!¡± Two gladiators approached, attracted by the weight of Fortunatus¡¯s name. One brandished a short sword in each hand, his skin tan and dark, while the other held a great axe the size of a man, donning heavy steel armor that covered nearly every inch of skin. That one was as tall as a mountain. The boy hadn¡¯t moved from his spot, his body still like a painting. Pleading, his eyes looked to Hadrian.

    Hadrian struck first. His sword came onto the dual-wielding man in a wide arc. It returned to Hadrian¡¯s side with blood all over its blade, yet the man still stood, a nasty wound across his shoulder. Leaving Hadrian no time to rest, the armored gladiator swung his axe down in an overhead arc, threatening to split Hadrian in two, but it met only the sand as Hadrian rolled, light armor clanking. Panicking, the armored gladiator spun his axe around and slashed at Hadrian¡¯s head. A rushed movement. Hadrian ducked, and in the gap of the gladiator¡¯s armor, where the shoulder met the chest, he thrusted his sword. The gladiator fell, and the living one scrambled, blood still dripping from the wound on his arm.

    ¡°Fortunatus!¡± The crowd screamed. The gladiator cowered. Fate and Rome were not on his side. Fortuna wasn¡¯t. But Hadrian didn¡¯t move to finish the gladiator. The bear did for him.

    A single paw sent the gladiator flying across the arena, and the Roman people roared. The bear was the last one left. It had killed every other beast and being, its mouth dripping with blood, flesh stuck between its teeth. It roared, standing on its furry hind legs, a mass of darkness and despair, and then charged Hadrian in a mad dash on all fours.

    Hadrian couldn¡¯t dodge. The boy hid right behind him, pretending Hadrian was enough of a wall to stop a six-hundred-pound beast. Hadrian steadied his sword and tightened his grip, bear quickly approaching. He slashed its furry black chest, a trail of hot-red blood decorating the air in a beautiful arc as the sword met its goal. But his sword refused to budge out of the bear¡¯s thick hide and return to Hadrian¡¯s grasp.

    Roll. Hadrian saw the move, yet his body wouldn¡¯t listen, not in time, his legs dragging. Six-hundred-pounds rammed into Hadrian. His vision turned dark. The wind fled his lungs, and in a flash, Hadrian skidded across the arena, steel armor pressing into his skin, sword leaving his hand. His helmet went flying into the air, and his head slammed into the sand.

    The crowd yelled with a sudden clarity. They weren¡¯t there for him. They never had been. The bear roared behind him. The heart of the Colosseum pounded. But hadn¡¯t it always been this way?

    Hadrian stood. He felt the wind hit his hair, the sand brush his eyes. The sun warmed his naked face. The bear dashed towards the boy, roaring in feverish delight as it sought to claim innocence, its gaping maw held open in anticipation. The boy yelled, scrambling backwards. He backed up against the wall of the Colosseum. The boy had nowhere to go. He yelled again. He cried out over and over. Rome watched and ignored. Rome did not act. Rome turned away and laughed. Hadrian did not. Hadrian thrusted his sword into the back of the black bear. It went deep, the handle reaching the fur. The bear yelped in pain. It swayed, limping away from Fortunatus, and it fell, dropping onto the sand among the other lives it had claimed. The boy was safe.

    The arena burst into a storm of yells and chants. ¡°Fortunatus!¡± They sang to the rhythm of the Colosseum. Words flew by and so did cheers and hollers. The emperor arrived, chirping about the glory of Rome. Hadrian ate his evening bread.

    The next day, the boy died.

 3. Stigma of the Dark

    ¡°Heed these words, blade of mine,¡± he tightened his grip on the sword. ¡°Ruin the world with the point of your steel and rend it anew in a flash of gore and blood. Show your light and make them bow, Arcann.¡± The humble blade shone with a pale blue, and soon dark clouds manifested in the sky above, rushing in like a horde of mad beasts and blocking out the sun¡¯s rays, inviting a world of darkness. As the light faded, the tall man stood evenly, feet planted into the ground and knees bent, in a practiced stance. His weapon trembled in excitement, burning to draw blood. The tip of it reached high above the warrior, but he showed no strain and held the hilt with comfortable ease. He stood as still as the earth below, and it seemed like he could explode at any moment.

    He was in a dark, flat plain, void of life and green, and faced an expanse of trees, dried and black like a decomposed, month-old corpse. It was dying, if it had not already. Bare branches twisted unnaturally in all directions, reaching into the air and contaminating it with its disease. The forest was augmented, suffering under the Stigma of the Dark.

    His sharp eyes pierced the surroundings as they scanned for signatures of opposition. He awaited his enemies, ones that would no doubt respond to his call, ones that never slept and plagued the nights with their evil desires and schemes.

    He did not have to wait long. First, he felt the presence. He did not know how to explain it; at one moment, it was simply there, setting him on edge. It prickled at his skin, clawing at it relentlessly and desiring to feast on the swarm of chaotic energy inside of him. He had experienced this sensation before, and while he was ready for it, he could never get used to it.

    A new wind arrived, harder and rougher, increasing in severity, and it set the branches bent and broken apart, carried away in the current. The wind blew the man¡¯s black hair to the side, and his black fur clothes noisily flapped.

    The man grimaced and pushed into the ground with his foot, grinding the dirt into the air, before he exploded towards the forest. He¡¯d rather meet them headfirst than be surrounded and put to a sickening end. He landed on black and dried leaves that crunched and broke apart in the wake of his boots, and the trees became but a blur as he sprinted. He dodged and weaved between the black trunks, stumps, and remains of the dead forest.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    He paused, his feet sliding a stop and kicking up a trail of dust. He was deep enough now in the forest to try and single out an enemy. He closed his eyes, took a moment to calm his breathing, and panned over his senses for any signs. He smelt it immediately. A foul and pungent odor stained the air and left him even more unsettled, but like any natural hunter, he could pin it down. His head snapped in the direction, approximately to his left, and he planted his right foot and dashed with more speed than he had before. This time, his figure could hardly be seen, night furs blending into the black forest and fluttering. Sword Arcann lit the man¡¯s surroundings but scarcely as the dark clouds still towered over the world.

    It didn¡¯t take long for him to find the source of the smell; he scrunched his nose as it wafted in the air around him with more strength, and he caught the small shine of an armor, a mere glint under the dark sky, but it was enough. He swung immediately. The wide arc of his sword cut through the air but much too far to do physical damage; however, that was not the goal. It summoned forth unimaginable swaths of azure power. Blue wisps of raw energy painted the air and converged into an arc of concentrated power that only kept growing into the path of the sword¡¯s strike. The arc shined a strong blue light, frozen in its position but relentless in drawing its power. The man strained as he struggled to control the increased power, and a soft hum began to increase in volume. His sword soon became fully luminescent, engrossing the area in a flash of azure light, and then, in a short moment, the arc disappeared ¨C or so it was thought to be, but right after, the ground rumbled and the trees shook, and the glimpse of the enemy was gone, and so was the dirt it stood on. The attack had left a deep scar upon the earth, a crater that consumed the entire area and stopped right before man¡¯s feet - a practiced precision.

    Without a doubt, the strike would call the other beasts.

    Let them come. It would be their doom, Arcann laughed, blade pulsing.

    The ravens cawed, rustling out of their barren trees. Far-off wolves howled and sung warnings to their packs. The night was young, for sure.

 4. A Rising Sea

    ¡°I dream of a paler moon, so I will finally be able to fully belong to the dark and hide.¡± Two figures sat on a cliff edge high above a vibrant water. The sea led a violent barrage against a sandy and rocky beachfront that sounded out loud claps far beneath the two and their dangling feet, echoing across the edge of the land.

    ¡°You¡¯re gloomy,¡± one snickered. ¡°Okay, I want an all-powerful sun, so all the hiding shadows shall disappear and everything will be open.¡± The sea below them kept raging on, and became more and more angry, its waters rising up the cliff¡¯s base.

    ¡°I prefer a simple life, filled with just the people I love and I¡¯d be the happiest.¡±

    ¡°I desire the most extravagant life possible, but of course I¡¯d still share it.¡±

    ¡°I want a great big yacht so I can go anywhere, even into that angry sea.¡± The sea level rose again, climbing the cliff¡¯s wall higher and higher as the tide kept coming back and the waves kept building.

    ¡°I¡¯d be fine with a room and a tv, I could see everything.¡±

    ¡°Not in person.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡± They were silent for a moment or two. But the water clashed and bashed into the stone cliff like it was sinking its hooks in to work itself higher up.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°I dream of my descendants living in a bountiful world, one that has the same beauty I see in it.¡±

    ¡°Too late.¡±

    ¡°I still dream.¡± They paused.

    ¡°I want a Coke. And that¡¯s what I wish my children could have too.¡±

    ¡°They might find one.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t exist.¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡± One met the eyes of the other, then they both laughed.

    ¡°Funny guy.¡±

    ¡°What do you say we just ignore this impending crisis?¡±

    ¡°Laying it on thick, huh.¡±

    ¡°Someone has to.¡± They both turned towards the glimmering sea that reflected the shining sun among the white strips of cloud, ignoring the brewing chaos that was getting too close beneath their feet.

    ¡°I dream and dreamt of many things.¡±

    ¡°Me too.¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t do them.¡±

    ¡°Me neither.¡±

    ¡°And basically no one else did or will.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°We were so focused but so ignorant.¡± The sea was close.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have put it off.¡±

    ¡°And we were limited.¡± Their feet touched the water, causing small ripples in the wake.

    ¡°Our wants unobtainable.¡±

    ¡°And now everyone¡¯s futures are also unobtainable.¡± The sea creeped up their legs.

    ¡°We needed to start doing.¡±

    ¡°Cause now there are no more Coke¡¯s or Pepsi¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°And we didn¡¯t.¡± The sea reached the top of the cliff and rushed over the grass and ground like a migrating horde.

    ¡°Can¡¯t watch The Kardashians now.¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°No one else will see it either.¡± The water soaked their shirts as it steadily rose.

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°I miss the simple things now too.¡±

    ¡°I miss what I neglected.¡± They sighed. The water had climbed to their necks, and then it rose, and rose, and then swallowed them whole. And in the distance, it was all blue, an endless expanse of constance and nothingness.

 5. Lost Pictures

    He opened the safe and it was gone. The black box was empty. There were no pictures of her left. Justin breathed sharply. He bolted out of their house, dashing down a series of twisting hallways, feet stomping on the wooden floors. Outside, cars and trucks scrambled in disorganized commotion. A big red bus stopped next to Justin, but he kept sprinting down the street, scrambling between light posts and people alike.Around his eyes, tears formed and fell away into the cold wind. She filled his mind, memories flashing in a relentless loop. He could still feel her, her presence wrapping around him like a fur coat. Her devilish smirk after hearing a joke. Her smile when they stared into each other¡¯s eyes. Her little pout when Justin teased. Even her vulnerable cries. The memory of her shook his body, leaving him gasping between each step. Memories were thorns, and there wasn¡¯t any good to keep touching them. He did anyway because it was her.

    Justin kept running as if he could run off the pain in his heart, as if he could escape her. The sun was gone, hidden beneath the layers of a gray sky. He sprinted block after block, not even bearing to stop at crosswalks. He didn¡¯t know where he was going. It was better that way.

    His calves burned, and each breath drew cold, penetrating air, burning his throat and lungs. Over and over, he brought his legs up high and pushed into the ground with his feet, propelling him forward and past his limits. She tormented him still, like she always did, like the devil on his shoulder, yet she was the sun. She always had been. He let out a pained yell.

    In what felt like no time, Justin found himself in a park by the river. He¡¯d gone there with her before. He¡¯d gone everywhere with her before. He fell on a bench, chest heaving, covering his face with his hands. The river, just a clear shot away from Justin, reflected the grey sheet above, and a thick fog had descended, occluding the view of the city across. The trees seemed lifeless with winter¡¯s touch upon them, leaves barely holding on.

    ¡°You look like you¡¯ve seen better days,¡± a high-pitched voice rasped. Justin started and turned towards the source. An old woman sat on the other end of the bench, a bag of bird feed in her lap. She threw some out, and in a few moments, after a single bird arrived, it seemed like a whole flock was there.

    ¡°I have,¡± Justin responded, watching the pigeons just beyond his feet, wiping his eyes clean of tears, though the remnants remained. He waited for her to ask more. She didn¡¯t. ¡°My stepfather took the only pictures I had left of my wife. He¡¯s taken everything.¡±

    ¡°Do you remember her?¡± She asked, tossing more feed.

    ¡°Too well.¡±

    ¡°Can you picture her?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then you have all you need.¡± The old woman¡¯s hair was short and round. She donned a puffy white vest.

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    ¡°But I need her,¡± Justin whispered. ¡°Her laugh and her smile. Her.¡±

    The park was quiet for a while. Insects hummed in low whirrs. The pigeons continued to eat at their feet, climbing over each other to get just the tiniest crumb, but most waited expectantly for the woman to throw more. She didn¡¯t.

