Lore/Story THE SOULBOUND GUILD - An Unofficial Wynncraft Story [On Hiatus]

Disclaimer: while this story tries to stay as close as possible to what's currently in the game, it is 100% non-canon and takes some creative liberties.​

~ THE SOULBOUND GUILD ~​

Welcome, reader! This is a work-in-progress full-length (hopefully) Wynncraft story I have been working on, and I have decided to share it with you all since I think some of you would enjoy this.

The Soulbound Guild is a character-focused story centered around five recruits from Fruma. From valiantly protecting the province to joining shady groups and guilds, the recruits have since separated and are embarking on adventures of their own filled with mystery and peril. However, the revelation of a powerful secret will soon bring the group back together for an adventure throughout the provinces...

Due to my planned length for this story, the whole thing will not be posted all at once. Instead, will be releasing chapters periodically (which is pretty much what every story here has done). NOTICE: The story is currently on hiatus as I have both been too busy and unmotivated to work on it.

I have been writing & sharing wynncraft stories since I joined the community nine years ago, and this is easily the most ambitious one I've worked on. I'm not sure if a wynncraft story of this scope has been completed before, but it would be cool to try (and maybe it'll cause a revival of this stuff, who knows). I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it, and I'd love to hear all your feedback!

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(All chapters will be contained within spoilers; click on a spoiler to open it!)

[CLICK TO VIEW TABLE OF CONTENTS]
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Spoiler: PROLOGUE

“Hey, are you staying behind?”

The party of five looked across the ravine. Rather than following them across the treacherous gap, it seemed like the soldier they met had opted to guard the gate to Wynn. A shame, thought Joyce. It would be nice to have a friendly face guide them through these unfamiliar lands a bit longer.

“I can’t leave this place behind! Who knows if another group of recruits will stop by!”

To Joyce, that seemed like a more than reasonable explanation. Victor, on the other hand, had a different thought. Like him, the soldier was probably just afraid of crossing the gorge on nothing more than a rickety bridge.

“We should’ve waited for help to come,” he said, “One of us could’ve slipped and fallen down!”

“I don’t think we’re in the clear just yet,” explained another recruit named Lillian, “Didn’t that soldier say there were corrupted up ahead?"

“I think so. We’ve all just been preoccupied with these other developments. Not sure what to expect.” This response came from Oliver, and like Lillian, he had quickly taken on a sort of an active leadership role. He knew as little about Wynn as the rest, but he seemed prepared for what’s ahead. Compared to the rest of the group he didn’t seem to have the most physical strength, and the group could clearly see him struggle to lift up a sword. Eventually he settled on a strange polished stick that he felt was almost calling out to him. As if it had some sort of a magic power.

Guiding the group was something the more cautious Evan couldn’t envision himself doing. As he examined the rack of spare weapons near the tunnel entrance, he couldn’t remember any sort of fighting experience he had back in Fruma. Would some sort of instinct awaken in him? Or was he really just some bridge repairman who had never fought a battle? Regardless, there was one weapon that did stand out to him in a way: a pair of twin daggers. It seemed like a perfect fit for him.

“Are you two ready?” asked Oliver as Victor haphazardly swung a large and unwieldy spear around.

“I think we all are,” Lillian replied, “Let me take the lead.” Grabbing a torch from the lining of the tunnel, she began to lead the group into the depths.

At first, the cave passage was eerily empty. The trail that caravan took may have been devoid of any other humans for a stretch, but at least it had birds and other wildlife. All they had down here was the sounds of their breathing and the flickering embers of their torch.

“Wait, I see someone ahead!”

Joyce’s statement startled the rest of the party, for her eyes were the first to adapt to the darkness of the cave. As the shape got closer to the torchlight, the others first assumed it was another soldier coming to greet them. It was a thought that remained strong until its rotting skin and dislocated jaw were clearly visible, and even then, it looked horrifyingly similar to any normal man.

Victor screamed at the top of his lungs. His weapon could’ve led to an easy victory against this assailant, but fear took hold of him, and he could do nothing but stare at the corpse come to life. Realizing what needed to be done, Evan darted forward and went straight for the neck. One strike was all it took to dismember the corrupted and send it collapsing to the ground.

“Did you have to yell like that? What if they hear us?” Evan held his weapon in front of him like the world’s smallest shield, unsure where the next attack could come from. As far as he knew, they could be surrounded by corrupted lurking in the dark.

His prediction was correct, for the next attack came in the form of an arrow that struck the ground a meter away from the group. Evan thrust his blade back into the darkness in front of him, wanting to strike at the enemy but not stray too far from the torchlight. Crucially, it was Joyce who dealt the final blow to their new attacker. It seemed as if she may have been an archer in whatever life she had forgotten about, for her own arrow toppled whatever shape was lurking nearby.

“What a lucky hit.” she thought, grateful that they’d survived.

“We can’t stay here,” Oliver reasoned, hoping to make a contribution that didn’t involve getting his hands bloody, “We need to run until we get out of here, before we get hunted down. I think if we head straight, we can make it to Ragni.”

“Wait, one second.” Joyce was staring at Victor, who’s face had turned pale. He was shaking so much she worried he’d drop his spear, or snap it in two by accident. “Hey, we’re gonna get out of here, alright? Just follow us, we’ll handle the fighting.” She hoped her words did something to calm him, since he nodded ever so slightly and began to follow them.

The group broke out into a bit of a sprint, hoping they could outrun any corrupted. Whether it was luck, speed, or something else, they made a lot of distance without getting ambushed. It seemed as if they were in the clear when they saw light in the far distance.

“If you’re alive, state yourselves!” It was a heavily armored man wielding a broadsword and torch. The tunic under his plate was dyed an amber color, seeming to suggest he came from somewhere other than Ragni with its red and yellow insignia.

“We’re new recruits, sir!” called out Lillian as she swung the torch around, illuminating the whole group.

“No need for formalities like that, I’m no formal knight. Just a helping hand from a respected enough guild to assist in these parts.” Nonetheless, the stranger seemed quite flattered at how he was addressed.

“Are you here to escort us to Ragni? If so, we’d be grateful for help. We were attacked by corrupted earlier, and we lack the formal training to deal with a potential horde of them.”

“Consider yourselves lucky that I was wandering these parts, because I’d be happy to. You’re all good to get moving then? None of you are injured?”

The group all nodded, but both Lillian and the unknown swordsman noticed that Evan was wincing through pain and clutching his arm. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“I just got scratched earlier, that’s all.”

“You should be fine until we get to Ragni then. That mage there can heal you along the way if the pain gets too bad. Come on.”

“Mage?” The unknown word was directed at Oliver, and his clear bewilderment prompted the swordsman to chime in once again. “You can heal him with that wand of yours, can’t you?”

“I can try.” Oliver pointed the stick towards the fallen fighter, hoping something would happen. He closed his eyes, thinking of the concept of healing, or recovering after a day of being ill. Concentrating while walking and dealing with the knowledge of nearby corrupted was easier said than done. It seemed as if they were getting closer, and the expressions of everyone in the group were becoming more nervous.

Finally, Joyce shot an arrow into the darkness, not wanting to wait for an ambush any longer. It was met with a single inhuman wail, and then a chorus of them.

“Run!” Despite his calm demeanor since the group of recruits met him, the warrior from an unknown guild seemed to be as terrified as the rest. He began to lead a sprint through what portions of their cavern journey remained, with a torch-bearing Lillian not far behind. Most of the party was able to keep up with them, but within a minute Oliver felt his lungs give in a bit. He slowed his pace a little but no one else did the same.

By now, they had gotten to a part of the cave filled with mining encampments and lit by torches. The horde of corrupted that was chasing the group of six was clearly visible now, and Joyce was the only one who dared look back. Immediately, she knew that it was better to keep what she saw to herself: there had to have been around a dozen undead. Unlike the one Evan had a skirmish with, most were wielding mining tools such as pickaxes, and they would be used to strike flesh rather than stone.

“See that rubble up ahead? That means we're close.” In front of them was clear evidence of a cave-in that seemed to be only partially cleared. A majority of the group climbed over the rough footing easily, but at this point Oliver’s muscles finally gave in and he slipped.

“Here, take my hand!” Despite his injury, Evan helped his new comrade to his feet. The two of them continued onwards, now lagging dangerously far beyond the rest of the group as they dashed to a strange shape up ahead.

An arrow flew over their heads, hitting one of the undead right in the throat. As bodies emerged from what was now clearly a barricade, the weary travelers realized that the cavalry had arrived.

“Get down!” shouted a soldier wearing red insignia on his chestplate, not unlike the man they had just rescued. The Frumans barely had time to react to his order when a volley of arrows rained over them. Those of the undead who hadn’t collapsed on the spot found themselves immolated as a blazing rock, meteoric in its power, exploded at the centers of the ranks. When the smoke cleared, they all turned to gaze at the tunnel behind him, littered with fallen corrupted. Lillian stood there in a mix of awe and horror. In front of her was Victor, kneeling on the ground and crying. “His first hour in Wynn, and this is the memory he’ll have.”

The thought was immediately replaced with a terror of her own, as it dawned on her that it was the only memory they had. One by one, the group realized they remembered next to nothing from their past. With nothing behind them, all that lay ahead was a world where death seemed imminent.

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Spoiler: CHAPTER 1

REUNION​

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10 MONTHS LATER​

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“...Listen, don’t worry about paying, they said it’s on the house!”

The Rusty Recruit was especially busy today, filled to the brim with travelers and off-duty soldiers. Among the latter group was Victor, delighted at how his plan for a dinner reunion had been a success. It had been so long since he had been in contact with multiple people from the caravan; it was almost as if fate had brought them all to Detlas.

“Thank you, I… appreciate it!” said Oliver in between bites of his steak. Any negative opinions he had of the Detlas guard had faded instantly. This was the best meal he had eaten in months, if not an entire year.

“See, I told you it would be worth it to sit down for a meal with me. You get the best food in the province and a chance to catch up with an old friend. Speaking of which, how’s it been? That goes for all of you!”

It had been so long since Oliver, Joyce, and Lillian had seen their… former traveling companion. Friend was definitely an overstatement for every single one of them. Especially so for Oliver: this apparently revered soldier best resembled one of those street beggars or a morally dubious businessman tonight. Being nice to each other was a formality for both of them, as they sought some ulterior goal.

“Really? None of you have much to say? Surely you have some stories to tell as fellow soldiers.” Victor then immediately appeared shocked, as if he regretted what he had just said, “Oops, sorry Oliver. That was inconsiderate of me.”

“Why don’t you cut to the chase. What’s the real reason you invited us here?” Oliver wasn’t surprised Joyce was the one to ask the question that had to have been on most of their minds. After all, she had helped take charge multiple times on their path to Wynn, and the few moments he’d seen her in Ragni she seemed to be doing well for herself.

“Okay, you got me there,” Victor said in a slightly sarcastic tone, “There has been something special that I wanted to talk about. I was hoping to get the seven of us back together for something I’ve been planning.”

“And that would be?”

“Let me start by asking, how many of you would want to go on a trip to… Gavel?” None of them raised their hand or said anything in the response. “Okay, so here’s what I was planning. The seven of us would reunite and spend half of a year or so on a trip. Those of us in the army can apply to serve over there. We can help out the Gavellians with their plight, and also see the sights! Wouldn’t you all want to see their legendary city of quartz?”