    ¡°My stepfather blames me for the accident.¡± Justin watched the river wash onto the concrete shore. Over and over, the waves came and went. ¡°I do too. If I had ¨C¡°

    ¡°No use getting into if¡¯s,¡± she interjected. ¡°It¡¯ll only do harm.¡±

    Justin bit his lip. ¡°I don¡¯t want to live without her.¡±

    More feed clattered onto the ground. ¡°She¡¯s here with you,¡± the old woman rasped. She went silent for a second. ¡°Though you cannot see it, she¡¯s with you.¡±

    Justin stared at the pigeons, his eyes watering, vision blurring. His heart ached, clawing at him from a thousand different angles, pulling him apart. ¡°But I want to meet her now. I want to hold her in my arms again. I can¡¯t live without her. I think of her every second, and every second without her is a reminder that she¡¯s gone. Forever untouchable. It¡¯s like we never met. It¡¯s like the memories that we made are pointless now that only I remember them. I can¡¯t go on.¡± His throat choked and hands trembled. He grasped at his hair and pulled, ignoring the pain that came with it. He wept.

    At last, she spoke again. ¡°My husband died five years ago. I wanted to join him after he died, and I still do.¡± She paused. ¡°He gifted me a wonderful family, and joy and memories that I¡¯ll never forget. He taught me like a teacher to a student. Even now, I¡¯m still trying to figure him and our love together out. Love is the greatest puzzle, after all.¡± She smiled, looking towards the grey sky ¨C the first emotion Justin had seen of her. ¡°I¡¯ll tell him everything sometime. For now, I live with him beside me. Living with the memory of the dead, isn¡¯t that what we do? They leave us with gifts, and we should treasure them in their absence instead of letting them gather dust. We treasure their gifts because they can¡¯t anymore.¡±

    Justin thought of the way she laughed and smirked as she made a joke. Justin thought of her kindness, how she always helped in ways that Justin could never predict.

    Treasure. Justin grimaced and slowly began to sob. Tears splattered the pavement below, dripping down his face. Justin stood and took a few steps toward the river. He could barely make out the land on the other side. Thick and motionless, the fog occluded it, but if he looked close enough, he could see vague, tall shapes slightly darker than the rest. The skyscrapers reached out of the fog and touched a blue paradise that, though Justin couldn¡¯t see it, he knew was there. Above, the sun had cracked through the grey clouds, a few bright splashes lighting the sky again little by little. The cold wind halted for a moment. Justin closed his eyes, and the world seemed clearer.

 6. The Labyrinth

    The more I was there, the less I wanted to be awake. Wind rushed through the stone tunnel, escaping from some deep, lightless hell, and clawed at my skin, ripping any feelings of security to shreds. I consumed dull and dry air with every breath, tinged with the taste of hopelessness. The relentless clanking of marching bones besieged my mind and sent warning through every fiber of my body like city bells to the citizens. The undead horde would find me soon.

    I curled into a ball, though the stone floor made any attempt for comfort useless. The marching grew closer. I bit my lower lip. It bled easily, cracked and dried beyond measure. Escape was futile, but slivers of hope flashed by whenever I thought of it. I hated escape, who gave me reason to hope, just to eventually rip it away. I hated the escape who lied to me over and over, promising freedom and blue skies¡ªnot permanent solitude.

    Fighting was the truth, but it was too truthful, too unfiltered, too primal. I became a darker beast with each fight, forsaking morality for instincts, and with each fight, I ended up with rotting wounds and scars that couldn¡¯t be seen.

    I wrapped my arms around my legs as death grew closer. Flashes of armor glinted in the darkness of the hall. Bones cackled at the sight of their victim. I gripped the rusty sword that I had laid against the wall after the fight hours earlier and stood, keeping one hand on the wall for support. I didn¡¯t fight to win anymore. My bones groaned and swayed. I didn¡¯t fight to stay alive anymore. The undead came into view, screeching and clawing over one another for a chance to taste life. I fought for nothing and no reason at all.

    The first undead to reach me swung a massive black hammer in my direction, a weapon far larger than its small frame could handle. I stepped to the side and the strike whisked past. Most of the undead¡¯s skin had rotten off long ago, revealing a grey layer of decayed fibers and muscles ridden with worm-ish pink parasites¡ªthe true devil of the labyrinth. The company with which I¡¯d first entered had fallen prey to them. The company¡­ I tried to shake the thought off, but I too would end up like them. It would only take time, which favored the undead more than me. I wondered if at least some of the company was alright. My fighting would not be meaningless if they were out there in the world, breathing fresh air and laughing with the old swordsmith down the block, but they were too weak. I already knew they were dead in my heart. I tightened my grip on my sword.

    The undead should¡¯ve fallen, if only the undead obeyed physical laws. Instead, it reversed the hammer¡¯s trajectory, and the hammer¡¯s black head set on course for my chin¡ªa move too slow, however. My rusty sword, powered not by sharpness but the strength of my body, cut through the undead¡¯s arm, and the hammer clattered onto the stone floor. I grasped the undead¡¯s core, hidden deep within its ribs and skeletal cage, and crushed it into red-hot dust in the palm of my hand. The pulverized core promptly left me like sand in the wind, returning to the darkness from which it came. By the time the rest of the undead caught up to where I had been, I was a mile away, and in an hour, they would find me again. This was my punishment. This was the price for the rest of the company to live, I recited, and I¡¯d pay it a thousand times. I closed my eyes, holding a fragile wish in my right hand and my sword in the other.

    I ran and then sliced and then ran and sliced, over and over again. They chased me to no end because they had no end. They were undead and given life. I was alive and given death. I gnashed my teeth. The company lived, which clawed at me. Lydia and Rykard went home to their kids. Clemence got to drink at the bar with Victory and Defeat at his side. I clenched my jaw. I could feel the grey walls of the labyrinth sucking me up. I would fall into the pits of darkness while others tasted the light of freedom. It was not fair. My hands were battered and bruised and blistered. Their hands were clean and crisp and clear. They ate their mother¡¯s home cooking. I ate the moss and mushrooms that grew on the labyrinth floor. I cursed my comrades in the same breath that I crushed an undead. Spite fueled my limbs when food could not. I hated both the dead and the living.

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    I scrambled down a long hallway, the undead only a step behind. I lost my judgement and got too close. I made a mistake, and if I faltered, I died. If my legs caught, I died. If my muscles gave, I died. What must I do to live? I felt the small point of a spear as it pierced my back, but I could not give it thought. The memories of my friends plagued my mind already. Why did they leave me here? I wanted to join them, have sunrays at our heels, and skip across open fields, but the rough edges of rusted swords blocked my way. Had I been avoiding them? I did not know which direction led to my friends, to stop in my tracks and let the reaper guide or keep running like an already dead man.

    I hesitated, the chains of thought halting my movement¡ªanother mistake. It felt like I was flailing in mud as waves of the undead overtook me. A dagger shot into my gut, and the world began to fade as snarls took the guise of angelic song.

    ¡°Rejoice!¡± The undead seemed to shout. ¡°You may now rest! The troubles of life are over, and the joys of death are here!¡±

    I screamed, but no one alive was there to listen.

    ¡°We are your only friend!¡± They harmonized. ¡°You have been left behind, but we will always be here!¡±

    ¡°Not true!¡± I tried to shout as they tore apart my body and the core within it.

    ¡°Use us. Become us. Released by us,¡± the undead chanted in the breaths they weren¡¯t gnawing. ¡°Powerful. True. Comforted by the radiant mother of darkness and made anew.¡±

    The pain of the horde¡¯s attacks barreled into my heart. I sank under its weight. There was too much water on my ship and not enough helping hands. My home became the ocean¡¯s empty depths, alone and¡ª

    ¡°Forgotten,¡± the undead finished. ¡°Your new life calls for you. Your heart will stop, but you will love again. You will forever have a family. Join us.¡±

    I grasped an undead¡¯s core and held it up to my lips, answering the labyrinth¡¯s summon. My wounds were fresh, my body was tired, but my eyes were alit, flashing with desperate and despairing vigor. By consuming the core, I would finally live. My friends would be at my side. Victory and Defeat would reward me, and night would become my day. Pain would become pleasant. I would be free. I only had to accept it, but the core remained hovering in front of my mouth, each moment an eternity.

    ¡°I am still alive,¡± I shouted at last, my voice breaking out of the undead pile and the ocean¡¯s depths. I received no answer; I called too late. I wished someone was there to listen. The way forward was blocked again, blind to my eyes. No longer attempting to persuade, the undead forced their hands against mine and inched the core closer as I failed to find the strength I needed.

    ¡°I am still here,¡± I muttered like the statement would save me, passing in and out of consciousness as flesh barely stuck onto my limbs. ¡°I am still here.¡±

    The core grazed my lips, and I cursed the sweet electricity that coursed through my body, attempting to seduce me with its enrapturing touch, but I wouldn¡¯t entertain darkness again. The labyrinth was dark enough. As long as I breathed, I would not allow my ship to sink. Not ever. Even if I was the only one on it. Even if water weighed it down. My ship was my ship, and I would not bail.

    ¡°Anyone, help me!¡± I yelled as I struggled to fight the undead back. ¡°Please! I need help! Anyone!¡±

    There was no answer.

    ¡°I¡¯m hurt! I¡¯ve been hurt! Can anyone help me?¡±

    There was no answer.

    ¡°Just a helping hand! Just for a second! I want to live!¡±

    Small footsteps echoed in a corridor or two away, but deep down, I knew I was either imagining it on the last throes of my life or it couldn¡¯t be human. Death was here. The core called my name. The decision was made for me. I could rest now. I didn¡¯t have to run and slice any longer. I closed my eyes as the core entered my mouth, but a shining white light suddenly pierced through. I saw, if only for a short moment, the grotesque creatures eating at my corpse, and a party behind them¡ªfigures with lively faces and brightened expressions. After the flash of light ended, the labyrinth returned to complete darkness, but the snarls were gone, and the marching, clanking, and nearby fiends.

    A cool liquid doused me, restoring life to a dead man. My savior¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t angelic; it was gruff, but it was real. Familiar like a blanket. A fellow human who was there at the right time. The labyrinth¡¯s walls were further away than I thought, and the horde an easier enemy. As we travelled, the labyrinth appeared as dark as it always had been, but the light of new memories lit the way. I could finally see through.

 7. No Solitude When Theres Stars (Poem)

    The sky shimmers

    spotted with stars, it simmers

    in slowly and sweetly

    like the taste of my mother¡¯s porridge

    in the comfort of my home

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    as though a blanket of love

    although I¡¯m now alone

    Under the weight of its bearers

    fights a lone sword of flames

    forcing fire to become iron

    until it becomes ash again

    the water is forgotten

    the remedy wasted

    its eternal battle ends

    but it has always known loneliness

    Look up and see

    our stars are one and the same

    as the before and the after

    and the pain will wane

    with homecoming stars

    remember there are no imprisoning bars

    for a constellation might just be

    both you and me

    humanity together into eternity

 8. The Sword and the Prairie (Poem)

    Shimmering. Golden.

    The sword sings to me

    like a cool prairie

    with yellow grass that wraps around my knees

    and wind that blesses my black hair,

    swaying ever softly

    and ever slowly

    amidst the field.

    My hand grips the sword before I know it.

    Through violence I will get peace.

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    I am done waiting for it, I say

    as blood splatters the blade,

    a sheet of red replacing its shine.

    But time is my friend.

    I know not my enemies,

    but to the prairie, I head

    with each step past the dead,

    ignoring the crimson floor,

    the violent red on my hands,

    and a tiny voice in my head

    that says my choice leads to the wrong door.

    I am my own savior.

    I never needed her.

    The fire within me burns harder,

    yet on the inside I wither.

    My coals are cooling,

    I am becoming weaker.

    I slip a mask on,

    hiding my cracking skin,

    my heart and toothy grin,

    even as the arrows,

    darting through the dull air,

    pierce my stone lair

    and lead me astray.

    Had there been a day where the sun looked so good?

    The golden yellow blessing my view,

    but the sword leaves my hand

    just like how she left me.

    The prairie is still here,

    but now I won¡¯t be.

    Is this how I will leave it, I ask

    as the grass receives

    my collapsing body.

    The tasks left undone,

    chopping wood for the hearth

    and sharpening myself first,

    torment me.

    I should have left the sword sooner,

    I realized as it became

    too late for me.

 9. Its Too Late for the Birds (Poem)

    Sunrays pour through the canopy

    onto the small creature

    I¡¯ve named Melanie.

    She¡¯s my best friend.

    We dance together every weekend,

    and every time she lands on my doorstep

    is one I know I¡¯ll never forget.

    Today, her colorful wings wrap me

    into a tapestry of love

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    like a mother¡¯s hug

    right before she¡¯s gone.

    Her feathers shape the sun

    into a million dazzling rays

    as she unknowingly chirps

    to the beat of the construction down the block.

    She¡¯s a brilliant creature of Earth,

    but she can¡¯t stay.

    She comes from the same dirt as us,

    but won¡¯t see the next day.

    With Melanie, I laughed

    And twirled

    And danced,

    ignoring the gases rising from my land

    when the hour for action was at hand.

    When I was near Melanie,

    the world was free.

    If I acted sooner,

    would she still be next to me?

    The belief that there is time

    is a lie commonly told

    by old men of crime

    who ignore nature¡¯s helpless cries

    as the guillotine arrives

    behind our backs.

    It¡¯s already carving into your neck.

    Behind the whites of your eyes,

    open your lids and find

    that the axe has already swung.

    That mother nature has already been hung.

    In your generation,

    in the years that you ignore

    the spirit on her deathbed,

    the lives that may end,

    off flies the heads

    of every single creature you hold dear,

    like Melanie, the bird who isn¡¯t here.

 10. Beastly Heart

    A chasm lay between Caster and Melena. Caster had tried to cross it before; he had tried to reach out to her, but he had failed. Now he sat alone at a desk away, feeling like he was a part of things but never truly a part of things.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Melena whispered, tossing a glance toward him, ¡°Are you okay?¡± His breath caught at the sight of her autumn hair. Brown strands dangled above her smooth face like branches about to fall. But Caster couldn¡¯t fall again. He didn¡¯t have enough left in him to get back up.

    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± Caster nodded as he ignored the harrowing pain in his chest. ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡± Maybe the lie could last a little longer.

    Melena stared into Caster¡¯s eyes and seemed to see deeper into him than a friend should, but she nodded and turned back to her group. It was better that way. It was better that she was away. She gave the same kindness to everyone. She was the same friend to everyone. Caster closed his eyes. He would think of her normally like she thought of him. The chasm should never be crossed.

    ¡°Maybe, just maybe, one of these days, beasts will come crashing through the walls and take me out of this class,¡± Nick sighed to Caster. ¡°When am I ever going to need to know where the Kingvetter¡¯s organs are?¡±

    ¡°Nickolas, do you have something to say to the class?¡± Professor Shang snapped from the front of the classroom as she paused her lesson. Lines of stress appeared on her forehead as she squinted. She was from a nearly forgotten and dangerous age when beasts and humanity fought daily, before the founding of the Sacred Coalition. Unfortunately for Nick, danger found him too. In a moment, he captured the eyes of the entire class of thirty.

    Caster stifled a laugh.

    Nick started out of his chair, which screeched horribly as he moved, and stood straight. ¡°No! Sorry, professor!¡± He nervously shouted, his face flushing pink with embarrassment. The class broke into laughter.

    ¡°Sit back down, Nickolas,¡± Professor Shang commanded, returning her wrinkled finger to the chalkboard. ¡°And calm yourselves, children. This beast sent many strong people to an early grave when I was your age. It may not seem like it to you, but this is knowledge that can save your life. I will not have it diminished by your antics.¡± She glared at Nick. ¡°I expect that you will stay after school today to learn more.¡±

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    A painful grimace struck Nick¡¯s face. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± he murmured.

    ¡°Have fun with that,¡± Caster whispered, a corner of his mouth raising.

    ¡°Shut up,¡± Nick grunted.

    An electronic note screeched out of the classroom¡¯s speakers and the students clamored, ready to head home, but the note lasted longer than usual, descending into a pattern that Caster had never heard before. It waved higher and lower like a DJ was messing with the pitch, but then it abruptly paused. The new silence hung in the air. The students broke into lively chatter, wondering if the speaker system was broken, but the note returned louder than ever and blared over them. Professor Shang paled. She shied away from the wooden door next to her. Her eyes were wide, and her pupils made it seem as though she wasn¡¯t present, like she was recalling a traumatic memory from her past.

    ¡°Caster!¡± Nick called. ¡°You know what¡¯s going on? Caster!¡±

    Caster held his eyes on the door, muttering under his breath.

    Nick leaned closer. ¡°What¡¯d you say?¡±

    ¡°We need to go.¡±

    The door flattened in an instant, along with the entire brick wall. They collapsed right on top of Professor Shang. Her brown eyes were frightened until the end. Dust filled the classroom¡ªCaster couldn¡¯t see more than two feet in front of him¡ªbut through the grey cloud, the blood-red eyes of a beast burned into his skull. Screams enveloped the room as the hound-like beast pounced, jaw whipping back and forth.

    Caster grasped Nick by the shoulders. ¡°Leave!¡± He yelled before turning.

    Desks flew across the room. Caster couldn¡¯t look at the bodies on the floor. Melona scrambled¡ªshe was alive¡ªbut the beast wheeled its terror onto her. Blood drenched the beast¡¯s snout. It began to snap, revealing rows of black blood-stained teeth, sharper than knives. Caster¡¯s fist met its snout instead. The surprise did more damage than the hit. The beast yelped and backed as it met its first opponent.

    ¡°Melena, get up!¡± Caster shouted hurriedly. ¡°Take my hands!¡± Her face was stricken, eyebrows raised in shock. She shouldn¡¯t have had to suffer like this. He pulled her up, ignoring the fixing pain in the hand that had punched the beast. The beast lunged with a new ferocity; it wouldn¡¯t allow the time to recover. The attack was too close and too fast. Caster threw Melena away from him.

    ¡°Caster!¡± She screamed. The beast¡¯s teeth neared. Even though death approached, Caster felt calmer than ever. He let out a deep breath in relief. He had been tired, he realized. He had been tired for a long time. Caster glanced at Melena. She was fair, her green eyes shimmering like life itself. The chasm still wouldn¡¯t be crossed. He bit his lip and shut his eyes for the very last time. Nick charged into the beast from the side with his shoulder.

    ¡°Wake up, Caster!¡± Nick shouted. ¡°We all need to leave! Man, that hurt.¡±

    Caster¡¯s eyes widened at the sight of his longtime friend¡ªa brother. ¡°Got it, Nick,¡± Caster said at last, a corner of his mouth raising. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    The beast dove into pursuit as the three of them turned their tail and ran. The danger electrified Caster, pumping new blood and realizations. There may be a chasm, but he always had people to help him bridge.

    Caster howled.

 11. Hypocritical Love

    I hated her hypocrisy. How can you look at me like that? How can you ask me when you are suffering from the same trash condition I am? You pretend like I don¡¯t notice your dark, baggy eyes or the dry cuts on your soft, pink lips. Take care of yourself too, is what I want to say. But I don¡¯t, and other words leave my mouth. I don¡¯t even think of them, and they just come pouring out of me. And it isn¡¯t the truth that comes out. I¡¯m a fake. I don¡¯t even know where those words come from.

    She¡¯s right in front of me. Her blonde hair dripped down past her small shoulders. So pristine and clean and lovely, just like the rest of her. But a fa?ade. Only she doesn¡¯t know that I know what I know.

    I easily towered over her, and she was timid, but not because of my figure. It was just¡­ awkward between us. Always. I¡¯m walking on eggshells over and over around her. I know why, but I don¡¯t want to say it. Right now, on the sidewalk of a random road in the bleak suburbs that I ¨C and her - live in, she¡¯s meeting my eyes. Her soft, light-blue eyes meet mine, and maybe I think that she understands me, like she can see right through the shell that I live in, but maybe she doesn¡¯t. And that¡¯s what holds me back.

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    The word I responded with was a dry ¡°okay,¡± along with an awkward smile, but does she know how much I want to say to her? I don¡¯t know if she sees me, and that¡¯s my fault. I can¡¯t put myself out there. If it goes wrong, I lose, but if it goes right, everything becomes right. She has my heart on a string. She is my puppeteer. Only, she doesn¡¯t know that she has me. That¡¯s my fault. She¡¯s so fragile, and I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll break her, or I¡¯m just a coward.

    And now she was leaving, and I was letting her go. Her back was getting further and further as she walked to her house down the street. I wanted to reach out to stop her. I didn¡¯t.

 12. Alone in the After

    I woke with a beam blasting my eyes full of white, I wished the day hadn¡¯t come already. I turned away from the light to face a blank wall, eyes shut again and buried my head under my only pillow so I could rest as long as I possibly could.

    I wish I could pause time, my rest passes by too fast - I want to rest forever. I curled up in my cot, legs pressed close to my chest underneath my white covers. I stayed there for a while, wanting to forget the daily routine.

    As much as I tried to ignore the approaching footsteps, I couldn¡¯t. A constant pound echoed its way into my ears over and over as heavy feet met hard metal.

    More pounds and dings and other noises I never wished I had to hear rang quickly and closer until finally, it seemed to stop right outside my impenetrable white door. I wish it kept them out rather than me in. With no knocks, the door swung open to reveal the usual company: two white mechanical droids and three sleek black ones decked with fancy military gear.

    They didn¡¯t look like me. They were tall and lifeless, their faces held an electronic screen that would sometimes display text, and their bodies were full of pipes and tubes. I could even see through the gaps in the pipes of their torso - if that is what you would call it for a machine like them.

    I also thought their protection was overkill, and I guess some of them were beginning to think so as well; the ones with their large dark guns that radiated liquid death held them lazily, much more lazily than they had been when they had first met me.

    I do not doubt that back then the operators had told them of me and what I could do, not that I know. They cared a ton for their artificial bodies.

    They do not cuff me and do not restrain me in any way, rather, after opening the door, they wait outside my room; they know I will follow them. How could I not when I know what happens when I don¡¯t?

    Yet, I still dream.

    As I find myself walking with them, two of the military bots towering behind me and one in front, my mind stays behind, picturing that I am still there, alone and in relative peace.

    They brought me to the room that was once full of many robots but now held few. For every second of their testing, I always imagine I am home, not what my home was here, not a blank room, but the glimpses in my memory from years I can barely remember and a family I have long forgotten.

    Most of my memory was like this: scattered, vague, and lost.

    But I won¡¯t speak much of what I¡¯ve undergone, and today they ran the usual things, none of which made me feel more fear than the others; I am used to it at this point, even the needles as they silently entered and left my body.

    I could only hear soft mechanical whirs, which is the only thing that kept me tethered in that lab and not completely hidden in my mind of dreams.

    I am in the black metal chair in the large white room surrounded by the many machines and mechanical arms and electronics, and behind one of the walls, behind a large glass window, there were the droids watching lifelessly. Their empty dark black screens always stared at me in the chair. It used to get on my nerves but not anymore.

    They were always expecting some unusual result to come up on the monitors that they watched, but I always disappointed them ¨C or at least I assume so because there has never been a change in my days. It has been a constant droning for a length of time that I do not know.

    I do not want this to be my life.

    After various other operations, including physicals and ones where I sit and they observe, they led me back to my private solace, and then I fell into thought and sleep.

    They do not let me be entertained, such that I would obtain unnecessary ideas of happiness or escape or passion. I am always left alone with my mind and my mind only - what the robotic fiends have called my greatest asset. Though, of course, the other parts of me I call great as well.

    I have my imagination, and in there I find all I want: my friends, my life, and the small troubles I wish I had. Yet, imagination is imagination, I cannot grasp these figments, but I see them, and maybe then they are as real as you and I.

    I wish I could hold real things.

    And so, after my sleep, I wake again, out of my peace and into the silence of my room, and I lay there for a while. But this time, there are no footsteps.

    <hr>

    Strangely the desire for me to get as much rest as possible was gone. I was nervous. I didn¡¯t know where they were, why they weren¡¯t at my door at all this morning, and when - or if - they were going to come. It was way past the time that I had been conditioned to.

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    As I stayed there, still but mind restlessly wondering, I began to feel it - faint trembles from above that had reached my cot... and me. At first, they were dispersed and rare and I thought I was imagining it, then it became more and more frequent.

    It continued until the point where my entire room began to croak, and my white cot screeched as the metal in it scratched the white metal floor. At the rate this was going, it would start to wildly shake. To prepare for what was coming, I propped up and scrambled off my cot, and then stood ready; legs bent and bracing myself for any further ramping up in the tremors. It did.

    It was like the room was being shaken by someone¡¯s hands. Every couple of seconds, my light cot seemed to muster the strength to float off the ground and get time in the air. My legs could barely handle the vibrations on the floor and my entire body, especially my back and legs, were buckling heavily under the stress. I got some hang time as well.

    Before the ground mustered enough vibrations or whatever to send me up again, I carefully moved to press my back up against a wall for support and kept on holding the sturdiest position that I could. I hoped that it would end already, and I was sure I couldn¡¯t handle it for much longer; but I continued, lest I lay on the ground and the cot hit me in its wild movements.

    I wasn¡¯t exactly in peak physical shape and all, but stabilization was taxing, and my breath became staggered. Especially after I was sent up in the air because I would have to bend my knees to fall smoothly.

    After a time that seemed to last way longer than it should have, I could not physically go longer. It was past the point of deciding whether to stand or not; my legs were shaking more than the room and cot, and then my back slid down the wall, tearing a hole in my loose white shirt, and I slumped hard onto the ground.