“Victor, there’s something I need to tell you…” Joyce tried to speak further but was cut off by tonight’s enthusiastic host.

“And you know what? What if we took things a step further!” Perhaps, the seven of us can start our own guild! And truly make a name for ourselves! Become a household name in the provinces! I mean, being in the army is good and all, but from what I’ve heard, the guilds are the ones who REALLY make a difference–”

Victor found himself interrupted a second time by Lillian, who throughout the whole dinner had said nothing but greetings and a request for beer. She loudly pushed back her chair and got up without a word. Oliver was kind of impressed. Victor was being annoying right now, but was he so obnoxious to Lillian that she didn’t even want to talk? It was a different time from when they were heading to Wynn; based on what Oliver had seen in Ragni, she’d been a lot more social. Victor probably had no idea that was the case now.

“I have a question, why us?” asked Oliver in an attempt to break the silence, “I mean, I never even made it into the military, and you have closer friends here.” Prior to the group of four being served their meal, a few of Victor’s fellow guards had arrived for drinks. They had arranged warm greetings that made it seem like they were all lifelong friends, sworn to defend one another on the battlefield.

“Because we’ve been through it all together, you know? Chatting with you three, or two now I guess, it just feels more real.”

“I see where you’re coming from,” reasoned Oliver, who felt kind of bad about all this now, “but it’s been so long since we were working together for the same cause. Besides, do you even know where Evan is? It was honestly just chance that even four of us could meet up.”

“Now that I think about it, I don’t even know where Evan ended up! But what about you Joyce? Aren’t you stationed over in Nemract? Maybe you heard something.”

“You know, it might be best for me to get going.” Something in the atmosphere of the conversation changed, and Joyce grabbed her satchel from the ground and started to leave. “Thanks for the meal.”

“It might be best for you to go too, Oliver. I’m probably going to have drinks with the lads,” Victor said, glancing over at his two apparent friends at the bar, “They’ve been waiting long enough. I’m glad you could stop by.”

“You’re welcome.” The two of them turned their separate ways, certain this wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other. Tonight, he thought it was time for a bottle of Nemract whisky.

“You there, soldier.”

"That couldn’t be Oliver, this voice sounded nothing like his". Victor turned to find an older man, who seemed in good strength yet under his cloak, he had a face resembling that of someone deeply fatigued.

“You’re Victor, correct?”

“Yes? Do you have something to report? Some criminal activity?”

The man shook his head. “Would it be possible to talk upstairs?”

“They must have some confidential info, then.” Victor waved to the other soldiers, silently promising that he’d be back soon once business was taken care of. As the two of them ascended to the second floor, the newcomer began to explain himself. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself yet, Victor. You can call me Chip.”

Victor had a lot of questions about this stranger. How did he know him? Why did he request that they talk in a quieter location? And who exactly was he, as he certainly didn’t recognize him from all his time spent in Detlas.

“Well, I guess I don’t need to introduce myself either. I do wonder how you know my name. Am I really that popular?”

“That would be correct.”

“You flatter me.” Victor wasn’t even being sarcastic here; he appreciated the praise. To some extent at least.

“I’ve heard about your rise,” continued Chip, “Less than a year in the province and you’re starting to be the talk of the locals. You must be strong, no?”

“Most people tell me that.”

“Would you believe me if I told you there’s a way to become even more powerful?” Chip leaned in, intent on whispering his next statements. Close up, Victor could tell there was something very off about this man. He reeked almost as bad as a corpse and his eyes were horribly bloodshot.

“I’ll hear what you have to say. Just know that I’m not taking some sort of fraud wizard’s strength potion. Those never work.”

“Victor, your pride is worse than I thought. I’m offering you a chance at unimaginable power and yet you seem intent on dismissing me,” Chip got truly quiet for this next part here, “Take a visit to Elkurn. Head to the basement of the Bovemist church-”

“And then you and your pals will ambush me? Quit wasting my time and get lost.”

“Do you want to slay hordes of the undead, or not?” Victor ignored him, ready to get up from his seat, “And the only way to defeat the corruption is to embrace it!”

“You mean admit defeat.”

“No, use its powers! Did you have that old saying back in Fruma? Fight fire with fire?”

Victor couldn’t believe it, but as he stared it Chip it became more obvious what he resembled. Had he been talking to someone half-corrupted this whole time? “Chip… don’t tell me you’ve been using these powers?” The heretic merely smiled.

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Chip let out a guttural cry as his skin started to appear more blistered and rotten. If this was all he intended to demonstrate, or if there was something more afterwards, he seemed to have completely forgotten about it as he stood there obliviously. Down below, patrons were starting to get out of their seats, some of them too captivated by what was going on to run away. Matthew and Armand, Victor’s friends at the bar, began to run to the staircase.

“Chip?” Victor inquisitively shouted, as if the man he was talking to earlier was still around. The corrupted only glared back as he registered the prey in front of him. Attempting to get to his target, what was left of Chip tried to vault over the table. Victor had no proper weapon on him, but knew he needed to act fast. He picked up a plate from the table and swung it at the corrupted. Chip stumbled back as if he was a faulty training dummy. He crashed into a nearby wood column that held up the ceiling. Victor watched as in the torchlight, Chip’s form shifted to that of a normal human.

“What’s going on? We thought we saw one of the undead up here.” Matthew and Armand had made it upstairs, and they brandished their spears in case of another attack. It didn’t look like any more would come. Chip was conscious, but seemed drained, as if he had used all his energy channeling the corruption.

“I saw him transform into one of the corrupted right in front of me. I don’t know how the fuck he did it.” Spoken out loud, it seemed like an impossibility.

“And he just attacked you?”

“I think he succumbed to the corruption, even if for a bit. But the creepiest thing is, it was almost like he was trying to recruit me to join him.”

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Spoiler: CHAPTER 2

MASK OF THE UNKNOWN​

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In her military training, Lillian had read up on the shamans of Wynn, and the powers they wielded. Within these readings were mentions of three masks they’d wear: the mask of the Coward, Fanatic, and Lunatic. Neither of those names were things she’d like to be called.

Tonight, she planned to wear a mask of her own. It was a crude piece of armor, borrowed from a blacksmith who used it for welding. Throughout her journey to and within Detlas it had been weighing her down in her backpack, and now that she wore it on her head, it felt even worse. Yet as she stared at her reflection in a nearby window, she couldn’t help but feel like this fit her. Perhaps she’d give it some embarrassing name that she’d never tell her peers, like “the mask of the unknown”.

Her destination tonight was an old fountain, hidden in plain sight not far from the guard barracks. Earlier that day she had a genuine concern that Victor of all people could spot her here, but she felt like she managed to slip away from the dinner without anyone questioning her. Tonight, this area was deserted: it was time to move fast. She scanned the side of the fountain facing east, searching for a crack in the basin large enough to fit her hand in. It took a bit, but she located it. Had she not heard of this beforehand she would’ve easily glossed over it, which was likely the case for the citizens of Detlas.

She slid a single emerald into the crack and heard it plummet down some shaft. At first, nothing happened. Lillian wondered if maybe she’d gotten false information, and whether or not that was for the best. Then, she heard the sound of sliding stone. A hole was opening up in the fountain, just barely large enough for her to crawl down. She was in.

Carved within the walls of this vertical passage were slots to grip onto with her hands and feet, but this didn’t make her feel any less uncomfortable. Maybe claustrophobia was some fear she had back in Fruma. Or maybe it was just her worrying of what would be on the bottom.

"Relax. If Victor managed to stop being a nervous wreck, then you can keep calm here too."

She made it to the bottom. No one was here to greet her, and the only sign of life was a faint light up ahead. The thought of conjuring a secret totem here crossed her mind, but then she realized that this place probably had a separate exit that would prevent her from doubling back here. "How clever of them."

Lillian followed the light until she got to an opening in the cave. If not for the crossbow-wielding guard at its entrance, she’d say this place was completely unlike what she expected. It was an entire village, crafted with stone bricks and quaint wooden roofs. An unknown amount of time had dilapidated and overgrown with plant life, leading to a scene she’d almost call beautiful. This place was the real reason she had traveled all the way to Detlas.

“Name.” The guard phrased it more like an order than a question.

“Victoria.” Excluding Joyce, who she’d rather not unintentionally frame, it was the first fake name she’d come up with. The guard probably saw right through it, but that wouldn’t matter.

“I need your relik.” Lillian didn’t like the thought of parting with her trusty weapon, but she had no choice to comply. With the request fulfilled, she got no further instructions. Lillian was on her own now for better or worse.

The wares of the black market clashed horribly with the otherwise picturesque underground village. One vendor had a table of sharp tools on display, and there was an equal possibility that they could be some outlandish weapons or instruments of torture. Another featured the most disturbing thing she’d seen here: vats of humanoid limbs, advertised as being pillaged from the corrupted. Some of the people here didn’t even have a table set up, and instead stood with their back to the wall, fiddling with a dagger or something of sorts. Like her, they wore something that would conceal their face.

This village was also far too easy to get lost in. More than once, Lillian would exit through a hole in a crumbling wall and would find herself where she’d been last minute. The longer she spent, the more it also felt as if time was running out. Being lost was a clear sign that she didn’t belong here.

"Did he give me the wrong information?" It felt like it, until Lillian turned a corner and found herself in the foyer of a deteriorated home. There, a man sat at a desk with a smile on his face. In contrast to the many masked and cloaked criminals here, he wore no disguise at all and seemed rather calm about this situation. Maybe his glasses were meant to mask his identity?

“Can I help you?” The scholarly man’s calm demeanor made it seem like he had to be experienced here, or maybe didn’t have a single clue what he was doing.

“I’m looking to browse your wares. A source told me you trade exotic texts, is that correct?”

“Well, you’re in the right place! Name?”

“Unimportant.”

“Oh, then I’ve met you a lot of times!” he chuckled, as if he wasn’t in the most dangerous place for miles around, “Please, call me the Librarian. Anything you’re interested in? Or should I show you my best wares?”

“I’m looking for a text written entirely in Ancient Wynnic. I’m far from fluent in it myself, but if the text has any pictures I hope I can figure out what it means.” It was a risky statement for Lillian to make. Giving away a lack of knowledge of Ancient Wynnic indicated she was no scholar.

“I have a few of those. Give me a moment while I search through them all… but I have a feeling that I know what you’re looking for.” The Librarian grabbed a large sack of books and parchment and poured them on the table. There was no real cohesion to this merchant’s contents: one item could be a rare yet mundane textbook, while the next was a folder of classified military documents that had fallen into the wrong hands. Lillian scanned as many of these texts and covers as she could, both out of curiosity and in an attempt to find the desired book herself.

“Shit…” the Librarian finally said, “I found it, but it’s only some of the pages.”

“Some of the pages? That seems like something a scammer would say.”

“Look, I’m telling you, this is all I have. I forgot that asshole didn’t return the whole thing. Here, I’ll prove it.” On top of the books already on display, the Librarian poured the contents of an entire folder on the table. Its contents were an assortment of disorganized yet illegal junk. “Search through it if you want, I think I have what you want in my hand.”