    The fall wasn¡¯t that bad but stung for a minute or two. In my fear, I do not recall how long I sat there on the ground bumping up and down and warily glaring at the cot and the ground; but then the shaking eased, and everything slowly returned to normal. The one trace of the event was my misplaced cot and the marks on my clothing.

    The silence was louder than the shaking had been, and I was left in an agonizing state of not knowing what was going on.

    I remained sitting, but I felt an energy to explode at any moment, especially in response to any more of that annoying quake. I never took my angry eyes off the door which unfortunately was still in good shape.

    I was sure half the day had passed and by now, I would have gone through a ton of tests. I felt the opposite of relief and was driven with intense worry.

    My bottom was still on the ground when I heard something, a small click coming from my door. Warily, I tip-toed towards the door and slowly reached my hand out to touch it. My fingers felt its hard and rough texture, and then I raised my other hand and pressed it against the door. With both hands, I pushed with all the strength I could muster, and the door groaned almost as loud as my room had been during the shake; I was struck with a realization: the door was moving.

    I pushed with my arms and drove into it with the added power of my legs, and the door began to open albeit slowly. Eventually, it was open just enough for me to slide my body sideways through it.

    However, I have not started to leave yet. I stood still in my room thinking of the many things that could happen: the black robots were merely delayed and coming, or they were waiting for me and expecting this. Maybe this was all just a test.

    My heart was pounding, and my mind was at work as I looked through the gap in the door. I yearned to leave, and I felt a terrible feeling as my mind and heart conflicted. My heart won. I could not forsake the deepest wish I had ever had, for freedom. This was a chance, and I had to take it.

    I turned my body sideways and squeezed through the opening. I popped out smoothly in the hallway I had always gone through, but this time I looked in the opposite direction of the lab. With a mad grin on my face, I sprinted down the hallway, feet stomping on the floor as if I were leaving a mark to say goodbye.

    A great goodbye to this lifeless little place and a warm welcome to whatever was at the end of the long hallway.

    <hr>

    I had been searching for an exit for what seemed like ages. The hallways and corners were like a grand labyrinth and kept turning into one another. I had lost my vigor, and my way an innumerable number of times. My enthusiasm remained, but I questioned whether I would be able to get out.

    The entire place was desensitizing, and it was hard to tell if I had been somewhere before because of the all-white color scheme that ran through. The hallways were even illuminated by soft-white lights evenly dispersed in the ceiling.

    I was this close to escape, yet the gap between freedom and I was still so far. Any plan for mapping the maze out I deemed nearly impossible, so I was just stumbling around, half-heartedly moving but fully hoping for an exit to be around the corner.

    It was in this state, when I had my head down looking at the unchanging floor in hopelessness, that I saw some tiny brown chunks of dried dirt, and then some more, and then even more leading in a trail down a hallway that I hadn¡¯t been in yet (I would have noticed this if I had seen it before).

    My hopeless heart instantly surged into the opposite emotion as I recognized what it meant. I jumped up in excitement and sprinted in corner after corner, following the path. At some times, it was more infrequent than others, but I figured it had to be a bunch of droids, I assume, moving together and leaving this gigantic track.

    Eventually, I reached an end. The dirt trail stopped, and I brought my head up to see the largest two doors I¡¯ve ever seen in my life (it¡¯s also the second pair I¡¯ve ever seen): nearly triple my size and could fit about ten of me side-by-side across.

    I knew it was an exit, but I had no clue as to where it went. That didn¡¯t worry me however, it was undeniably still an escape from the trapped hole I had been in for who knows how long.

    The two doors ¨C gates were above a steep stony staircase, one that I had to climb to reach this exit. I hurried to the base of the stairs and began my steps going up two at a time. My elation seemed to fuel my body limitlessly as I kept leaping up.

    And then, the doors were at the touch of my fingertips; they seemed wider and taller up here and were far sturdier than my cell¡¯s door if that was even possible.

    I was panting but I was not tired. I was the most alive I had ever felt.

    I shakily gathered my hands together, as I did to escape my room, and I pressed against the door. It didn¡¯t budge. I pushed again and again with even more force. Still no answer. My heartbeat, already fast, started to bump through my entire body as I frantically searched my surroundings for anything; my head rapidly moving in all directions.

    That was when I noticed a large lever in a corner on my left, hidden in the shadow of the wall. Letting out a sigh of relief, I hurried towards it, grasped it with both hands, set my legs, and began my pull. It was extremely stiff, and my body bent to support the strength that I was putting into my pull.

    I kept pouring more and more into it until finally, I had put my all. It wasn¡¯t enough. It was almost there, almost. It remained still, the lever¡¯s mechanisms fighting against my body. I let out a cry and willed it to move just the tiny bit that I needed it to in my direction, for the wishes I wanted to achieve. My voice gradually transformed into a sharp piercing scream as I pulled my hardest¡­ and then it clicked as the lever reached its destination.

    I fell backward off my feet, unexpecting the sudden shift in force. I didn¡¯t react to the fall; my eyes were focused on the doors. I could hear the rumbling as large gears moved to operate and do what I hoped they would.

    The gates groaned and began to open slowly ¨C too slowly for my patience. I got up on my feet and stood straight in front of the doors, waiting for it to open again just enough for me to walk through.

    The gates didn¡¯t open outwards or inwards, they slid out of sight and into the walls. As soon as I could go through them, I did. I marched through like I was the guest of a parade and held the broadest smile ever on my face.

    I took one step outside, and then another. The cool wind hit me, and I took a deep breath and spread my arms out to catch all I could.

    My mind was swimming with joy. A new feeling.

    I sighed. I was out, and I was the happiest boy alive.

 13. Shadow Run

    ¡°Bring on him a mountain of pain!¡± The massive dark omen ordered, pointing at the running figure, and screaming at his subordinate shadows. ¡°No one betrays me and gets away with it!¡± The scrambling man winded through a maze of alleys, deep in the Under City, to get away from the chasing dark; and his mind raced. How could he attempt to escape that which made up every single part of the city of the night? He had no answer and no plan. His thought was just to run. And maybe, just maybe, it would work. He kept sprinting up hall and corner and, most egregiously, stairs. And he could hardly keep running in the same direction, for they would cut him off and were always waiting for him in the shadows that lurked. In those cases, he tried his best to maneuver around the enemies with any of his favorite tactics: a wall run, a wall jump, a leap off a random object, a roll under the dark¡¯s manifestations, he had a great arsenal, and that was the only plan he ever needed.

    ¡°Betray you?¡± He shouted back while, at this moment, hurdling a five-foot-high apparition¡¯s tackle. ¡°You betrayed me! Don¡¯t act like you wouldn¡¯t have stolen your money back as soon as I won it!¡±

    He heard an angry roar in the distance.

    ¡°Predictable,¡± he sighed. But he wasn¡¯t in the clear yet, for the moving shadows gave ever more chase to him in response to their leader¡¯s antics. And so, he kept sprinting up and down and up again with the pure focus of avoiding, rather than escaping. It was then that he stumbled upon a different district of the Under City, the next evilest compared to the slums he had just left, the Workshops. Huge factories and fences of lightning permeated the area. It was not for walking or strolling or escaping for that matter. It was perhaps the most dangerous place in the city and the exact place the teenage boy did not want to end up, but he had no choice. He dropped down from his overlook and began to sprint, not looking back, and looking ahead to avoid all the working hazards. He didn¡¯t even want to mention all the random spikes and holes and random huge crevices. Whoever made the place did not care for architectural design.

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    The shadows still gave chase, and their dark bodies painted the walls and floors; they only manifested three-dimensionally when they wanted to do something physical, like capture the boy and do terrible things to him. He hurried his feet up, and his steps on the hard concrete echoed through the underground district. Now that he was mostly in the open ground, especially when compared to the labyrinth of alleys before, his speed played more of a factor than his movement skills or agility or his executions, and the shadows were much, much faster than him. They raced on the ground, getting closer and closer to the boy. And he had no idea what to do.

 14. Soulbond

    It¡¯s said that when one human is born, a beast wakes with it, creating an inexplicable connection between them. This bond reveals a path to power, fame, and most importantly, companionship; it is the basis of human society, the foundation for life. But Hedge never met his Soulmate, his other half of nature, and he had lived without it to the age of 27.

    ¡°You¡¯re applying to be a¡­ caretaker?¡± An old man said.  He moved closer to read off a paper on his desk, and his eyebrows lifted.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Hedge smiled, ¡°it¡¯s my dream.¡± Hedge gazed at a red phoenix towering behind the man. His Soulmate, no doubt. Its eyes burned orange, flames dancing and flickering as it stared back at Hedge. Hedge suppressed the urge to look away. He was done hiding.

    ¡°I just want to make sure I, or anyone else for that matter, am not making a mistake here. ¡°This here,¡± he pointed, ¡°your application, it states that you have no partner, no Soulmate. Is that true?¡±

    Hedge nodded. ¡°Just as you read it.¡±

    ¡°You are aware that some of nature¡¯s creations are a bit¡­ hard to control, correct?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then,¡± the old man continued, ¡°you must understand, I cannot allow you to become a caretaker when your very life may be forfeit.¡± The old man stood up, as if the interview was coming to a close. ¡°How about ¨C ¡°

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    ¡°I am ready to die as a caretaker,¡± Hedge stared at the phoenix¡¯s blazing eyes. Its feathers were a mix of gold, orange, and red. A great creature, indeed. ¡°I have long since decided I would become one.¡±

    The old man sighed, sitting back down. ¡°It was not just a question of your demise, then, that holds me back. I simply do not believe you would do the job better than any other candidate, who would surely have a Soulmate to help. There are concerns.¡± So, this is what it always came down to. What Hedge lacked, rather than what he could give. ¡°You would never have even obtained this interview at any other institute less forgiving than mine.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Hedge divulged, his gaze hardening. ¡°I have tried almost every other institute in the city. I have gone to them and been refused, over and over again. All my life, I have been refused.¡±

    The man¡¯s stared at Hedge. ¡°What did you think would be different by continuing to try? Why did you even think you could obtain a different result? To be without a Soulmate is to be crippled, and I say that not to insult you.¡±

    ¡°I dreamt. I didn¡¯t think. I dreamt and hoped for a chance. That¡¯s all I need. One chance. I know my limits, but I promise you that I can do much more than what is required of me.¡± Hedge lowered his head to the floor and closed his eyes. ¡°Please.¡±

    The office was quiet for a while as the old man stood silent in thought. ¡°I will work you hard, harder than I would any other, because you are weaker. To stay, you must do more, so that my institute will not be ashamed. Do you understand?¡±

    Hedge¡¯s heart leaped. ¡°I do.¡±

    The old man snorted. ¡°We shall see. Address me as Warden Reedan. You are now a Caretaker of the Phoenix Hall.¡±

    Hedge scrambled to his feet, the corners of his mouth curling. ¡°Yes, Warden!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t smile yet, boy. The Six Gates may as well face you now.¡±

    ¡°I would be a worthy challenger.¡±

 15. Frick The Yoon Eye

    At the end of a long and lonely dim hall was a tiny little cell; one where a party of ragged children lay among grime and gore. Criminals received more care, for the only acknowledgement of the children¡¯s presence were two knights of fierce and dark night right outside their barred door. These armors were silent, as were the dirty children, as was the forgotten hallway.

    The children were all in various positions on the dirty stone floor; their empty eyes cast downward and gone of any tears. Yet, wet marks remained, no sounds emerged, no scuffles or plays. Footsteps echoed throughout and surely reached the children¡¯s ears, yet the children remained still; as one does not look at the bright sun, one does not look at the fearful dark.

    The corners of their eyes saw enough already. A lone silhouette with a deep black fur cloak draping over his shoulders, down his back, and ending just above the ground. One that somehow hid his gigantic frame. A fierce strut that paid no heed to watching eyes if there were any. Strong but weathered brown eyes and graying black hair that was tied behind his head. All in order, he marched to the cell and arrived at the pitiful children indifferently, and for what seemed like a long time, the man studied each child. Their eyes especially, that is what spoke to him the most. Though, of course, none of their eyes met his¡ªor so he thought. The corners of his mouth slightly rose, and he started to speak.

    ¡°Just as weapons are forged in harsh fire.¡± He slowly began from outside the bars. ¡°You...You will be made born anew.¡± He dramatically snapped his fingers and on cue, the silent knight on his left moved to the cell door and swung it open. With his head held high, hands tied together behind his back, and shoulders broad; the man subtly entered the sad domain of the children. However, none¡­one of the children acknowledged his presence.

    ¡°You all are¡­ raw. Raw and unharnessed materials - potentials.¡± He motioned his hands around the room. ¡±This place is the only that will raise you high, have you reach up to your fate, your utmost limit, and then surpass it. Here you shall be¡ªto become greater. The greatest your demons will ever have to face.¡±  He told them and continued, ¡°I assume you know of your purpose here.¡± Now, several of the children trembled uncomfortably. ¡°If not, do not fret...for you will learn, nonetheless. It matters not what you were. What you are and will be is my concern and your enemies.¡± His eyes sparked and his teeth shone in a broad smile.

    ¡°Welcome Warkin. May you bask in blood.¡±

    An instructor cracked a whip on the ground, no doubt threatening the children. The two-dozens of them ran laps around a large grass field mere moments after leaving their cells, following the edge of it alongside a peach and clay wall. They still retained a harsh and dirty look, but now they were incredibly pitiable; bits of rags fluttered behind them as they attempted to sprint among grass that went up to their calves. Some couldn¡¯t do so in their state and fell often. There were reasons for them to get up after such falls, however, they knew what became of those who fell behind or stopped.

    But this ¡°motivator¡± was only to keep the children running. To excel, there was a need for a drive. This willpower, the instructor knew, was rarely found, yet there it was. A boy, no stronger and as dirty as the others, obtained a substantial lead and had held it for a long while. It wasn¡¯t always this way though; another girl had more speed and easily obtained the first position early on. She was behind him now.

    This wasn¡¯t due to an extraordinary endurance possessed by him, because the instructor recognized that wasn¡¯t the case. At one point the child had run right by him, and there the instructor saw the tremors of his body that occurred in every step. How he bit his lip and caused blood to streak down onto his neck. This was an admirable trait to have, and not one usually seen in a child. The instructor furrowed his eyebrows at the state of the boy¡¯s body but didn¡¯t talk to the child. He knew this drive could carry the boy far if it remained. So, his focus went elsewhere.

    Half an hour passed and the instructor, who now stood in the middle of the field, watched the children¡¯s movements with a hard gaze. Even he knew that they couldn¡¯t be expected to run the field for so long, no matter their will anymore, their bodies would crumble. The master who retrieved the children from their cell in the stone keep, had guided them to the plain and ordered them to sprint.

    The instructor murmured a curse before walking back to the stone keep. He went through a set of large and opened wooden gates, traversed a series of passages to an overlook of the field. There was the master in his usual stance: standing with his wide shoulders relaxed and veiny hands tied together behind his back. A stance that could unleash unimaginable power. He studied the running children while the instructor mustered the courage to speak.

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    ¡°Master Paladine. I wish to ask a question.¡± The instructor directed himself respectfully to the master, who turned his head and locked eyes with him for a moment or two, resulting in the instructor lowering his head promptly.

    ¡°I grant it, Instructor Gideon. What is so urgent that it must take you from our pupils?¡± The master, now satisfied with the instructor¡¯s due respect, questioned. Gideon bashed but continued.

    ¡°Why do we run these children already? They could not even walk well on the way here.¡± The instructor confided with his head still down. ¡°They are too weak; I doubt they¡¯ll take much more of this without the need of significant recovery.¡± The master didn¡¯t respond immediately, and instead turned his head back to the field with a smile.

    ¡°I suppose you don¡¯t know since it¡¯s your first-year teaching with us. Good of you to land a job in the favorable Warkin.¡± Master Paladine quietly chuckled. ¡°Go back and instruct, Gideon. This is our initiation.¡± Gideon¡¯s eyes opened wide, and he remembered where he was at. The Warkin and the gruesome - gloriful fates and tales that he had heard of them. Maybe they weren¡¯t just tales. He pressed his fist in front of his heart in a sort of salute towards Master Paladine, who wasn¡¯t even looking at him anymore and resumed his strict judging of the children. ¡°I¡¯ll end it when I feel it is right.¡± The master spoke resolutely.

    The sun fell and only one child remained in the field running, if barely; the one Instructor Gideon had noticed. He had lengthy light blonde hair and two very sharp brown eyes. His pale arms and legs were covered with scuffs and bruises and his chest kept pumping in and out rapidly to sustain himself, but it was failing. His body was clearly used of any vigor, yet he remained up and performing a vague resemblance of a run. Perhaps he noticed the fact that he was the last one running, the others long gone into the keep resting. Perhaps he did not notice but regardless, he kept on. Caught in a sweaty trance, he hadn¡¯t seen the approaching man. One he would have recognized as the guide from the cell. The Master.

    The child¡¯s eyes had been blurred for a long while, and he swore something tripped his leg, causing his arms to flail as he stumbled into the ground face first. When he struggled to get back up, he felt a single point of pressure on his back, a foot he thought, that forced him to remain down into the grass.

    The child heard a sigh. ¡°You¡¯ve done enough now boy. Don¡¯t be clogging the infirmary for too long.¡± Just as the words released, he felt an impact on his head and the world fall away. Slipping away into the dark. Brokenly and faintly breathing until he, like the other children, was taken to rest in the keep.

    <hr>

    Vaner. Master Paladine sat on a chair in his office amidst many clutters of papers on his wooden desk. One of which he was holding in his hand and was about the peculiar child he had stopped from running.

    ¡°So, Gideon, what do you think of the boy?¡± He asked Instructor Gideon while looking at the paper in his hands; Gideon sat across the desk in a wooden chair quietly, waiting to be spoken to.

    The man pondered for a time before replying. His finger tapping the desk rhythmically. ¡°The white-haired? His movements weren¡¯t the worst, not that a valuation means much this soon.¡± The master shook his head and then asked again.

    ¡°No, not his performance. His personality. What do you see in him?¡± Paladine stared into the eyes of his subordinate.

    ¡°His tenacity is much to admire, however insane. Don¡¯t see much of that in our recruits.¡± Then in realization, Gideon quickly spoke again. ¡°Well, we get quite a bit of that insanity ¡®round here but not that drive he had. It¡¯s like¡­ like he¡¯s trying to kill himself.¡±

    ¡°That may be what we need for our Warkin at this point. They¡¯ve been getting closer - struck his family.¡± Paladine motioned towards the paper, now sitting on his desk. ¡°Says here that his entire family died, so he came to The Eye and then joined us willingly. You believe that? Willingly.¡± Gideon¡¯s eyebrows raised and he picked up the report to view it himself.

    ¡°He knows the way to The Eye and joined us of his own volition.¡± The instructor spoke with his mouth open in stupor. ¡°Wait - what did his family die to?¡° Master Paladine sighed and answered as if he had asked this question himself.

    ¡°Our Warkin questioned the boy after he arrived, but who would try to interrogate into a child that wouldn¡¯t speak. It isn¡¯t likely them or at least the main troop so all¡¯s well.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s eyebrows furrowed. ¡°Don¡¯t you think we ought to get some more-¡±

    ¡°No, leave it as it is Gideon. They weren¡¯t even sighted by my great-grandfather, and I¡¯ve only had a single encounter, farther out than you can imagine. Let alone trying to get word out of that child.¡± The master¡¯s hand waved about in dismissal. ¡°Why don¡¯t you¡­ make sure no one believes he has any more information on it.¡±

    In the infirmary of the stone keep, Vaner¡¯s body was laying peacefully on a cot, recovering. His mind, however, was far into dark remembrance.

    Two weeks earlier, Vaner traversed a vast and mountainous forest; barely able to carry his sunken and small figure towards the one thing his parents had left him, a direction. He still felt his mother¡¯s hand pressed on his back, pushing him onwards against his feelings. Yet, sounds grew closer relentlessly, and the memories of the horrors plagued his nights. Vaner stumbled through the expanse of trees.

    While his thoughts were broken and hazy, he could not forget what happened, he would not allow it. To remember his parents, his life, all that was gone and how it ended. The images flashed in his mind.

    His thoughts were broken and hazy, but he held conviction in one thing that kept him going. His sister survives. He was sure in this. She had to be alive, for his sake too.

 16. Concept of An Element for Power

    ¡°Are you ready?¡± A middle-aged woman asked. Her long black hair glimmered under the golden sun and fell past her shoulder. Her face was weary and tired, reflected in her soft wrinkles; but her mouth curled into a pleasant smile.

    ¡°Of course I am, Mom,¡± a lean boy with similar features answered, bashing with his dark-green backpack. ¡°And you already asked me that.¡± His black hair was cut short and uneven, and he had his best clothes on, wearing a baggy grey shirt and loose dark sweatpants. These ones, at least, weren¡¯t ridden with holes, unlike his others.

    The pair was inside a small playground and park, surrounded by bleak and tall concrete buildings on all sides, mundane apartments of many stories. In contrast, the park was a treasure. The sun was sparsely visible throughout his neighborhood, and it was only in the park that they could catch the full sky and sun; though, they still could smell the city. Regardless, it was one of his most prized places, and was a fantastic retreat, no matter how small it was.

    The sun was low. Golden rays came down at an angle and painted the park in shining light. The sky was a beautiful sheet of blue with a few streaks of white clouds dispersed throughout it. Patches of green grass littered the ground of the park along with cracked dirt. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a lot more than what the boy¡¯s neighborhood had. He and his family lived a few blocks away.

    The boy¡¯s mother laughed. ¡°Yes, yes.¡± She patted his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. ¡°Years away from us,¡± she said quietly, her brown eyes turning glassy and tears forming at their corners. ¡°My little bird¡¯s growing up. Are you going to survive out there on your own?¡± She pinched her son¡¯s cheek.

    ¡°Years at most. And I¡¯m going to the government, not a kidnapping ring, Mom.¡± The boy rolled his eyes but smiled widely, putting his hand on his mother¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, great even! And weren¡¯t you the one telling me I should go last week?¡± His mother laughed and embraced him in a warm hug, holding him tight, and she started sobbing. The boy rested his chin on top of her hair; he was slightly taller. Her face pressed into his shirt, and he felt and heard her muffled cries. Soon, his eyes became blurry as well.

    His mother broke away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. ¡°When did you grow up so fast?¡±

    The boy smiled and quietly hugged his mother again. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon enough,¡± he assured.

    ¡°Charlie!¡± A low shout sounded from behind the boy. Charlie turned to find his massive tan father running towards him with his chunks of arms spread out, trying to capture him into a strong hug. Charlie paled and began to duck, but it was for naught. He was swooped up in his father¡¯s wide embrace. The mountainous man with dirty blonde hair lifted him up into the air, laughing, and then held him there. He smelled terrible, making Charlie break into a fit of coughs and mockingly wave his hands in front of his nose. His father had just gotten off work, it seemed.

    Charlie smiled, but that didn¡¯t help the fact that he had his wind taken out of him by his father¡¯s embrace, nor that he was currently held in the air. ¡°Let me down, Dad!¡± Charlie yelled, smacking his father¡¯s back repeatedly. His father didn¡¯t flinch or move a muscle, boosted by The Element and boisterously laughing. His mother covered her smile with her hand as she watched Charlie struggle. Eventually, his father let him down ¨C more like set him ¨C after Charlie¡¯s pleading.

    His father ruffled Charlie¡¯s black hair, sighing. ¡°Fourteen already.¡±

    ¡°And soon I¡¯ll be bigger than you,¡± Charlie threatened with a grin. ¡°Watch out.¡±

    His father waved his hand in dismissal. ¡°Never. But if you did, you¡¯d have to watch out for these guns.¡± He pulled a sleeve of his shirt back and flexed, revealing a large, ripped, and veiny bicep. He guffawed, and their laughter echoed through the playground. Eventually, Charlie¡¯s father settled. ¡°Do us proud, son,¡± his father encouraged.

    ¡°We¡¯ll always support you, no matter what,¡± his mother promised.

    ¡°I know,¡± Charlie reassured, smiling.

    His father stepped aside, and behind him was Charlie¡¯s small six-year-old brother: Gabriel.

    ¡°Oh? What¡¯s this? A little invader?¡± Charlie marveled, bending over to pick up his brother who was speeding towards him.

    ¡°Charlie!¡± Gabriel chirped. ¡°Are you going away?¡± His brother had dirty blonde hair like his father.

    Charlie swooped him off the grass, much like his father did to him, and held him with his back. ¡°Not for long! I¡¯ll be back very, very soon,¡± Charlie soothed, squatting Gabriel up and down, which wasn¡¯t an easy feat with how big Gabriel had been growing. Gabriel giggled. His parents met and embraced, looking proudly upon the two. The moment passed far too swiftly, and the sky became a darker blue. It was time to leave.

    Charlie¡¯s throat choked and his fists tightened. He had feelings to convey, but they stopped in his mouth. He and his family were a tight unit. That was how they had survived and managed in their harsh district, dictated by power, the bottom of the ladder. And now he was leaving them.

    He trembled in place, closing his eyes and shaking his head. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t ¨C ¡°

    He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and then another.

    His father stared straight into Charlie, his eyes softly meeting Charlie¡¯s as if he was saying I know. ¡°It¡¯s best for you, son,¡± he said, his mouth forming the corners of a smile. ¡°You¡¯ll be a fine strong man yet.¡± He shook Charlie¡¯s shoulders.

    Charlie sniffed and nodded. He took in the remaining moments he had with his family for a long while. At last, he straightened, putting on a bittersweet smile. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Charlie arrived at the nearest government office not long after. It was shabby, and there were only a few rooms inside. He left his family and his goodbyes outside and was slumped on a small wooden chair, waiting for a government official to come and rip him away. The walls were close and painted dark grey. There was a sole metal fan in a corner of the room that emitted a soft whirr and chill to the room. It was empty, and so was the government''s presence in his community. They only acted out their part when they had to, like today.