Lillian searched through this new pile. While she didn’t doubt that the Librarian wasn’t withholding anything from her, she didn’t want to show that she would completely give into what someone else said. It was mostly absentmindedly flipping through papers, as if she was a student back in Ragni. If not for her meeting earlier that day, she likely wouldn’t have processed a parchment buried under an unknown teleportation scroll. While there was clearly one or two other names on this list, the one second from the top stood out among the rest, as if it was presented in glowing ink to her.

VICTOR (LAST NAME UNKNOWN, FROM FRUMA)
OCCUPATION: SOLDIER
CURRENT LOCATION: RAGNI
LAST INCIDENT: 1-2 MONTHS AGO​

“Are you done looking? I’d quite like to discuss payment.”

His words weren’t quite enough to snap Lillian out of it. “I may be interested in something else. Do you sell any lists of people?”

“Lists? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just curious.”

“I suppose some of these might be a list. Quite truthfully I don’t know a majority of what I’m selling. My associates down here give anything with more than one word on it to me because I’m the only one smart enough to know what they are. Now, can we pay?” He was starting to sound annoyed.

“Alright then. My starting price is one liquified emerald. I’d pay more if you actually had all of what I was looking for.”

“That’s too much given this text’s sorry state, quite frankly, but I’ll take it. Unless you want to go lower.”

“No, it’s all good. This is important to me.” The risky part of the plan begun. From her bag Lillian pulled out a bottle of glowing green liquid, concerningly cold to the touch. Thankfully for her the Librarian was wearing gloves, but she’d still have to move fast before he caught on that this was counterfeit.

“Thank you, customer.” Lillian was handing five pieces of paper, all of them written in a language she barely knew. The cover displayed a man writhing in pain as he was suffocated by the grains of an hourglass.

“Wait a minute,” she said after rifling through the pages, “You had more of this text in your hand. Why can’t you give me the rest?”

“I just need to check something.” The Librarian had taken out a wand and was muttering something, all while pointing it at the bottle he’d been given.

It was time to run.

Perhaps his examination would’ve failed, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Lillian turned to run, sprinting as fast as she could. As she turned a corner, she instinctively reached for the relik that should’ve been at her belt. “Shit.” It had been taken by the man with the-

A bolt pierced the side of a house, a noxious liquid oozing from its tip. The Librarian didn’t even need to cry out for his help, as running away like "Victoria" did was a clear admission of guilt. Flanking the crossbowman on Lillian’s left was some assassin-for-hire, wielding a ghastly knife in her hand. Luckily for her, this man had a clumsiness she’d seen many times in her corrupted adversaries. Veering off her zig-zag path, she lunged towards this new assailant, punching him in the face and causing him to collapse. Ragni had taught her well: she didn’t need the relik to fight against that type of foe.

Against a ranged enemy, however, she knew this would be useless. Her best idea was to run and dodge. Another bolt flew by her, this time nearly grazing her arm. At this point, she decided she had to take the visor off; it was hindering her vision far too much. As soon as she rounded another corner, she pulled it off, but rather than throw it to the ground immediately, she held it in her hand as she lay in wait.

Then, the time came to strike. Footsteps on the cavern floor were getting louder, and a shadow was growing on the wall nearby. Readying her mask as if it was a club, she swung it at the first humanoid figure that rounded the corner.

Only it wasn’t the crossbowman. It was the Librarian, a knife in one hand and his wand in the other, now on the ground rendered unconscious. Behind him was the crossbowman, loading up another bolt to fire. Further behind him was a part of the cave that seemed to stretch onward before ending in a turn. It had to be the exit.

It was now or never. Lillian charged forward a final time, now intending to use the helmet as a battering ram. Her enemy fired right as she was mere feet away, with the bolt embedding itself right within the helmet. Seconds later, she struck his crossbolt with all her might, knocking the weapon out of his hand. Lillian knew she wouldn’t be able to take down a man of his size and likely strength, but she could temporarily disarm him.

This was all she needed. The crossbowman turned to watch as she disappeared down the dark tunnel, vanishing from the eyes of Detlas’ underworld.

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bumping this

 

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Spoiler: CHAPTER 3

THE HERO OF DETLAS​

The bedrooms of the Detlas barracks had a single window, designed to illuminate the room when it was time for them to wake up before the rest of city did. The rays of sun would always be directly in the face of whomever slept in front of the window, and soldiers would draw straws to see who would get the top or bottom bunk bed. This system had been in place for almost as long as the barracks had been constructed; and it wasn’t until five months ago that it had seen any change at all. A new recruit had willingly volunteered to sleep there, and to this day they had taken their role in stride.

The bells rang, waking up the hundred or so guards who had been fast asleep. With the sun in his eyes and a grin on his face, Victor got out of bed, quickly changing into his uniform for the day. By the time he was done making his bed, most of his comrades were rolling out of their covers.

With no patrol duty or chores for a few hours, Victor usually opted to go for a run around Detlas on days like these. For one, he felt it was important to stay in shape, but it was also a great way to build rapport among the city’s residents. The people would’ve been happy to have him as a protector no matter what, but if he got to know them more, they’d feel even better. In a way, he felt like he was filling the void Bob left behind. Of course, he knew these relationships were superficial, but sooner or later he’d meet someone who would actually care about him. Detlas seemed like the kind of city where these wishes would be fulfilled.

“Bovine, why had last night been such a failure? I wasted my only chance and now I’ll never get another one.”

But, he thought, this wasn’t the time to dwell on this. It was sunny and the perfect temperature outside: exactly what he wanted in his morning runs. As he exited the barracks he broke out into a sprint, waving to the night watch that was heading inside for some much-needed rest. Victor’s route was one that took him all around the city, from the birch tree park to the road to the airbase, and then finishing past the bank and Bovemist church.

“Good day to you, sir!” Some unknown woman had stuck her head out the window, watching him run by. It was always interesting seeing more and more of the city wake up as he progressed.

“Hello!”

“Thank you for your service!”

“Have an excellent day, Victor!”

He’d usually bump into most of the usual suspects each run. They were the early birds or the merchants who wanted a head start, and Victor had yet to learn most of their names. Some of them were characters who definitely stood out, such as the villager who would always beg him to try his mushroom soup, or the supposedly cynical banker (who actually seemed somewhat nice).

The last stop on his run was always the fountain outside the barracks, which always felt weirdly isolated considering how grand it looked. Interestingly enough, there was a grey-haired man with a sword at his side standing next to it.

“Hello, sir.” Victor saluted Captain Granat, whom he was quite surprised to be in the presence of. Usually he’d be busy with the bureaucratic work of leading platoons of soldiers, or managing the garrisson. Spending the morning on a leisurely stroll was not something anyone would expect of him.

“Private Victor from Fruma, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“I would like to speak with you privately. Here will work, it is the most quiet part of the city, after all.”

Victor’s mind raced. Was he getting a promotion? Was he in trouble? Or, either better or worse, had he discovered…

“Sir, I don’t know what reason you have to speak with me this morning, but I can assure you I’ve done nothing wrong.”

For a moment, the incredibly stoic captain almost seemed to be smirking. “I have received no reports of wrongdoing from you. If there’s anything you want to confess, now’s the time to speak up.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Very well then. I would like to state that your work for the province of Wynn is quite commendable. Your willingness to take on dangerous solo missions that most would be wary of is incredibly impressive, as is your success rate with them. I myself believe that such effort is worthy of accolades, although that is not my position alone to decide. What I can have a say in is whether a promotion to sergeant is in order…” It became difficult for Victor to keep his stern expression from changing into one of shock, “...and as such, I would like to see how you would do leading a mission of your own.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Last night, I read the briefing you sent in about the criminal that you, Private Matthew, and Private Armand apprehended last night: the man referred to by only the name Chip. You stated that they mentioned a Bovemist church over in the town of Elkurn. I would like you to take two to three soldiers over there to investigate, and see if it has any ties to the corruption. Captain Barnaby over there should be more than willing to lend additional troops to this effort if needed. Do you have any questions, private?”

“None at all, sir.”

“Then it is settled. You can leave for this mission tonight: I will send a request to the stables. You are dismissed.”

Victor gave a final salute to his captain and turned towards the barracks, waiting until he was sure his superior could no longer see him before breaking out into a flustered smile. This was easily the most important event that had happened to him in a very long time, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ ​

“Victor, I don’t know how you stomach this.”

“This is pretty much all I’ve had for breakfast that I can remember, so, yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“Well my mom had the best breakfast in the province. It looked like actual food and not that broth the mushroom man asks people to drink.”

Armand and Matthew had been Victor’s first real companions that he made in the Detlas guard. They’d been quick to befriend Victor after he performed his first feat worthy of commendation but hadn’t paid much attention to him beforehand, leading to the Fruman worrying that deep down inside, they didn’t really like him. Still, he appreciated their company and they’d always try to talk in the mess hall together. It was natural that they’d been the two recruited to join him on the mission to Elkurn.

“You know, I talked to that ‘mushroom man’ the other day. His name is Yahya and he seems nice if not a bit… you know? Like he’d have a mushroom as his wife or something?”

“Matthew, you didn’t drink his soup, did you? There was a whole lesson in survivalist training about not eating things that could be poisonous.”

“Yeah, of course that’s the type of thing Victor would remember learning about!” said Matthew jokingly.

“Speaking of food, what are we even going to eat on the way to Elkurn? You think the cook will give us some rations?”

“Nah, we’re probably gonna have to get food from some shady vendor along the way.”

“Relax,” explained Victor, “You two don’t have to worry about this, it’s my job to plan everything out. Speaking of which, I still have some time before I’m on patrol in the suburbs. I should plan out our route beforehand.” He got up from the bench he sat on, waving his fellow soldiers farewell. “And you’d better eat up that oatmeal in case we DO just get rations to eat!”

The road to Elkurn seemed simple enough, from what maps Victor remembered. Just go straight until you reach the Great River, then turn left - and stay as far away as possible from the roots of corruption. Still, he thought it would be nice to get some advice here before setting off on a career-defining journey. Lillian would be helpful here, if it weren’t for the fact she said she’d be leaving town today, not to mention that she probably hated his guts. And Chip could’ve been helpful too, if not for the fact that Victor felt like he probably didn’t have clearance to talk to a prisoner like him.

“Sir, there’s a letter for you!”

A courier was sprinting down the hallway, a letter in his hand. “For me?” asked Victor.

“...Yes. It just arrived this morning.”

“I’m a bit busy right now, can you put it on hold or hand it to my sergeant?”

“Very well. I’ll go do that.”

Victor thanked the courier and continued on his way. While he was somewhat curious as to who would send him a letter directly, and not contact the higher-ups first, he had bigger tasks to get done. He’d be back to read it in a few days anyway.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 4

ALCHEMISM​

“Hello, I’m here to apply for your apprenticeship.”

Oliver had not arrived at an opportune time. The alchemist was busy pouring a strange, writhing object into a bubbling vat. His concentration was so deep that he didn’t even seem to register the presence of a guest.

“What? I can’t hear you!” The alchemist had for some reason chosen to work at a place that, instead of a front door, had half of a wall missing to expose his business to the whole city. Oliver reckoned it was good for attracting customers, but terrible for conversations. Alternatively, the alchemist might’ve just been old and hard of hearing. He did already look like he was on the verge of collapse from simply standing up.