    A door creaked to his right as a figure walked in. A wide man in a navy suit sat down in a chair opposite Charlie, the man¡¯s eyes landing on him. He had a black briefcase, and Charlie got the feeling that he was about to be grilled.

    ¡°I¡¯m Sergeant Gage, your transporter and handler for today,¡± he stated, enunciating each syllable with a sharp twang, and unzipping his black briefcase.

    ¡°Got it ¨C ¡°

    ¡°Identification number?¡± Gage interrupted. His brown, almost black eyes peering into Charlie¡¯s soullessly.

    He showed his left forearm to the sergeant. It was obnoxiously long, so he didn¡¯t feel like reading it.

    ¡°Date of birth?¡± Gage asked after a few moments. His eyes now scanned a black electronic tablet on his lap, which he had pulled out from his carrier. Charlie paused. The sergeant looked up from his tablet and met Charlie¡¯s eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°Thirtieth of the Fifth Month, Cycle Four-Five-Nine-One,¡± Charlie answered at last, rubbing his hands over each other and glancing at the door. His hands felt sweaty and hot.

    ¡°Full name?¡±

    ¡°Charles Neumon,¡± he replied.

    Gage sighed and stood up straight. ¡°Follow me,¡± he ordered, and Charlie followed. He led him just outside the station next to a cracked street. Sergeant Gage pressed a few buttons on his small tablet. After waiting a few minutes, Charlie heard a soft rhythm in the distance, and it seemed to grow louder with every passing second, along with a piercing screech like an eagle¡¯s cry that sounded out occasionally.

    He turned its head to where it was loudest. A black behemoth drifted onto the street, tires screeching and kicking up a swarm of smoke and dust. It was like a fortress, or at least one that could move at impossible speeds. Tinted windows and reinforced plating. That was just what Charlie saw. What it hid, Charlie had no clue. It stopped right in front of them on the side of the street, and its doors opened automatically, seeming to invite them into a joyride.

    Gage bent down to enter a seat and stared back at Charlie, who held his mouth open and still. ¡°What are you doing? Get in.¡±

    While the vehicle had arrived recklessly, it was comparatively better when Charlie was in it; though, it still drove at incredible speeds. The interior was spacious, built for likely a troop of soldiers, but it wasn¡¯t exactly comfortable seating. Hard metal pressed into Charlie with every bump of the armored war van as it winded through the city roads, causing Charlie to wince. He situated himself, or at least he tried, with Gage busy on his tablet doing who knows what.

    He kept himself busy by looking outside the window to see his district, which he wouldn¡¯t return to for a long time. It was grimy, dirty, and overall empty. A ghost town meant for the lowest of society, far old and broken. There were sparse groups of people around, and most were just loitering or playing some mundane sport. It was hard to not be bored. It was also, for the majority, lawless; though, the government was known to make people disappear, especially those who brought up too much trouble.

    These were people left behind by society, by the Element, and who Charlie had grown up with. Now, he was leaving them too. He sniffed. He wanted to go back home.

    ¡°Welcome, prospects!¡± A tall man boomed in a deep voice. ¡°To the beginning of your future!¡± He had a shiny bald head but quite broad shoulders. He stood in the spotlight of a stage, facing a seated group of teenagers, no more than fifty, in a theater. Charlie himself was among them. ¡°I am Martial Howard, the overseer of this cycle¡¯s class of Compound Fifty-Four! Be assured, our Compound is elite!¡±

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Someone among the audience snorted, a boy near Charlie, but Martial Howard seemed to not hear. ¡°Starting today, you gain the ability to join glorious ranks, the thousands of our Compound, and I ask you one question in return: Are you willing to fight? Against every Revenant and hardship along your path. Are you willing to persevere? To gain strength, to chase your Element, to become a hero of the Union. Only here and now does your path start. Only here and now can you find opportunity. Only here are you given the wings to rise.¡± Martial Howard paused, allowing applause to leak through, which was in no shortage, and cleared his throat. ¡°Any questions, new Cadets?¡±

    The theater was silent. ¡°Martial Howard, if I may, what is the standing of the Compound?¡± A girl with blonde hair asked, standing up, her light and carefree voice echoing through the theater. She wore a lavish white dress, and it was perhaps the prettiest piece of clothing Charlie had ever seen. Ornate gold feathers dripped off the white base of the dress, and beneath the dress¡¯s top rested pale and soft skin. She sat in the same row as Charlie but on the other end. Now, Charlie noticed, many others were decorated, maybe not on the same level as the girl but still amazing. A few stared his way, and especially towards the tattered clothes he wore. Charlie blushed and turned back towards the presentation.

    Martial Howard responded right away as if he was expecting the girl¡¯s question, ¡°Top Fifty. Any more?¡± No one answered, so he continued, ¡°As new members of the government, do your absolute best to fulfill your expectations and ensure humanity¡¯s survival. While we are in the heart of the Union, never forget that we are in a war for our lives. All of you will remain here for a year for your awakening, and at the end, you shall be tested with your Element and capabilities. Don¡¯t disappoint, Cadets. Do the Union proud.¡±

    The theater broke into excited chatter, but Charlie didn¡¯t know anyone. He glanced around for someone to talk to and met the gaze of the one who had snorted during Martial Howard¡¯s speech, a scrawny boy with brown hair. He had clothes somehow in worse condition than Charlie¡¯s. The boy wore grey rags with light holes in them.

    ¡°Load of blubber,¡± the boy muttered, nodding towards the stage, his eyes narrow. He locked eyes with Charlie. ¡°I¡¯m Vince.¡±

    ¡°Charlie,¡± Charlie answered. ¡°What¡¯s your story?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Vince blinked.

    ¡°Sorry! I¡¯m just¡­ wondering what¡¯s got you hating on him,¡± Charlie said, motioning towards the stage. ¡°I thought the speech was good!¡±

    ¡°Oh. Lots of things,¡± Vince mentioned and then tapped his finger repeatedly on his chin, as if to ponder. ¡°Wanna be my bunkmate?¡±

    Charlie¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I know, right? I feel like you¡¯re my last option between all the royalty in here.¡± Most people in the theater were in at least decently fashionable clothing. Charlie and Vince were outliers, and not many of their status came into the program at all.

    ¡°No, I was just surprised!¡± Charlie stammered. ¡°Sure! I didn¡¯t even know we needed bunkmates.¡±

    Vince sighed, ¡°Leave it to the government to inform its citizens.¡±

    ¡°I pretty much just got here,¡± Charlie imparted.

    Vince waved his hand. ¡°Your escort was supposed to brief you.¡±

    Charlie thought back to Sergeant Gage, who seemed awfully impatient. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°As your roommate, I can guide you,¡± Vince offered.

    Charlie¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°You¡¯re going to show me around?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Vince corrected. ¡°I¡¯m going to give you the bare basics and try not to sink me with questions.¡±

    ¡°Can you please show me some stuff?¡± Charlie pleaded, attracting the attention of a few cadets. ¡°I¡¯ve never been in a place as big as this!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll get plenty looks on the way to our room. Trust me,¡± Vince sighed. ¡°Government doesn¡¯t have a head for architectural design either.¡± Vince was right. He was led through a maze of wide hallways, elevators, and stairs that seemed standardized and on its own, boring; and the walk to the room was long, but that was life in the Cube, as Vince called it. Earlier. Charlie woke up from sleeping in the van at the foot of the Cube, so he couldn¡¯t see the extent of its huge scale, not even its top. It was a massive rectangular structure that stretched into the sky and was painted with faint blue lights like a sort of circuitry all over.

    By the end of their stroll, Charlie was left in wonder. There were so many rooms with all sorts of purposes. He couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine all their uses. At first, he had asked Vince what some were for, but he stopped answering after Charlie began spitballing them out with one cool thing after another coming into view, rooms upon rooms. He even caught sight of a couple Elements in use. People passed by in, usually, an athletic navy uniform that had white streaks, black accents, and sparse gold - the Union colors.

    ¡°Here¡¯s our hall,¡± Vince finally said. It was smaller than the other main passages, but it was still wide and had doors on either side to what Charlie could only assume to be rooms.

    A young man with long blonde hair walked by Vince, staring his rags up and down. ¡°Really, Vince? Where is your uniform?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t need it, Senior,¡± he replied, motioning his arms and legs. ¡°I¡¯m loose and ready. Just as the Union wants me.¡±

    ¡°Put yours on.¡± The man rolled his eyes and turned to Charlie and his similarly conditioned clothes. ¡°What¡¯s your story?¡±

    ¡°He just got here,¡± Vince answered for him. Charlie nodded.

    Understanding flashed in the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll take you now, before this treasonous man here corrupts you into a conspiracist.¡± He pointed his finger at Vince. ¡°Tone it down. Don¡¯t defame my hall.

    Vince grinned. ¡°I¡¯d never.¡±

    ¡°Come with me, new kid,¡± the man instructed, his golden hair fluttered as he turned. As Charlie joined the man, he waved Vince goodbye.

    He waved back, grinning. ¡°Have fun together, you two!¡± He shouted down the hall at their retreating figures, cupping his hands around his mouth. Jace waved his hand back in a shooing motion.

    ¡°I¡¯m Jace, your upperclassman by two years, so treat me with respect.¡± Jace stopped at a door on the left with a sign above it. ¡°I¡¯m essentially your babysitter,¡± he winked as he turned the doorknob. ¡°So don¡¯t do anything stupid; otherwise, I¡¯d really have to ground you.¡±

    The door opened to a small office, but it looked like more of a storage closet. Surrounded by random utilities and boxes, the lone desk in the middle was an island. Jace searched a few boxes with his hands, opening some up and moving on when it wasn¡¯t what he was looking for. He pulled out a uniform and held it next to Charlie. His eyes switched between the two, comparing sizes. He put it back and pulled out another smaller one. After roughly checking the size, he handed it to Charlie. ¡°Seems good. I¡¯ll hang outside, put it on and tell me what you¡¯re thinking.¡±

    Charlie nodded, and then, after Jace left and closed the door behind him, smiled to himself. This was the same uniform he¡¯d seen on other people in the halls outside. It was made of some sort of stretchy material, and it was cool to the touch. Charlie rushed to put it on. The uniform was sleek and meant to support any movement. He jumped up and down and waved his arms around, brimming with excitement.

    Charlie opened the door grinning. ¡°How do I look?¡±

    Jace gave a thumbs up. ¡°Brilliant,¡± he smiled. ¡°Feel good?¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Charlie confirmed, jumping in place and flailing like a wounded bird. Anything to test it out.

    After talking a bit more with Jace and receiving an interesting electronic bracelet, which might as well have been alien technology to him, Charlie headed to Vince¡¯s room. It wasn¡¯t a mess and was rather clean, considering Vince, who Charlie had grasped Vince as quite the agent of chaos. Perhaps it was more because Vince didn¡¯t have items to clutter the room with than him being an orderly type. He sympathized with Vince on that matter.

    There were two wooden beds, a bunk on top and one on the bottom. Vince had already claimed the top, but Charlie didn¡¯t mind. In fact, both beds were better than the one he was used to, so he was happy all the same. But it was here where loneliness hit hard, like a slowly closing fist around his heart. The bed reminded him of his far away home, but talking with Vince distracted him, and he learned.

    Vince had been in the Cube for about a week or so, but orientations happened every two weeks, so he technically got inducted into the program the same day as Charlie, who had been lucky to arrive the morning of. The interesting bracelet was a device designed to help introduce students and was a standard for any citizen across the nation. Any citizen that wasn¡¯t in poverty, that is. Upon activation, it revealed a large blue screen containing scores of data, primarily centered around students. It had rules, advice, personal schedules, and many more functions that neither Charlie nor Vince had yet to discover.

    It was then that he found out, along with Vince, that he had classes today. To that, Vince stated, ¡°The government wastes no time in churning out bodies.¡± He looked serious this time, his eyes seeming to gaze into some far-off land.

    Vince had his uniform on now, and together, the two headed to their first class, World History, led by Professor Woodley, an energetic old woman. Her hair was shaggy, long, and grey, but her face, teeming with wrinkles, still gleamed with energy. She talked on and on, and there for an hour, Charlie learned of places he didn¡¯t even know existed. The empires that ruled in the time before the Union. The world outside, broader and wider than he could imagine. He paid full attention to Woodley¡¯s each and every word, eyes brimming with a deep curiosity and excitement. Vince, however, looked like he couldn¡¯t care less, zoning out and even falling asleep a couple times before jostling awake. The class was full of everyone from their orientation, but Charlie hadn¡¯t interacted with any of them. They mostly stayed away, much to Charlie¡¯s gloom.