“I said, I’m here to apply for your apprenticeship! I saw your sign outside!”

“Can you wait? I’m finishing this up!” That seemed like a reasonable request to Oliver, and one that gave him a chance to watch the process of brewing a potion. All his knowledge of this profession embarrassingly came from reading a textbook he got the other day. If someone who had actually been training their whole life for this job walked in, Oliver knew his prospects would be doomed. He had to get this job if he didn’t want to go poor and hungry.

The liquid in the cauldron had now turned a dark shade of purple. Slowly, the alchemist stirred it, causing the substance to turn more and more luminous. By the time he was done it was genuinely glowing, and a few others had joined Oliver in the potion store to watch a master of his craft at work. To finish the job off, the old man grabbed a bottle off a nearby shelf and scooped up some of the liquid, only to immediately gulp it down.

“There we go. Now, loiterers, get out! And don’t even think about stealing unless you wanna regret it! Except for you, boy. Follow me to my office.” It seemed like the potion the alchemist consumed was something special. His former frail state was completely gone, and now he walked up the set of stairs leading to his office like it was nothing. Oliver followed, and the last thing he saw as he ascended was a man standing next to the cauldron, staring in shock at his hand that had turned into the hoof of a sheep. “I told you not to touch my things!”

The alchemist’s office was quite large, seeming to double as both a bedroom and dining room. Books and notes were strewn around, and Oliver had to take great care to not step on them. In addition to the brewing stands and cauldrons he had up here, the alchemist also owned a skull that seemed convincingly real. It sat right on his desk, as if it was some ominous warning.

“Take a seat. I’d like to ask you a few questions before you’re tested on brewing anything. Consider this your formal interview, and let’s make it quick. I’m a man with a job.”

Oliver grabbed a chair from over by the side of the wall. “This is it.” His first real chance to earn a living in weeks. The job probably wouldn’t start immediately for him, but at least he could hopefully promise his landlord that rent payments would come soon.

“Are you ready? Do you need a drink of water?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Good. Because I’m not giving you any. First question… I’ll start with something easy cause you seem a bit out of it. Can you define what alchemy is?”

This was an easy one for sure. “Alchemy is the process of mixing together ingredients to create liquid substances not naturally found in nature. In the past, it referred to traditions used to modify or transform materials said to have magical properties, which has led to term Alchemism, which some use to refer to the modern form of Alchemy.”

“Correct,” said an unfazed interviewer, “Next, can you tell me the properties of the liquid form of ectoplasm, and how they differ from the solid form?” Compared to the previous question, this one was a curveball to Oliver. He had never even heard of ectoplasm before; judging by what the alchemist said he thought it might be similar to ice and water. Except, it probably wasn’t safe to drink, or he would’ve seen it advertised in some tavern. So, was it some exotic material, then?

“It seems like you don’t know the answer. Not a lot of textbooks cover it, so I’ll give a different question that might be fairer. What substances can nivlan honey not be mixed with?”

“Alcohol?”

“No.”

“Ectoplasm?”

“No.”

“My apologies, but can you give me an easier question? I’m from Fruma so I’ve spent a majority of my time in Wynn training to become a soldier, and I haven’t had as much time to–”

“Get up.” The alchemist now seemed legitimately agitated. He got out of his seat and walked towards the door to his office, waiting for Oliver to follow him. “I’ve had people who have been studying since the age of five apply for an apprenticeship and I’ve turned them down. What makes you think I’m hiring a fraud? It’s as if you came here to mock me. The minute you answered my first question with the line from the most printed alchemy textbook in the provinces, I knew you weren’t getting my job.”

Oliver, at least on the outside, didn’t seem to upset about it. Internally, he was in despair, but knew he had to remain calm. He’d been humiliated by one of the more important men in Detlas, and had to take this defeat with pride. “Thank you for giving me a chance to be interviewed,” the mage said.

“Leave!” That was his last word. No request for a future interview, this week or years from now. Not like that mattered much to Oliver; being an alchemist was always a distant dream; some far-fetched way to make money.

Downstairs, most of the previous crowd had dispersed, including the man who had partially transformed into a sheep. Only one person remained; a large, bearded man with a bow slung over his back. He lacked the armor of a guard, but his clothes were also just that of a commoner, suggesting to Oliver that he wasn’t in some sort of guild.

“Hey you,” the man said right as Oliver was about to step outside, “You’re a mage, right?”

“Yes?” Oliver always kept his wand attached to his belt, but most people didn’t seem to pay much attention to it.

“The name’s Cole. I was wondering if you wanted to join me in an expedition.” Expedition could mean just about anything, Oliver thought. All that mattered to him though was if it would pay well.

“I’m Oliver. What do you have to say… and is it alright if we talk outside? I don’t think the owner of this place would like us loitering around.”

“That’s alright with me. Just keep your voice down.” The two of them stepped outside into the town square of Detlas. Every afternoon it was impossibly busy, both with citizens and travelers getting to and from places, and due to countless merchants shouting over one another. You could walk across it and overhear fragments of a hundred conversations, only to forget them a minute later.

“Alright, so what do you want to talk about?”

“Me and some guys I met are putting together a team. We have a sharpshooter,” Cole pointed to himself, “a scout, and a swordfighter. All we’re missing is a mage, and that’s where you can come in.”

“By mage, do you mean someone who can mend your wounds with a single spell? Because I’m no help there.” It was a risky thing for Oliver to say, as this statement could sink his new chance at making a profit. But he’d always held the belief that honesty was the right thing.

“That would’ve been nice, but we’ll take you anyway. We’ve been looking for another person for a bit now.”

“What are you doing that requires a whole team? Can’t you just request help from the military, or a guild?”

“Someone seems pretty naive. If you found out there was buried treasure in your yard, would you ask your neighbor to dig it up? No, you wouldn’t. They’d take anywhere from from twenty to a hundred percent of the cut. Whereas if you do the dirty work yourself, you take all the rewards, and your neighbor is none the wiser to the fact that they could’ve profited too.”

“So this is a treasure hunt, then? And since you view me as more than some neighbor, how much of it will I be getting?”

Cole was amused by Oliver’s comment. What this young man seemed to lack in alchemical or magical talent, he seemed to make up for inquisition. He’d make a valuable addition to the team. “We’ll be uncovering a sizable fortune. You’ll get one third of the cut.”

“But I thought you said there were four of us?” Oliver thought he shouldn’t say this, since the more money he’d get the better, but it seemed so weird. It was as if one of them wasn’t expected to make it out of the journey alive.

“You’ll see. Just have a bit of faith. I’ve been in the treasure-hunting business for a while, I know what I’m doing. So if you want to make some money from a week or two’s work, head to the northern gate at seven. We’ve got our wagon; you won’t miss us.” With that final statement, Cole parted ways and waded into the crowd of people in Detlas, leaving Oliver with his first real opportunity in Wynn.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 5

A JOURNEY BEGINS
​

Someone was knocking at the door. Oliver knew that there were only a few people that would care to visit him, and it turned out the be the most likely option.

“Your rent is due,” belted out the building’s landlord, “Either you pay now or you’re out of here.”

“Relax, I’m out now. Just let me pack my things.”

“Pack your things? I gave you a week’s warning in advance to get some money for me and you didn’t listen! You should be packed now!” Oliver’s miniscule room was in total disarray, with a spare set of clothes and books, along with some other miscellaneous supplies, strewn on the floor. He began shoving as many of them as he could into a large bag while the owner of the property glared at him.

“I hope you know that you’re not allowed back here, kid.” Oliver had no intention of it. He’d seen plenty of people like this in Wynn, who just cared about whether or not others would give them payment. Worse, he deeply feared that one day he could end up like that too if he got desperate enough.

Now expelled from what he may have called a temporary home, the mage set out to the northern gate. Detlas was noticeably quieter this time of day, although there did seem to be more of the adventurous sort out right now, all of them heading in the direction of the city’s ballroom. It made sense: Oliver remembered hearing about some sort of yearly guild recruitment drive going on there tonight.

“Oliver! I don’t believe it!”

Out of all the people Oliver could’ve bumped into, Victor was near the bottom of the list. He seemed to have just emerged from the nearby barracks and was clad in actual armor now. Despite looking as if he’d be heading out into the battlefield, he had the same good-spirited expression on his face that he’d had at the start of last night’s dinner.

“Good to see you again.”

“Listen, I just want to apologize for how I acted towards you last night. It was rude of me to–”

“It’s fine it’s fine. All in the past now.” It wasn’t really in the past for him, because he didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. It could either be ending dinner early or briefly misremembering his status as a soldier. Both of those were unimportant to someone like Oliver. “If anything, I want to thank you for last night’s meal.”

“Hey, it’s no problem! Anything for a friend.” Oliver seemed satisfied enough with this discussion and continued on his way. He seemed to have something better to do than stop for chatter, but Victor thought there might be something else he should mention.

“Wait, Oliver! I have an offer to make!” He regretted saying the word offer; it was the type of statement that made it seem too one-sided, which wasn’t far from the truth. Calling it a hypothetical gift would be better.

“I’m wondering,” said Victor as Oliver turned around out of curiosity, “Do you still want to become a soldier? I think I might be able to pull some strings soon.”

“Really?” Now Oliver was definitely interested, not because he expected his prospects to change anytime soon, but because he didn’t understand how a mere private could pull something like this off.

“I can’t get into details, but let’s just say I have a promotion on the calendar for me. So once that happens, maybe I can get those captains to give you another chance, how does that sound?"

Typical Victor. The nicest thing you would ever hear mixed with bragging about his accomplishments. “You know, I really appreciate this, but I have my own ‘mission’ to get done with. I don’t know where I’ll be after that.”

“Don’t know where you’ll be? Hey, don’t do anything that’ll get you killed, I’m reckless but that doesn’t make me a good role model!”

“Oh no, it couldn’t be further than that. It’s just that I think I’m about to hit it big. Maybe after this week, I’ll know my future is away from the battlefield.” It was an odd idea for Victor to process. His entire life since arriving in Wynn had been to train for and participate in the fight against the corruption. Any path Oliver would take felt distant.

“Hit it big? Well, then I’m rooting for you!” The two Frumans smiled at one another: a mutual peace agreement before they both went on their quests. Oliver hoped Cole and the others weren’t waiting for him too long. He could see a wagon by the north entrance out of the corner of his eye, and at least one person had been watching him.

The wagon was packed light, with only some hay for the mule pulling it and a crate of food that could last a week or two of travel. Cole was there as expected, along with the presumed swordfighter he’d mentioned. He didn’t look to be that much older than Oliver.

“You weren’t telling that guard about our plan, were you?” asked Cole, “I’m kidding. Partially. We’re all law-abiding people here, but I don’t want anyone catching wind of what we’re doing. I guess I should introduce the team. This here is Faris,” he pointed to the young man beside him, “Faris, meet Oliver. He’s the mage I told you about.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Faris as he reached out for a handshake, “Glad to have a mage like you on board. Maybe you could teach me a few tricks.”

“I wish.”

“Where’s the fourth member?” inquired Oliver, “Are they joining us late?”

“Nah, everyone’s here.” Cole looked to his right, where a boy who didn’t look older than thirteen was rummaging through a barrel. “Horace! Get over here!”