    Charlie glanced at the rest of the classes that he had scheduled for the day. There were Elemental Studies, Physical Fitness, Martial Arts, and... Revenant Studies. Revenants were¡­ beasts, but that wasn¡¯t an apt enough term. Revenants were the incarnations of the harrowing stories told to children at night to make them listen, and they were very real. Charlie hadn¡¯t had an encounter with them, luckily, but that didn¡¯t make the Revenants any less present. He lived in the capital of the Union, Vanica, named after the Union¡¯s founder, albeit not in the main part of the city; still, the Union took protection of the capital seriously.

    ¡°The Element is impartial,¡± Professor Nolan said, his fiery orange hair spiking. ¡°It is random in the same way that your hair is different than mine. Yet, it is fair in that there is chance. There is fairness in chance. There is fairness in what is not harnessed. It is our third party. And it is how life rises and ascends.¡± He dramatically paused. ¡°The Element, when we interact with it, becomes our Sixth Sense. Like your sight, like your hearing, like your touch. The world is the same, but with new interpretations. And that is why we are truly lucky to be able to access it.¡± A student with brown hair and freckles raised their hand. ¡°Was it¡­ Davian? Go ahead.¡±

    ¡°Respectfully, you said the Element is random, but I believed it to be largely genetic. Is that not the case?¡± Davian asked.

    ¡°Part genetic,¡± Professor Nolan corrected, wearing a white Union uniform, the sign of a staff member. ¡°It¡¯s not very likely to happen, as the Element reacts differently to everyone, for everyone is unique, but similarities do occur due to genetics. However, know this: your Element is your own. The path you take on it is your own. No matter what similarities people might say you have. I personally believe the Element even draws from what you were, are, and will be in the future.¡± Davian nodded in realization; his thick eyebrows raised. He wrote something down on his blue screen, which popped up due to his electric bracelet. Charlie had found out that it was named an Access.

    ¡°I¡¯ll continue. There is no bad Element. It is simply a matter of application and view. Do not envy others¡¯ Elements,¡± he spoke like a grandfather telling his grandchildren a serious lesson of experience. ¡°That is a fool¡¯s journey, and one that would hinder your own.¡± All the students¡¯ Accesses buzzed, as well as Professor Nolan¡¯s. ¡°Well, that is all for today. Come tomorrow, and we shall discuss the Elements of the Union¡¯s greatest soldiers.¡±

    The cadets buzzed with excitement, including Charlie. With all this talk of the Element, he couldn¡¯t wait to awaken. With a smile, he approached the professor. ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± Charlie said, bowing his head slightly. ¡°I really enjoyed the lesson.¡± Charlie clutched his heart, which was beating fast. He had never learnt before. Education wasn¡¯t an option where he lived, and a newfound passion for learning ignited in his soul, especially a passion for chasing his own Element.

    Professor Nolan beamed, his orange irises glowing. ¡°Come tomorrow, kid, and learn all you can in the Cube!¡± He chuckled. Charlie grinned and shook Professor Nolan¡¯s hand before leaving. Vince waited for him outside of the room.

    ¡°Sucking up to teachers on the first day?¡± Vince bantered.

    ¡°Oh shush,¡± Charlie blushed. ¡°You know we didn¡¯t get chances to learn like this.¡±

    Vince waved his hand in dismissal. ¡°Excuses.¡± A smile formed at the corners of his mouth. Together, they went to their next class.

 17. Concept of An Element For Power 2

    Breathe.

    The ground erupted, sending a streak of dirt and mud high into the air. The air sparked, set alight by the fires of hell, prickling his skin like a field of thorns. Sweat ran down Lleyton¡¯s face.

    Breathe.

    A Revenant swooped overhead, its wide wings blocking the sun for a moment and casting the battlefield in shadow. It unleashed a dragon¡¯s roar and put its orange fury on the humans below. They burnt and screamed until Lleyton heard them no more.

    Breathe.

    Bodies laid all around him, stretching out to the horizon, and blood stained the soil. The winged Revenant fell onto the earth, and the earth shook. It let out a bestial yell before it was silenced.

    Breathe.

    Lleyton¡¯s injury stung. The wound, scratched onto his chest by three claws of a Revenant, bled and gushed out blood. Lleyton¡¯s hands rested over it in an attempt to apply pressure, but he couldn¡¯t muster any strength. Lleyton could barely see; a combination of blood and sweat ran over his eyes, and the sounds of battle were barely heard, muffled as if he was underwater. He tried to breathe but to no avail, and figures blurred into one, Revenant and human turned the same. Lleyton felt the world moving away, and he was falling out of it.

    A white, shapely silhouette appeared before Lleyton¡¯s sunken body, graced by the sun and the light sky behind it.

    It whispered to Lleyton. ¡°Wanderer, come back. It is not your time yet. It is not your time yet.¡± Soft hands pressed onto his wound. It should¡¯ve hurt, but he couldn¡¯t feel the pain. He was almost gone. He was about to slip away. Slowly at first but then increasing rapidly, a strange energy coursed through him, easing him, healing him, and elating him. He relished and savored the touch of the figure¡¯s Element, its grace, as it flooded in and disappeared to try to fix his broken body. But he wouldn¡¯t find out. His thoughts faded, dripping away, and a black emptiness took its place.

    Lleyton remembered his academic years at the Cube. He remembered times of joy and youth. Times of joy that were now lost.

    <hr>

    FOUR YEARS AGO

    Lleyton faced Vince who was crouched, ready to pounce like a snake. Vince was hard to fight in that way. His black hair wild and free, Vince struck first. He planted his foot and stepped off it in a burst of speed. His arm loaded back, his hand curling into a fist, and in a flash, it was in front of Lleyton¡¯s face. But Lleyton had been struck so many times by Vince¡¯s surprising speed that he was ready, used to it. Lleyton rolled under Vince¡¯s sweeping arm, and for a moment, Vince¡¯s body was vulnerable, caught off guard. Vince¡¯s eyes widened as Lleyton¡¯s own fist loomed in, all his might poured into the attack. But the powerful strike that threatened to knock out Vince halted midway, and Lleyton reeled back, rolling onto the ground. Vince stood on one leg, the other high in the air from the kick he had just performed.

    Vince sighed in relief, ¡°Almost got me. You alright, Lleyton?¡± Vince walked to him and held out his hand.

    Lleyton grabbed it and got onto his feet. ¡°Yeah. I thought that would finally be the one.¡±

    Vince snorted, ¡°As if.¡± Vince looked Lleyton¡¯s dirty body up and down. ¡°But maybe you¡¯ll get there,¡± Vince coughed, ¡°eventually.¡±

    Lleyton laughed and stared at his hands. They were covered in smears of dirt from sprawling onto the ground. ¡°You would¡¯ve been gone if I landed that,¡± Lleyton warned, a mad smile on his face. ¡°Way gone.¡±

    Vince waved his hand. ¡°If. I would¡¯ve taken it like a champ either way.¡±

    ¡°Good spar, you two,¡± a deep voice commended. ¡°Especially good response, Vince. Lleyton, come over here.¡± Vince nodded to Lleyton and went to watch the other spars. Professor Atlan crossed his muscular arms. ¡°You got greedy, Lleyton. You can¡¯t go for an all-or-nothing blow within the first moment of the spar. You have to take it piece by piece. You know Vince. He can recover. You have to take what you can get and wear him down. Cut him off bit by bit. Understand?¡±

    Lleyton nodded. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you do. That recklessness is how you get killed. A Revenant would have torn you to pieces,¡± Atlan sighed. ¡°Spar three more times before class is over. I¡¯ll be watching.¡±

    Lleyton saluted. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    The lunchroom was loud. The ceiling was a large dome, and it made the noises of hundreds of students echo throughout.

    A hand slammed the table. ¡°They have no business changing it!¡± Adam yelled, attracting the attention of some nearby students. ¡°They¡¯re skimping out on us, that¡¯s what it is! Look at this! Look at this pathetic slop!¡± A food tray held an unidentifiable goopy soup. Colored beige, it looked like throw-up. ¡°Ridiculous!¡±

    Vince tasted his experimentally and rolled it over in his mouth. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad. Tastes rather nice, actually.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because it¡¯s completely synthetic! You¡¯re tasting what the lab rats want you to!¡±

    Vince shrugged. ¡°Then they did a great job as far as I¡¯m concerned.¡±

    Adam groaned, ¡°It¡¯s not just about that, it¡¯s about the texture, too. The old meat was way better.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that also artificial?¡± Lleyton said. He held some of the soup in his spoon.

    ¡°It at least looked and tasted like meat! This is an abomination, and it calls for reform,¡± Adam looked around the table. ¡°Who¡¯s with me?¡± No one responded. ¡°Charlotte?¡±

    A blonde girl, his sister, shook her head. Adam gritted his teeth and sat back down. The table shook under his massive size. ¡°This is why we can¡¯t get anything done. We need to stick together! Our voices will be heard!¡±

    Vince cleared his throat. ¡°It¡¯s just food, Adam.¡±

    ¡°And food is very important to the body,¡± Adam muttered. ¡°It¡¯s what we need and fill ourselves with, and the ¨C ¡°

    ¡°Did you guys hear?¡± Someone approached their table. ¡°Vanessa is the first of our cycle to get her Element!¡± A chorus of surprised gasps rang out.

    ¡°No way!¡± Vince and Lleyton said in surprise.

    ¡°Her? The one with brown hair?¡± Adam scoffed. ¡°I beat her in a spar the other day. See, it¡¯s all luck ¨C ¡°

    ¡°That¡¯s crazy! Where is she?¡± Charlotte stood up and asked.

    ¡°She¡¯s getting her first exam right now!¡± Simon answered.

    ¡°What room?¡±

    ¡°1501.¡± The students at the table rose and sprinted into the hallways in a rush of activity. They erupted into wondering chatter.

    ¡°What do you think her Element is?¡± Lleyton asked.

    ¡°She¡¯s pretty reserved,¡± Vince noted as they were jogging through the halls. His finger tapped on his chin as he pondered. ¡°I¡¯m going to say she gets to materialize weapons and fire them from afar.¡±

    ¡°Nah, she¡¯s a silent but deadly type,¡± Charlotte countered. ¡°Some sort of assassin and stalker, for sure.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s literally impossible to guess what she has unless we knew some of her ancestry and like everything about her,¡± Adam put in. ¡°And even then it¡¯s useless ¨C ¡°

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Pretending not to hear Adam, Lleyton opined, ¡°How about a combination of both? A ranged stealth type of thing.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That could be it,¡± he nodded. The group arrived at the testing room. Some other students were already there, hovering next to a wide, horizontal window that seemed to take up most of a wall. Vince, Adam, Charlie, and Lleyton pressed onto the glass and peered in. Vanessa stood still in the center of a room, her long brown hair flowing down her back. It had grey tiling and grey walls and a grey ceiling, built for strength rather than appearance.

    Vanessa stayed unmoving. Her eyes were closed.

    ¡°What¡¯s she doing?¡± Lleyton whispered.

    ¡°Meditating? Trying to gather her Element?¡± Vince suggested, as if he was debating them as he said them out loud. The students were quiet in anticipation. After a minute, something in the air stirred, a tiny spark. Then Vanessa held out her hand, and a purple flame rose from nothing. It danced elegantly, calmly expanding into the room before Vanessa¡¯s hand dropped and she panted.

    The watching students exclaimed and broke into excited discussion.

    ¡°Purple fire?¡± Vince said in awe.

    Adam grunted, but his eyebrows were raised.

    Charlotte grinned and rapped on the glass. ¡°Yes, Vanessa!¡±

    Lleyton stared at Vanessa, his eyes narrowed, holding an odd mix of envy and excitement, a deep hunger. He couldn¡¯t wait for his own Element.

    White light penetrated the lids of Lleyton¡¯s eyes. As he woke, the room came into focus. He was in a hospital room. A full window was on his left, revealing a glittering city of skyscrapers and commotion. He wasn¡¯t on the front lines anymore. He laid in a cot, which was decently comfortable, and a few tubes connected into his right arm. He tried to sit up, but he grimaced as a fierce pain assaulted him inside his chest, his lungs. It still hurt to breathe.

    A set of flowers was on a wooden stand to his left, and next to it in a chair was his family. He tapped on his mother¡¯s head, onto her greying brown hair. She stirred, her eyes mostly closed, but then they widened in recognition. ¡°Lleyton!¡± Her arms hurled onto him.

    Lleyton returned the hug, smiling. ¡°Hey, mom.¡± It was silent for a moment or two as they held their embrace, and then Lleyton¡¯s mother began to sob. ¡°I¡¯m alive, and I feel great, so it¡¯s okay,¡± Lleyton consoled as she continued to cry, ¡°it¡¯s okay. It¡¯s okay,¡± he repeated, as though saying the words would make them true. His eyes were dark, as if they had lost their spark, and they stared emptily at the ceiling. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t treat me like a child,¡± she snapped, tears still falling. ¡°I should be berating you! Getting yourself injured by a Revenant.¡± Dianne pinched her son who was smiling softly. ¡°A veteran now, hmm.¡± She studied Lleyton. ¡°It fits you, but don¡¯t you let anything like this happen again.¡±

    Lleyton chuckled. ¡°I got it, mom.¡±

    ¡°I know you do,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Come here, son.¡± And Lleyton joined his mother again in an embrace filled with tears.