“Wait, that’s our fourth, that kid? You’re actually serious?” Whereas Cole seemed nonchalant about this, Oliver looked as though he was genuinely agitated. “Are you going to be dragging your nephew along through the wilds or something just so you can get another helping hand?”

“He’s not my nephew,” Cole said, “I barely know who he is.”

“Do you hear yourself?” continued Oliver, “That’s even worse! It sounds like you picked up some random orphan off the streets! Faris, don’t tell me you’re siding with him.”

The other member of their party had a more neutral take on this problem. While Cole was fine with Horace coming along on their quest, and Oliver was blatantly opposed to it, Faris knew either way, the kid would be coming along despite their objections. “He made the choice to come on this journey. We were looking for recruits to join us at a nomad camp, and this boy overheard us. We found him stowed away as we were leaving last night. I feel like if we took him to an orphanage he’d just come running back.”

Oliver knew the nomads well: for a time, he lived among them while he earned enough money to rent a temporary place in Detlas or elsewhere. The nomads were no official group, but rather a collection of displaced vagabonds, moving throughout the province. To live with the nomads meant living a life of constant risk. Their groups lacked the defensive capabilities of a town as well as the tight-knit community of one. He’d seen newcomers befriend other nomads just to steal their stuff in the middle of the night, and the group he was in could coordinate on next to nothing.

There was a good reason why his group would send people too young to be in the army away: this was not the place for them. So how had Horace managed to survive this long on his own? He didn’t even seem to hear any of this discussion. He was still loitering near someone else’s wagon, as if he was any other kid, and not one dragged into a dangerous mission. “Is there more to him than meets the eye?”

“Fine then, I’m in. But if the time comes that we have to choose whether we take the treasure or put one of our lives at risk, then I’ll make the executive decision to leave the prize behind.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~​

“What took so long! It’s getting dark out.”

Matthew and Armand were waiting near the west gate, the latter of whom was leading horses for him and Victor forward. The time they’d leave for their task wouldn’t matter; they planned to travel through the night. On horseback, the undead wouldn’t be able to catch them.

“It’ll be fine, it’s just two straight roads pretty much and hopefully we won’t crash into anyone.” Victor got onto the saddle, surprised at how familiar it felt despite not being on horseback for a while. His last mission with one, a few months back, had led to the horse running off to the unknown. He got an earful from his superiors for that one.

This ride would be a lot easier. The path they’d wake would be well-known and would pass through the populated suburbs. Platoons would regularly patrol the most populated road of Wynn, and only the second half of the journey near the Roots would be what they’d have to worry about - for Victor’s companions, at least. The Fruman soldier hadn’t feared the undead for months.

At seven, most of the farmers in the suburbs had gone inside for the night. It was quiet out here, with the only noises coming from hoofbeats and the dimming sounds of the city behind them. As they continued, the bustle of Detlas was replaced with more hoofbeats. Victor found this odd: patrols were usually done on foot due to a short supply of horses. He turned around, expecting to see some soldiers joining him, but instead saw two cloaked figures on horseback. It seemed like they’d come from Detlas as well.

“There’s someone following us,” he whispered, “Do you know if anyone’s joining us? I didn’t expect Granat to pick additional people himself.”

“How am I supposed to know. You think they’re bandits?”

“Any sort of criminal would be insane to be caught near Detlas. Look at all the houses nearby, there are too many witnesses. Just keep going, they’re probably travelers.”

As much as the three soldiers didn’t want to admit it, there was something unsettling about these riders. They always kept just enough distance from the soldiers and hadn’t bothered to call out or make any indication of who they were. Victor realized he’d need to act fast before they got out of the suburbs and halted his horse to turn it around. His steed cried out in surprise, alarming Matthew and Armand. Facing the unknown travelers, Victor charged forward, but just enough to the side as not to collide with the strangers. To see an armored man careening towards them would cause most people on the road to get out of the way, but the two men kept going.

The travelers had reacted quickly to this, turning their horses on a course towards Victor as if this was a jousting match. One of them raised their sword upward, and if it collided with Victor it would slice through his neck. The soldier steered out of the way just in time, and the assailant swung with all his might, nearly falling off the horse before realizing his mistake. They were wrongdoers, clearly, but didn’t seem very good at it. Realizing they were over their head, the two riders turned left into the wilderness.

Victor halted; his horse much more frightened than he was. There was no good reason for him to pursue the men, not just because of what dangers from the Roots lurked in the night, but because it seemed like he was marked for death.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 6

NORA​

Given its size and importance, one would be shocked to learn that Detlas lacked any sort of proper library. Ragni had one, Almuj had one, and even the pitiable city of Nemract had one, but someone decided that the greatest city in the province would not be its greatest storage of knowledge. If a person wanted to get their hands on a large collection of books, documents, and ancient tomes, their best attempt at this would be to get in touch with the Scholar’s Guild.

“I see someone here is interested in our little book club! What’s your name?”

“Joyce. No last name, I was a recruit from Fruma.”

“Fruma! I’ve always been interested in the place, wish it wasn’t barred off…”

“Well, I don’t know any more than you do.”

It was a special night for Detlas, and debatably one for the provinces as a whole. The biggest guilds in Wynn and Gavel were all holding a recruitment drive, and a large assortment of soldiers, adventurers, and vagabonds had arrived. Even some travelers from Corkus had shown up. Joyce had chosen to attend, but she wasn’t interested in joining a formal group, at least not for very long. She’d heard a bit about a guild that prided itself on reading and collecting old books, and she hoped they had the answers she needed.

Joyce felt as if there was something off here. The representative of the Scholar’s Guild looked like your everyday librarian, but the upper part of his head was wrapped in bandages, and he had a horrible-looking black eye. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’m interested in enlisting in the Scholar’s Guild. I’ve heard quite a lot of good things about the group and the work they’ve done.”

“Glad to hear it!” replied the scholar with a smile on his face, “Recruitment’s been hard. People come over here and see my injury and ask if this is some kind of a fight club! So I’m glad to see someone who’s actually interested. But… wouldn’t this conflict with your duties in the military?"

“Oh. I’m no longer serving.” It had been a little over a month, but it still felt unnatural to say out loud.

“Ah, my bad! I forgot you said you were a recruit. Sorry, I’ve just been a bit out of it today. Now, if you’re interested, can you fill out this form? It’s for the higher-ups to look at.”

The recruiter handed her a pen and a questionnaire. Most questions seemed simple enough: among them were name, experiences, place of birth, and past guilds the respondent was enlisted in. Joyce decided to take this opportunity to ask a few questions of her own.

“The Scholar’s Guild doesn’t get involved in combat affairs, right? I mean I can hold my own in a fight, but I’m still wondering.”

“What makes you say that?” The scholar touched the bandages on his forehead as he realized what she meant. “Oh, these? I got them in an accident. We’ve been losing a lot of our precious books and documents to thieves, so I opted to stand on guard duty. Unfortunately, I found myself assaulted last night. I could’ve died if a mage didn’t tend to my wounds in time.”

“That’s genuinely awful, I’m hoping you’ll feel better. Did they catch whoever did this?”

“By the Bovine, I wish. They were wearing a welding mask, so if you see anyone suspicious wearing one, let the guards know, okay?”

“I will.” Joyce was almost done filling out the form, but a single question was holding her back. She felt like she should’ve expected it, based on rumors she’d heard of guilds back in Nemract, but it disappointed her to read it nonetheless. “This guild has a recruitment fee?”

“Yes. I mean, we need funds for supplies and to keep our library open.”

“And I don’t suppose I’d have to pay to see this library?” The scholar nodded his head. There was something morally wrong, Joyce thought, about restricting knowledge to the public like this. Sure, her reasons for wanting to join the Scholar’s Guild were based on personal gain as well, but she considered it the less devious of the two.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t join. I need my funds to stay at a local inn instead of the stables or wilderness. Perhaps I’ll join another time.” That last part was a lie, and from Joyce’s tone, the recruiter knew it.

“Have a good night, then,” the scholar lied back.

What a disappointing evening. She’d heard about the Scholar’s Guild back in Nemract, and thought it would be perfect – she’d finally have some of the answers she needed. Perhaps the organization, like most groups here tonight, was too good to be true.

An announcer’s voice bellowed over the crowd. He spoke for the greatest guild in the provinces, a group known as the Amber Knights that almost certainly exemplified “too good to be true” better than any other. The price of entry was ludicrous, yet an entire barracks’ worth of aspirants signed up each year. It provided the glory that came with being a soldier, but without the risks.

The announcer knew how to draw in a crowd. A majority of people in the ballroom, whose numbers neared a hundred, were gathered around a stage seemingly set up just for this. Two duelists, both of whom wore the golden colors of the Amber Knights, were circling each other, waiting for the moment to begin the fight. Each of them had a determined expression on their face that signaled a confidence that they would win. It seemed like there would be a true battle here; one that would exemplify the Knights' strength.

“You’re not thinking of watching this, are you?”

Someone had tapped Joyce on the shoulder, and she turned around to find a red-haired girl watching her. Despite being a human, her accent was clearly that of someone from Gavel.

“What’s wrong with them?” inquired Joyce. She knew of plenty of issues with the group on display, but she wanted to see if this stranger shared them, or if she was just looking for someone to join her own guild. Slandering the Amber Knights wouldn’t be that bad of a recruitment tactic, given how many of them wanted a slice of their fame.

“They’re a bunch of arseholes, that’s what. They know how to put on a show but that’s it.”

“Good show? A fight between two drunk sailors at Nemract is more entertaining than this.”

“Well if you’re watching it, they’ve done something right. Come on, let’s go for a walk.” It looked like both of Joyce’s predictions were right. She seemed to hate the Amber Knights far more than the average person, but this also had to be some recruitment scheme.

“I’m Nora, by the way.” She reached out for a handshake, which the former soldier reluctantly took.

“Joyce. You don’t happen to be from Gavel, do you?”

Nora chuckled. “I get that a lot. Both my parents were ambassadors, so I spent most of my life there.”

“So let me guess, you’re trying to hire me for some provincial-relations group?” There was no immediate answer. “Or was I off by a bit?”

“You see that building?” The two of them had since exited the ballroom, and were now outside in the mostly-quiet Detlas streets. Nora pointed upward to the Detlas airbase: a structure that Joyce had passed by many times this past week. It was one of the newest structures in the city, and it had been built right on top of the corner of one of Detlas’ iconic walls. One could see it as a symbol of progress, one that could show how the provinces could work together to fight the worlds’ threats.

Air travel was still new to Wynn, with only a couple of airships coming to and from the city each day. Private airships were usually reserved for the exceptionally wealthy, while public air transit was an option for the slightly less wealthy. Flying on one was a thought Joyce had never stopped to entertain.

“I see it. Let me guess, your parents have taken you on a flight before?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I own an airship?”

“Yes, because that’s so outlandish I don’t think you’d make it up?” Joyce was starting to get curious about who Nora was. If she came from a family of ambassadors, any airship she would’ve flown on likely came from the government. She had to be hiding something.

“Yeah, most people I tell that to make that face. But if you don’t believe me, then I have the treat for you. It’s actually not far from here.”

“Oooh, I see what this is.” It was a common scam she’d seen back at Nemract, and one that only worked on the most drunk of tavern goers. They’d tell someone that they had something valuable to offer on their boat, only for the victim to be robbed. “I used to spend my nights on guard duty, you know. I’ve seen this trick before.”