    He had almost died. Almost. That godly figure. Who had saved him? Who had ¨C

    ¡°Tiro Apostolou, are you with me?¡± Officer Reedman asked.

    ¡°Come again, sir?¡± Lleyton asked, snapping back to focus. He sat in a chair opposite the officer, whose office was rather blank and boring. A wooden desk separated the two. It had a few papers and a laptop on the right side of it. A few pictures hung on the walls, but most of the room was bleak. It felt like a cage.

    ¡°When you are back in fighting condition you will be sent back out to fight. Until then, you will remain in Motran.¡±

    Lleyton paused. ¡°No break, sir? No time of leave?¡± Lleyton leaned forward a bit, almost imperceptibly.

    ¡°No, Tiro.¡± Tiro was the term for a soldier that hadn¡¯t achieved their Element yet. It was the lowest position in the Legion.

    ¡°But I was on the edge of death,¡± Lleyton reasoned, his eyebrows slightly furrowing. ¡±And my mother almost lost her son.¡± Lleyton was more worried about his mother¡¯s state than his own. ¡°Is there no way?¡±

    ¡°Seeing how you are,¡± Reedman paused, studying Lleyton, ¡°in near normal condition, you will return.¡±

    Lleyton seemed to resign to this, but he was still curious. He had more he wished to know. ¡°Who saved my life on the battlefield?¡± He had to find out to whom he owed such a debt.

    Reedman looked annoyed for a second, but his eyes scanned a paper report on his desk. His eyebrows raised. ¡°A Venator, by the looks of it. A Lavender Falk.¡±

    Lleyton wasn¡¯t too surprised, however. To save someone from the brink of death, they had to be powerful, but he was still surprised just the same. ¡°Do you know how I could reach her?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s stationed here, matter of fact. Appointed residence is within the Legion¡¯s system.¡± He typed on his laptop. ¡°Room 15301 in the Legion¡¯s quarters.¡± Reedman looked up from his laptop and at Lleyton. ¡°Don¡¯t get your hopes up. The chances of meeting a Venator are low, especially if you don¡¯t have the station.¡±

    ¡°I understand. Thank you, sir.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t strain yourself. Dismissed.¡± Lleyton shut the door softly, but his eyes showed a conflicting battle of emotions.

    Surprisingly, his mother took to having to leave better than he thought. The fact that he was near good health probably helped with that. But she was still reluctant. It took Lleyton¡¯s pleading for her to leave. It wouldn¡¯t be good for her to stay in a city so close to the front lines, anyway.

    The plaza had a maze of small bushes, winding in a managed and controlled fashion. They stopped at about the level of his knees. Green shrubbery was also growing in small plateau like structures throughout the plaza. They were cut uniformly and to visual perfection. The Legion took appearances seriously.

    Lleyton walked into the building that Reedman had clarified was the home of the Venator, of his savior. After asking the front desk if she, Lavender Falk, was in, to which he received an absolute negative, he was unsure of what to do. He sat on a black chair in the lobby in deep thought, surrounded by rows of other unoccupied chairs, and his mind unwillingly tranced back to the battle. The Revenant that had clawed him had made his weakness apparent. It was no match for the winged Revenant that had engrossed him in shadow and had been slaughtered by a comrade with an Element, but he had still been seriously hurt by it. He would have even been killed by it, and not in a long bout of glory, but in a pure devastating flash of weakness. In comparison to whomever had slayed the winged one, he was useless. He couldn¡¯t handle the weakest of the Revenants and he was no help on the lines, or to his unit, his fellow soldiers in battle, and he was no help to the Legion, and he was no help to his home and family.

    His heart burned, pained with the truth. And the flame that had once fueled him in chase of battle dimmed. His eyes were dreary and hopeless. The sun was beginning to set. He could see it fall and the sky darken along with it through the windows of the lobby. He watched the distant horizon.

    A light sound took from his right - someone had cleared their throat ¨C and Lleyton turned. He found a maiden covered in blood, and she seemed to just have come from a battlefield. With light blonde hair, the beautiful woman stood a pace away from him. She wore a uniform of white and gold, and decorations of many colors hung from her chest. Dark colors seemed to fuse with the white, however, in the noticeable dark tinge of Revenant blood, which ranged from blacks to greens to blues to just about everything. In short, she looked like a muddy rainbow.

    ¡°It¡¯s good that you made it,¡± Lavender breathed. Lleyton recognized her voice, a voice of dreams. The first topic of discussion should have been about her state, not his. She saved his life. Her starry eyes met his, and for a moment, they showed something deeper, like a flicker of relief.

    ¡°Venator!¡± Lleyton exclaimed and shot up from his seat. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    She nodded and murmured a soft assent, ¡°I am alright.¡± A moment or two passed between them, wordlessly staring into one another, but then she faltered and waved in the air like she was caught in the wind.

    ¡°You are not, esteemed.¡± Lleyton took a step closer, his hands out as though ready to support her. ¡°May I take you to the nearest medical center?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just tired,¡± Lavender sighed as she took the seat next to where Lleyton had sat and closed her eyes. She remained in that way for a while, as if savoring what rest she could get.

    Lleyton nervously fumbled his hands, took a deep breath, and attempted to calm down. ¡°I wanted to thank you, Venator, if I may, for saving my life.¡± Lleyton slowly lowered onto one knee, as was befitting her station, and stared at the ground as he spoke. He, too, closed his eyes as he contemplated his words. ¡°I am not sure that I deserve it, such grace, but thank you.¡± He didn¡¯t speak anymore but remained kneeled in the silence, as if it would emphasize his feelings, how deeply in debt he felt, how much gratitude he held.

    Her soft hand, cool to the touch, took his chin and neatly lifted it upwards. He met her gaze, her glowing eyes like the night sky that seemed to promise better and more. Just more. More of what, Lleyton couldn¡¯t figure, but when their eyes caught, he felt more. The world was more. Life could be more. ¡°Raise yourself,¡± Lavender said. He did, though slowly and clumsily. ¡°Do not say that, that you did not deserve it. When I healed you, I did so to save a life. You deserved it the same as any person, senior, or child. And I made that decision. I decided that you deserved it.¡± Her eyes seemed to flicker in a twinge of some deeper, emotional pain. ¡°So do not¡­ So just make the best of it,¡± she paused. ¡°But if you still feel as if you do not deserve it, then make sure that you do. Do not waste what I gave. What chances you gained that you would have never had. To save others, to do more and live to fulfillment. You are living a life that wouldn¡¯t have been. So please do not waste it.¡±

    The lobby¡¯s fans whirred, and there were some few, distant noises of the building¡¯s attendants, but other than that, the room was silent. It was just them. Lleyton squinted and studied Lavender as he, trembling, tried to find a method, or words, to pour his feelings out. His eyes turned glassy, but inside they had no life to them, they were grey and empty. Whatever he had, whatever desire he had to make his life worth it or deserved had been battered out by the years, regardless of the gratitude that he felt.

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Lleyton panted, ¡°I fear that it¡¯s already wasted. I won¡¯t ever enlighten with my Element, so you saved a crippled man. I cannot do what you wish.¡± Lleyton turned away, wiping any forms of tears from his eyes. ¡°I cannot do what you wish.¡± He took a step away from her, his back turned. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Venator. I will take my leave.¡±

    Lavender didn¡¯t respond, but he felt her eyes on him as he left. It was dark outside. The moon hung, shining full in a glowing circle, watching ever closely on the city below. Motran was silent, and Lleyton returned to his hospital bed.

 18. False Gold

    Immortality couldn¡¯t be a greater gift.

    Scores of people cheered Tendrith as he marched.

    ¡°Thank you, savior!¡±

    ¡°Bless you!¡±

    His heavy golden armor reflected the blazing fires of ruin just beyond the village ¨C the carnage that he had defended them from. But his blonde hair, tied into a ponytail behind his back and funneling out of his helmet, remained clean, set, and straight, as though he had never fought.

    Tendrith waved to the crowds with some managed composure, but a wry grin leaked out of his fair face. ¡°It is my pleasure to answer the call of the fine people of Mirahan!¡± He shouted, unsheathed his sword, and thrusted it into the night sky.

    The peasants roared, ¡°May Ateria shine light on us all!¡± and Tendrith joined them on that cheer. He continued walking, smiling in the crowd¡¯s fervor, and his mighty steed approached - Hart. His skin was a fine sheet of brown, and hair dirty blonde like sand. The horse seemed to know that it was about to leave and came out of the wooden stable, which his partner was next to, tending to her own steed.

    ¡°Smart boy,¡± he whispered to his horse. He turned to his partner. ¡°Vera!¡± Tendrith greeted while ruffling Sunflower¡¯s hair, ¡°You miss the celebration!¡±

    The woman of Ateria huffed in an even voice, ¡°I miss nothing. You take too long. It is time to return.¡± As ever, she stood tall and as straight as a board, even under the weight of the heavy longsword on her back. ¡°The High Palace calls us back.¡±

    He glanced at the lines of people that they had saved with excitement. ¡°It took three days to get here, and you want to return already? Savor our victory, Vera! We labored and risked ourselves for it, after all.¡±

    She didn¡¯t respond and jumped onto her own white horse. ¡°Then I will return alone. While you laze with the mortals.¡±

    After a few moments of hesitation, Tendrith hopped onto Sunflower. ¡°I¡¯ll go with you,¡± he sighed. ¡°If we must leave, then I will go with you.¡± And Vera¡¯s horse trotted with Tendrith in tow.

    The Kingdom of Mirahan was a pleasant and peaceful one that enjoyed proximity to the High Palace, gaining from its protection. As such, the journey home was sweet and short. The fiery aftermath of their battle fell onto the horizon, and the wooden straw huts of the village were left how they were ¨C protected from danger. The two had completed their mission, so they dashed with their strong unmatched horses over green and rolling hills. Above, white stars shone over them in a clear night sky and Tendrith¡¯s and Vera¡¯s golden armor reflected the silvery starlight, outlined in the dark like a beacon.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Three days of hard travel, but none that Tendrith wasn¡¯t accustomed to, passed swiftly, as they do with immortals, and the green hills gradually became spotted, and soon cluttered, with the giant trees of the Everlasting Forest. Out of the ground and against the pull of the earth, wide and thick brown trunks rose high into the clouds. Then there was no blue, no clouds above, and it was replaced by a sheet of golden leaves and brown branches that hardly allowed the sun to come through - a golden sky. The spiral stairs of Manor Ateria curled up the largest tree ¨C no, a wooden mountain ¨C and headed into the forest canopy beyond Tendrith¡¯s sight.

    ¡°It¡¯s unusually silent,¡± Tendrith remarked, stopping in his tracks.

    Vera lifted her hand, slowly rubbing her fingers against each other as if to gloss over the air between, and resumed walking towards the Manor Ateria¡¯s entrance. Her brown hair remained still as she marched, and her golden armor clinked.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Tendrith started. ¡°What do you feel ¨C ¡°

    ¡°Boo,¡± a tiny voice whispered behind Tendrith, a point pressing against his back, and a head full of golden hair popped out in front of him. In one fluid motion, Tendrith spun and grabbed the wooden sword out of the kid¡¯s hand. As he grasped it, the other jumped onto his back, giggling with laughter.

    ¡°Twins!¡± Tendrith roared, a smile on his face. He pulled Falari, who had a surprisingly strong grip for his age, off his back and threw him into the air with his Aterian strength. Falari¡¯s grin faded, and his blonde hair wildly fluttered as he was swept far above the ground. Below, Tendrith¡¯s fury turned onto Keori. Her wooden sword was now in Tendrith¡¯s hands, and her golden eyes widened.

    She began to sprint away, giggling. ¡°Catch me if you ¨C ¡°

    One of Tendrith¡¯s muscular arms hooked around her waist and pulled her into a carry. In the other, he caught the screaming Falari on his shoulder. The two were captured.

    ¡°What now, twins?¡± Tendrith laughed.

    ¡°We already killed you!¡± Falari shouted with a proud smile. ¡°We won!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Tendrith said in a singsong voice.

    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Keori protested.

    ¡°Please!¡± Falari said. ¡°It¡¯s unfair!¡±

    Tendrith grinned, setting them on the leafy floor, ¡°And?¡± Tendrith feinted a lunge, and they reeled back, paling, and hastily ran towards the steps of Manor Ateria, yelping along the way.

    ¡°Appears as if you have more training to do, Tendrith,¡± an amused voice sounded behind him.

    ¡°Galandale!¡± Tendrith greeted as he turned. The tall man stood in a white robe, contrasting beautifully with his dark skin.

    Tendrith wanted to be apart of Manor Ateria forever, but his mind flew back to the village, whose people would fade with time like the many others he knew. He wondered if eeventually Galandale would fade. Tendrith shook his head. Probably not.