“If you think this is a scam I can assure you you’re very wrong. Come on, I can show you tonight.”

“No, I’m quite fine. I think I’ll be going now.” She had her secrets, and Nora probably had her’s too, and they could just leave it at that if they wanted to. Joyce began to walk away, ready to return to the inn for a night’s rest.

“Wait, wait! You want some money don’t you?” Nora fully expected Joyce to turn around, interested at last, but she didn’t. “At least take this!” She rifled through the pocket of her jacket, managing to pull out a folded piece of paper. This finally got Joyce’s attention, and she snatched it out of her hands.

“Did you steal this map by any chance? Cause if not you’d probably make a pretty good cartographer.” The piece of paper depicted Detlas and its surroundings perfectly, complete with a “x” marking the spot where the airship was.

“Yeah, you got me. I’m a damn thief. Stole a bunch of these to get the word out.”

“Word out about what?” Joyce’s opinion of Nora was beginning to change. It didn’t seem like she was pulling a trick on her, it seemed instead more likely that she needed something, or someone.

“This is going to sound embarrassing, but… my airship crashed. In the middle of an old battlefield. I’ve been trying to repair it, but it’s been a hard affair,” She smiled, despite her misfortune, “and that’s where you come in. Do you wanna help a poor pilot out? You’d be the first member of the Aeronautics Guild if you did.”

“What’s in it for me? I’ve got places to be and things to do.”

“Well, you’d get a first-class seat to Gavel!” And just in case Joyce wasn’t convinced, she added one more point, “And I’ll pay you for it.”

Joyce considered the offer. Was this really what she wanted? Aimless as she was, she wanted to do something better with her life: despite being discharged from the army, she still wanted to make a difference in the world. Yet at the same time, there was something in Gavel that could prove valuable to her.

“I’ll consider it.”

[CLICK TO GO TO THE NEXT CHAPTER]

 

Very cool! Can't wait for more

 

Thank you, I'm glad you're liking it!

 

you should probably add them to the first post as well

 

I might add these to the main post eventually, but I'm worried it'll make that main post hard to edit and/or I'll actually hit the character limit. I will probably add the next few chapters to the same post that 3-4 are in though.

 

lol i never knew that there was a character limit
but yeah i did experience the lag when i ran the forum game a year ago, i'd hardly be surprised if yours does as well if you choose to add them to the first one

 

What you could potentially do is add links to the comments that contain chapters 3/4 in the main post

 

I wasn't sure if I should add one yet since the latest chapters are only just below Jackkoh's post, but in the future I'll probably add "click here to go to the next chapter!" to everything else.

 

Love the story! Hope the new chapter comes out soon!

 

[CLICK TO GO TO THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

Spoiler: CHAPTER 7

FIRST STEPS​

Lillian had never felt this exhausted before. She’d been on night watch plenty of times back at Elkurn, but at least she was able to get a good rest the day before. There, she didn’t have to run for miles, constantly looking over her shoulder. And most importantly, she’d have a meal beforehand - why hadn’t she bothered to eat anything while having dinner with Victor? It would’ve been a shame if her pride led to her downfall.

She didn’t even know if anyone had bothered to follow her. As soon as she’d found the exit that opened up into a cave near Detlas, she’d been running constantly just in case. Uninhibited by her helmet or relik, she stopped only to catch her breath and drink from a stream of water. For food, she’d snuck into someone’s house and stolen their bread. Unlike her past robbery, Lillian really had felt bad about this.

There was only so far the shaman could travel on her own, and eventually Lillian realized she’d have to set up camp or pass out, the latter of which was a death sentence this close to the Roots. She’d found a hidden-enough cave on the side of a hill and tried to rest. There was no need to start a fire: she had nothing to cook and was already warmed up by the unnatural temperature in the region. What was more important now was staying awake. She could rest her body, but she could not let herself drift off and lower her guard.

But maybe, if she closed her eyes for just a brief minute…

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
​

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three…”

“A toast to the hero from Fruma!”

A chorus of voices rang out around Lillian, all in celebration of none other than her. It gave the new graduate a feeling of joy, far stronger than anything she’d felt previously after stepping into Wynn. Enzan had told her that it was tradition for new soldiers to have one last night at the tavern before being stationed somewhere else, and that’s all Lillian expected tonight to be. Yet other townspeople from Ragni had taken this moment to celebrate her achievement too. She wondered if she’d had friends, or even some sort of partner, back at Fruma who would’ve reveled with her in this moment too.

“Aw, thank you! I’m really glad we could stop by here one last time.”

“Anytime Lillian!” replied Evan, “You know what? Drinks are on me tonight!” He raised his glass in a toast.

“You did that last time,” Joyce said, “Where are you getting this money from anyway?”

“I have my tricks, but it’s by a perfectly legal method! Besides, I think everyone here should experience the taste of Nemract whisky!” It seemed like Evan was starting to get a bit drunk.

This wasn’t the first outing the three of them had been on together. In between their rest and training, the three recruits had frequently gone down to the bar for drinks and chatter. They’d already been through more than the average newcomer from Fruma and thought it would be nice to stay in touch, at least until they all found themselves stationed at opposite ends of the province. It was nice, Lillian thought. It let her break out of her shell a bit more and take her mind off of whatever was bothering her; usually her past. A few times Joyce and Evan had asked Oliver to join them, but he’d always respectfully declined. His odds of stopping by were better than Victor’s though: apparently he was a recluse who didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Tonight, the tone was a lot more somber than usual, as Lillian knew it was her last night in Ragni, the only home she truly remembered. In her hands she fiddled around with a ring: a small, mundane trinket painted gold. It had been given to her by Enzan, who claimed that he was passing it on from his brother. Despite his notorious grumpy demeanor, he seemed to have a soft spot for fledgling soldiers about to venture out into the world.

“...Hey, you may have graduated in record time, but you know what?” Lillian snapped back into focus as Evan turned to ramble to her, “The king of Ragni came to watch me train a few days ago! The king himself!”

“We should all just be proud of ourselves for the work we’ve put in to make a difference in the province.” As usual on nights like these, Joyce had the more reasonable and neutral take. Neither of Lillian’s friends were wrong; they had all put a lot of work into their training and had performed well in all their tests because of it. The only exception here, in her own mind at least, was Lillian. She wondered whether she had any above-average talent like Joyce and others claimed, or if she’d just gotten by through the virtue of having a rare skill.

“...Hey, do you know who that is?” Lillian turned to see who Evan was talking about. A man was walking towards her, and whether or not it was due to the tavern’s dim lighting, something about him stood out. His face expressed some sort of desperation, and it reminded Lillian of what Victor was like back in the tunnel to Fruma.

“Are you the newest soldier?” His voice was hoarse, and he spoke as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear him.

“Yes?” Lillian was concerned. “Does this man need help?”

“Then you’ll want to listen to me. Run. Get out of here.”

“What do you mean? Do you need help? I’d be happy to be of…”

The visitor didn’t bother waiting for Lillian to finish speaking. He leaned in with a sense of urgency. “There’s no end to this war! The corruption cannot be stopped! It’s all just one endless battle! Take your chance and get–”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ ​

Lillian opened her eyes. The sun was gone, yet the fires from the distant Roots of Corruption provided their own unsettling glow to the distant horizon.

She swore under her breath; as quietly as possible to not let anyone or anything hear her. Despite her efforts, she’d unfortunately drifted off to sleep, and long enough to actually have dreams. She didn’t remember much of her last one, apart from that the soldier had shown up. Another serviceman had told her that dreams were based on common thoughts, and it made sense. Lillian thought about that man almost daily, because she now knew he was right.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 8

STUDYING THE CORRUPT​

The undead abomination lurched forward, its goal nothing more than killing its prey. Its head was trapped in a rusty cage, but that didn’t seem to impede it in the slightest. To the family of four it was pursuing, it only added to the zombie's unsightly presence.

In the distance was the town of Elkurn. The family knew that as soon as they crossed the river, the Wynnic military would be able to help them, and they would finally be safe after an arduous journey. The father glanced behind him, seeing that the undead was closing distance. He and his wife could outrun it, but their children weren’t fast enough. He was no swordfighter, but he unsheathed his blade from its scabbard and pivoted to face the corrupted, prepared to do what it took to save those he loved.

Then, from over a nearby hill, a figure he’d heard of only in stories appeared. It was an armored human on horseback, their longsword already poised to give a killing blow. The warrior charged towards the corrupted’s left, and with seemingly all his might, he swung. The ring of metal striking metal was heard throughout the field, culminating in the undead being toppled down and the warrior being knocked off his steed.

Victor, the horseback rider, had no time to curse as he hit the ground. The armor helped soften the blow, but he was still vulnerable. The undead adversary had gotten up far quicker than he could, and it leapt on Victor to strangle or bite him. Unconcerned, Victor tried to reach for his weapon, but as he turned his head, he heard the corrupted make a gasping noise. A sword had been plunged through the undead’s stomach, the tip of it barely touching the breastplate in front of it.

“I’m sorry sir,” the father said, “I just did what came to mind, I hope I didn’t hurt you at all.”

“No, it’s all good,” Victor replied, “What matters more is your family. Are they safe?”

“They are. We couldn’t be more grateful for you, can we repay you at all?”

“I’m a soldier, we don’t take payment. All we ask is that you allow us to take you the rest of the way.” Initially, the travelers were confused by Victor saying “us”, but then they saw two more horsemen emerge from over the hill. Matthew and Armand weren’t as fast as Victor was, but they hadn’t been far behind.

“What happened?” Armand asked, “I’m guessing this is just some run of the mill undead and not those men from last night.”

“Your guess would be correct.” Victor got up, shoving the corpse off of him. His comrade was right; undead like this were commonplace here. Just a few minutes of riding, and they’d be within the boundary of the Roots. “You four,” he called out to the family, “Get moving, another one of those monsters could appear any second now.” It was a blunt command, and one that didn’t do much to reassure the children, but it needed to be said. Back in the fields around Detlas, the protocol would always be to get stragglers back into the city.

“Get moving!” The father’s command seemed to have more weight to him, and his family finally started moving across the road. Protecting them now were not only the soldiers from Detlas, but a group of archers who had emerged on the opposite end of the bridge to Elkurn.

As he rode into the town’s borders, he couldn’t help but feel reminded of Detlas. Elkurn had a similar cozy feel to Wynn’s central city, with its trees and quaint houses, but there was something disturbingly different about it as well. Soldiers were everywhere; some of them going about their day like normal town folks, while others sat around, bracing for the next attack to happen. This was a place that had weathered the corruption for centuries, and it had become a part of life for everyone here. In Detlas, one would wake up to a bustle of travelers and businessmen. Here, one would wake up to see the Roots in the distance, its obsidian spikes looming in the distance like a dragon’s teeth.

The three soldiers dismounted their horse as they approached the barracks, a stableboy offering to take their steed away from them. Victor wondered if he’d bump into Lillian here; realistically, she could be back here now too.

“Hello, private Victor from Detlas here,” the Fruman said to a random serviceman, “Do you know where I can find Captain Barnaby? I need to speak with him–”

“He’s not here anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

The private from Elkurn just stared at him with a blank expression. Whatever info he would’ve given out was something Victor would have to find out himself. He proceeded into the barracks, with Matthew and Armand following behind him. As he walked through its hallways, Victor started to get a pretty good idea of what life was like for a soldier at Elkurn. The hallways were small; wide enough to only fit two people. The bedrooms and mess halls seemed cramped, and it briefly seemed to him like no rooms were used for anything other than eating and sleeping. At the end of the hallway they finally found their destination. It was a tiny office, with nothing more than a desk and some drawers in terms of furniture, and the party of three barely fit inside.

“Who might you be?”

The question came from a woman sitting at the desk - she didn’t even look up as she read over some document. Compared to Captain Granat, there was something noticeably different about her. A scar ran over the upper left side of her face, and her right hand was one that appeared to be made of metal rather than flesh. Victor momentarily watched its fingers tap the desk like they were perfectly normal, but then he looked away. It felt impolite to stare.

For once, it was one of Victor’s comrades that answered first. “Ma’am, we are privates Armand, Matthew, and Victor from Detlas. We are here on request of Captain Granat, and are pleased to meet you, Colonel Spader.” Armand reached out for a handshake, which was blatantly rejected.

Colonel Spader. Victor recognized that name, and Armand clearly recognized her appearance. This was someone famous enough that he’d even heard of her back in Ragni. She was someone who held some of the highest authority possible over Wynn’s military, and by extension, was one of the most powerful people in the province.

“If I may ask, what happened to Captain Barnaby?”

Victor’s interjection got a scowl out of Spader. “You are to always address me as ma’am. And Captain Barnaby has been stripped of his rank and privileges as a private citizen. He is wanted by the government for fraud and conspiracy. Unless either of you know of his whereabouts, I would like you to not ask further, as I am in charge now and that is final.”

Hearing that a captain of the army would end up as a criminal seemed unspeakable. Victor wanted to inquire further but stopped upon realizing that the colonel would just reprimand him again.

“Ma’am, as stated earlier, we’re here on the orders of Captain Granat. Here,” Matthew handed Spader a letter from the captain of Detlas, “This should have all the information you need.”

“Tell me yourself. I have enough letters to read and I think I’m well aware of what’s going on in this town. I don’t see what Granat would know that I don’t.” She put a spiteful emphasis on the Detlas captain’s name.

“Ma’am, in Detlas, I recently encountered someone who attempted to weaponize the corruption. I watched them do it in front of my eyes, and privates Matthew and Armand saw them too. I know it sounds preposterous, but we’re telling the truth and Captain Granat will vouch–”

“Preposterous?” It looked like Spader was now genuinely interested in what they had to say, “I don’t find it preposterous, but if you aren’t telling the truth I will be very disappointed in you three. If the reports I received were correct, the entirety of the Bovemist church should’ve been investigated after that occultist's defeat.”

“Ma’am, I still think it would be worth sending someone down to investigate.”

“And I will. If true, this is a matter of provincial security. A group that I can fully trust will be sent down there.”

The colonel seemed to be implying that she didn’t trust him, Victor thought. This was supposed to be his chance to prove his worth, not just act as a messenger. “Ma’am, I apologize if I am speaking out of line, but Captain Granat sent me on this mission specifically. I believe I should help oversee it.” Victor was definitely speaking out of line, but it was his last chance to salvage this mission. He stood there in anticipation as Spader opened her mouth to give her verdict.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ ​

“So! You’re from Detlas, ain’t ya? How is it over in the big city?”

The tunnels beneath the Bovemist church were damp and seemed in danger of collapsing at any moment. No one would bother to visit such a place, unless they were up to no good. Or, in Victor’s case, if they were sent there on their superior’s orders.

“It’s pretty good. You see a lot of interesting faces there.” Victor wasn’t sure how to best describe Detlas to his current companions. Sergeants Nelson and Bristol, who had spent years at minimum in Wynn’s most dangerous town, might not take too kindly to someone from the province’s safest.

“We don’t really get much of that here. No one wants to be that close to the Roots of Corruption. Not sure if that whole incident made it better or worse… you heard about that right?”

“Yep.” It had become one of the year’s biggest stories in the province, and being in Wynn’s center of gossip, Victor had heard it almost immediately. A squadron of the Amber Knights had teamed up with a bunch of mages to take down a corrupted scientist who lived in Elkurn centuries ago. It was the reason why Victor believed Chip was right, and there were secrets to channeling the corruption hidden here. It would be a fitting place to carry out his legacy.

And where else to hide these secrets than his study? It was the last place the group of three had decided to search, and Victor hoped they would finally find something here. He suspected Spader would be furious if he returned empty-handed. Yet, it seemed as if nothing could be hidden here. The room was completely empty, having been ransacked after months ago. All that was left were some shelves bolted onto the walls, devoid of any books or beakers.

“This is the last room… you’re sure that informant of yours told you the right thing?”

“He’s not an informant, he was…” Victor realized this wasn’t helping his case that much, “He just seemed confident about it, okay? I don’t think he was lying, he was talking like he wanted me to find someone or something here. Maybe this is a meeting place?”

“If any secret meetings were going on down here, we’d know about it,” explained Nelson, “We have soldiers on patrol everywhere, every time of day, not to mention that you can’t easily get access to here.”

“Then that leaves the other option: there’s something in this room that they missed.”

“Search every inch of this room, then. And if we don’t find anything within the hour… you’ll have some explaining to do to the Colonel, Victor.”

The group got to work, with each of them examining a corner of the room. Investigative work like this wasn’t Victor’s strong suit, but with the light of his torch he examined every inch of the wall, looking for a loose brick or a crevice that could be hiding something. Perhaps there was nothing here; he felt like it would be the likely option. But at the same time, there was the possibility that the corruption could still be lingering here. And in a way, he had followed Chip’s instructions and gone on a pilgrimage here. Maybe it was his destiny to have an encounter with the powers of corruption.

It had been a few minutes, and Victor felt like he’d looked up and down this corner enough. He turned around briefly to see how the others were doing, and noticed that sergeant Bristol was hunched over something. Something made of paper.

“Did you find something?”

Startled, Bristol looked up as the other two soldiers approached him. Sure enough, he’d found a stack of pages seemingly torn from some book. The text on them was near illegible, but the image on the right side of the page displayed a wounded man standing upright, his eyes wide open. In contrast to the hastily scrawled words, the picture had a morbid amount of detail.

“Where did you find this?” asked Victor.

“I pressed on one of the bricks,” described Bristol, “and a secret compartment opened up. This was inside.”

“Give me that!” Nelson snatched the papers out of his fellow sergeant’s hand, setting them ablaze with his torch. “Do you not remember Spader’s orders? She told us to dispose of anything we found, why the hell were you looking at it?”

“I wanted to see what it was! This could’ve been anything, so don’t you dare accuse me of wanting to commit treason like that. I took on the same vows as a soldier as you did.”

“You’re right.” Nelson’s angry expression faded away as he looked down at the pages burning by his feet. “It was wrong of me to accuse you of something like that.”

“I forgive you. Come on, let’s keep searching, there might be some more hidden texts here. Leave no stone unturned.”

The others got back to work, but for one more moment, Victor looked at the fire in the center of the room. The drawing’s soulless eye stared at him one last time before the flames completely engulfed it.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 9

THE PRODIGY​

8 MONTHS EARLIER​

The drill sergeant looked at the report in front of him. Enough time spent on the job had led to these documents all blending together. It was seldom that he’d get a briefing on one of them that significantly stood out.

“I take it you’re aware of why you’re here.”

Oliver nodded. It wasn’t his first time in this room, but he was well aware it would be the last. One more chance was all he’d gotten, and while he hadn’t wasted it, he felt like he might as well have. Another chance had meant going through a fitness program that always ended with him collapsing while other recruits didn’t seem to break a sweat. That took up half the day, and at least it actually made sense. Getting into physical shape was theoretically doable, but any of his lessons on magic were incomprehensible. It was like grasping at something just out of reach; he felt like he had some innate magic knowledge, but none of it made any sense to him in the present.

He’d watched from afar as Lillian had graduated from basic training and got stationed far away. Joyce and Evan followed not long after. Even Victor, whom Oliver predicted would end up as a deserter as soon as the first night in Ragni, apparently got a chance to serve in Detlas. One by one, all of the other recruits on that fateful caravan ride had become separated.

“Yes sir,” replied Oliver, snapping out of his brief daze, “I’m aware that my performance here has not been up to the standards of the Wynnic military.” There was no bargaining or trying to convince the sergeant otherwise. Everyone knew he wasn’t up to the task.

“We have been monitoring your performance since we granted you re-entry into the program. And unfortunately, we cannot grant you further participation here. While you came here as a recruit for the army, we believe that having you on the battlefield will put you or others at a severe risk of harm.”

Oliver was ready to hear these words, or at least a less harsh version of them. He wasn’t expecting to be told that he’d get himself or his platoon killed. “I understand, sir.”

“All military possessions, including your wand, will be collected. Six emeralds will be deposited to your bank account.”

Six emeralds, while a step up from the zero he had previously, didn’t even seem like enough to cover a day’s worth of meals for Oliver. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, where is there for me to go now?”

“You are dismissed.”

Not wanting to draw out the sergeant’s anger by asking any more questions, Oliver left the cramped office he’d been in. He exited into the hallways of the Ragni barracks; a place full of soldiers who didn’t pay him a second glance. Nearby, there was a bulletin board, filled with war propaganda and information about upcoming events. There was even a crudely drawn advertisement for card games that would surely be taken down.

Absent from the board was any information on what Oliver could do next.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

PRESENT DAY​

“We can’t stop here! There’s almost no cover. If a zombie notices us, we’ll be attacked!”

“Do you see any zombies around, Horace? That’s right. There aren’t any zombies around. You’ll be fine.”

Oliver knew it was always risky to camp out in the open, but Cole was probably just tired of having to rest in some cave or rotting house. Besides, this was a perfectly nice spot. This part of the road went under a towering oak tree that would provide shade, and the lake nearby would be good for fishing.

“Did your parents teach you how to fish?” As the wagon came to a stop, Cole grabbed two fishing rods from a nearby barrel. He handed one to Horace, who seemed confused.

“Don’t we have enough food already?” Oliver and Faris couldn’t disagree here. They still had enough rations to last a week or two.

“Out in the wild, you don’t know when disaster could strike. It’s important to be able to get food at any time. And also… this is just someone a kid your age should know. Get out, it’s time for another lesson.”

If it was fish they wanted, catching some would be easy with Oliver’s help. With magic, he could kill them easily and then just scoop them out of the water. This most basic piece of knowledge had allowed him to survive as long as he did in the wild. Today, he was in a more fortunate situation. He could sit back and watch Horace do the work for him.

Oliver’s misconceptions of the boy couldn’t have been more wrong. Much like him, he had been living with the nomads for a time, but the circumstances that led to that were different. Horace was a runaway. It wasn’t due to being orphaned or needing to escape his parents - both of them were around. It was just that they were impossibly far away: in the province of Gavel, the place Horace said he was headed. His father worked as a private guard for some group, and his mother was the high-ranking member of a guild known as the Lightbenders’ Order. Oliver had never heard of them before, but Faris clearly had.

“I’ve heard of the guild his mom’s in,” he’d confided to Oliver the other night, “They came to my village for recruiting. Couldn’t remember exactly what they said but they had some message about keeping the world safe. I don’t know, they just feel like a rip-off of the Amber Knights… don’t tell Horace I said that.”

For a boy who kept bragging about being good at everything, Horace was clearly struggling with fishing. Oliver and Faris watched from afar in amusement.

“You’re not supposed to do it like that!” exclaimed Cole, “You’re scaring away the fish!”

“This is entertaining and all,” said Faris to Oliver as the other two travelers quarreled, “But you want to get some practice in?”

“Practice for what?”

“Oh, I mean, everything coming up. The tomb, joining the Amber Knights, fighting general undeads. I know, I know, you told me you aren’t the best at magic, but I’ve never dueled a mage before! I’m behind the rest of the game.”

“Really? Because you do know “not the best” is a bit of an understatement.”

“You can cast spells, that counts for something! Come on!” Faris climbed down from the wagon, heading towards a flatter part of the surrounding land. Oliver decided to reluctantly follow his new friend, even if their statements were probably just an appreciated attempt to make him happy. Or, he thought, maybe he did need a bit more practice. Faris was a swordsman who had been training since a young age. Perhaps magic was the same for him, although other mage recruits in the army seemed to have picked up the art of spellcasting fairly fast.

“Alright then,” inquired Oliver, "what do you want me to do?”

“Pretend this is a real fight! Try to hit me with your magic, and I’ll dodge it while I try to hit you!” Faris had replaced his normal longsword with a far lighter wooden stick, which he was currently tossing around as if it was a baton.

“If you couldn’t guess, I’ll go easy on you too!” Oliver pulled out his weapon, pointing it towards his momentary foe. He tried to focus, but Faris wouldn’t stop strafing back and forth as if he was genuinely evading bolts of magic. For only a moment did the swordfighter decide to stop, whether it was to catch his breath or to let out a jovial taunt, and that was when Oliver was finally successful. The blast of magic traveled fast and ended up striking Faris right in the face. He cried out, mainly out of surprise rather than pain. The spell didn’t hurt more than any normal punch would.

“I’ll get you for this!” taunted Faris as he moved on to the offensive. Oliver had seen his opponent train the other day and knew he could run incredibly quickly. As for himself - he’d finished last in every mile-running training exercise.

“Hey, are you two dueling?” Horace had been intrigued by the mock fight going on and had abandoned his lesson to watch.

“I guess you could call it that. But really, it’s more of a training–”

“I’m a great duelist! Let me try!”

“I’m sorry,” explained Faris, “but this is practice for fighting the undead and getting into a guild. I don’t think I’ll be fighting anyone your age anytime soon.” He chuckled at his last statement.

“I’m a better mage than he is though!” He pointed towards Oliver, who appeared bewildered by what had just been said.

“Wait, I know your mother’s a mage and all, but did she train you?”

“I happen to have a private tutor.”

“How about this then,” Cole had emerged from the riverbank with a proposal, “Oliver, you let Horace barrow your wand and have a good old fashioned sparring match with Faris. Then after that we can be on our way again.”

“Sure.” Oliver had no qualms with this proposal. Either this kid was bluffing, or he could be someone to learn a thing or two from. As Horace was lended Oliver's simple oak wand, Faris decided to speak up.

“Listen, out of principle, I’m not fighting a kid.”

“A kid? I’m not just some kid! Watch this!” Raising Oliver’s wand up and briefly swirling it back and forth, he conjured up a ball of fire a dozen or so yards away from him. Immediately, it crashed to the ground in an explosion that charred the earth around him. It was a move that seemed not reckless, but instead a deliberate show of power.

Perhaps, thought Oliver, Horace was someone he could learn a trick or two from.

[CLICK TO GO TO THE NEXT CHAPTER]

 

I have to say, you got me intrigued! Each chapter was interesting and good, though they seem a little bit disconnected, but that will subside eventually. Keep going!

 

Hey, glad you’re liking it!

 

[CLICK TO GO TO THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

Spoiler: CHAPTER 10

ABSOLUTE POWER​

In Elkurn, being assigned to the night watch meant something completely different than it did in Detlas. There, it meant spending time in the afterhours of a city that went to bed when the sun rose. Here, it meant having to constantly watch your back. At any moment, an undead could slip past your watch or ambush you. It was the one task nobody wanted.

Victor rolled out of his cot, having spent the last hour or so trying to get some rest. In return for accompanying Bristol and Nelson into the church yesterday, he’d agreed to partake in a few rounds of the night watch. It was either a test of loyalty, to see how far he’d go to protect the province, or perhaps Spader just needed someone for the job.

As Victor made his way down the halls of the barracks, it became apparent to him that something was up. A crowd had gathered around the door to a bedroom, and the mass of soldiers was too great for Victor to get a proper look inside. Fortunately, he was able to still hear the two familiar voices arguing inside.

“I promise I wasn’t going to do anything wrong with this!” explained Sergeant Bristol, “I was just keeping it as evidence!”

“What you have done is nothing more than treason. You knew this yet you decided to betray the province by withholding this from me.”

“I did nothing wrong! I didn’t even look at them past a glance!” The sergeant was practically yelling at this point, but his cries were ones that fell on deaf ears. The crowd in front of the room parted, and Victor too moved to stand against the wall, remembering to salute as well when he saw other soldiers doing it. Colonel Spader gripped Sergeant’s Bristol’s wrist tightly with her prosthetic arm, practically dragging him along as if he was a petty child instead of an adult. In her other hand, Victor could make out papers resembling the ones from the sorcerer's study.

It was half a minute before anyone in the barracks began to move. Some turned to one another, wondering what led to this, or just expressing shock at such an event happening. For them, it was the second time this week that a higher ranked soldier had been convicted of a severe crime. Others, including Victor, felt uneasy as they realized what fate would likely befall Bristol. In most cases, siding with the corruption meant a life in prison at best and a trip to the gallows at worst.

“Why risk everything for illegal knowledge?” Victor pondered this as he marched through Elkurn, though he thought he knew the answer. It was exactly what Chip had tried to tell him about. Embracing the corruption meant greater power, whether it was used for right or wrong. And that was something that most people would at least entertain the thought of in the darkest part of their mind.

Even himself.

The previous guard on duty passed his torch over to Victor, his nod mixed with a blank expression telling the newcomer all he needed to know. Tonight, he’d be tasked with overseeing the riverbank near one of the bridges that led to town. It was right next to the great tower that Elkurn had, but it had gone dark for the night, leading to somewhat of an ominous view.

It was going to be a boring few hours. There was nothing interesting to do except pace back and forth. Elkurn had almost gone to sleep, so there was no one to talk to or watch. After a while, he even gave up standing entirely and sat down. This action went against the proper procedures he’d been taught, but who would even notice him here?

Yet it appeared that someone had. A figure was approaching him from near the entrance to the tower, and Victor wondered if it was the building’s proprietor. Since arriving, he’d always wondered what went on in there.

“Hello there!” Victor shouted.

“Are you a guard?” It was a strange question to ask, Victor thought. Wouldn’t a local here know what the guards look like? The stranger was coming into the light illuminated by his torch, and he looked like any average peasant, but some gut feeling was saying that there was something off about all this.

“I am. Do you need anything?” Victor gripped his spear more tightly just in case, but it proved pointless. The attack came from behind in the form of a kick to the back, sending him and his torch onto the ground. The first man’s boot stomped hard on his hand, preventing Victor from fighting back with his spear. Someone had ambushed him, and he was pretty sure he knew who.

“Fuck… why me? Did Chip send them?” It was his best guess and he wanted confirmation of it, but the sword now pointed at his head and the shoe on his back indicated he wasn’t in the best position to ask questions. Still, he hoped to get answers eventually. He could shout for help and someone in Elkurn would probably hear him, but now wasn’t the time for that. He had these two right where he wanted them.

“We’d like to ask you a few things,” asked one of the men while his cohort tied Victor’s hands behind his back.

“Go ahead, I presume I have no other choice.” The odds were against Victor here, but he was remaining calm. He’d been in worse situations before and came out unscathed, and unlike the corruption, he knew humans had morals. They wouldn’t just recklessly kill him.

“We know about your secret.”

“What do you mean? I have a few secrets, but nothing worth questioning me about. I’m just a man from Fruma, who–”

“Your immortality.” The brigand in charge of the interrogation put emphasis on the second word, making sure that his captor knew the cat was out of the bag for him. Victor, meanwhile, wasn’t too shocked. This was inevitable for him, and he didn’t mind that a couple of vagabonds were the first to find out. No one would believe them if they exposed Victor.

“What about it?”

“How do you do it? Tell us now or you’ll live to regret it.”

“I literally don’t know, I swear. I don’t remember anything that happened a year ago, I’m not making this up.” Their idiocy, Victor thought. What good would killing him do? He’d still be alive, and they’d be at square one… probably. He’d been through something like this four times already, so he liked his chances of it going right again.

“What do you mean, don’t remember? Do you have amnesia?” As he shouted that word, the captor slapped Victor on the face. He’d been hit with a metal gauntlet rather than a normal glove, and it hurt like hell.

“How did you two find out about this?”

“Does it matter? Now, you’re going to us how you pull this shit off, or else we’re gonna–”

“Go ahead, kill me. You said it yourself, I’m immortal.”

In a blur, the other criminal pulled his sword from his scabbard and swung it, only to stop it a few inches away from their captor’s neck. Victor recoiled back in shock, entirely out of pure instinct.

“We’re not fucking stupid; we wouldn’t kill someone who can live forever. But we know someone who can make your life a nightmare until you give him what he wants.”

“And who might that be?” Their statement really interested Victor. He didn’t expect to pry any information out of these two, as bumbling as they were, but he did wonder whom they worked for. He’d assumed they were two down on their luck men who wanted to live forever and somehow deduced he had a special power, but now it seemed like they were contracted by someone. “Are they named Chip by any chance?”

“Shut up!” The assailant moved to strike him with his gauntlet again, but Victor knew it was time to retaliate. The other man had moved his shoe off his back, leaving nothing to stop Victor from rolling out of range. Quickly getting to his feet, he scanned the two criminals to see which was the best to attack. Running back to the nearby Elkurn was probably the best option here, but Victor had nothing to lose. He wanted to get back at whoever these people pursuing him were.

The criminals were in good physical shape, but Victor was larger and stronger than they were, and the one foolish enough to lower their sword in surprise found themselves being charged at. Victor may have still had his hands tied behind his back, but he could still use his force to topple his enemy to the ground. His charge knocked the brigand off their feet, evening the odds a bit more. The other attacker seemed a lot more wary now as Victor pivoted to face him.

For a moment, they all stopped. The sound of hoofbeats could be heard in the distance; the cavalry was literally arriving, and the criminals didn’t want to be around for it. The man who Victor had knocked down got back up and joined his friend in running away into the dark. Like last time, they’d probably head too deep into the Roots to be pursued. “Cowards.”

“Victor?”

“Lillian? You’re back!” She was only illuminated by a small lantern tied to her belt, but Victor remembered her appearance from that night at the Rusty Recruit. He was very curious to where she’d been all this time, but then quickly realized he was the odd one out here.

“Fuck, it is you. What the hell are you even doing here… are your hands tied behind your back?” She wanted to also ask who those men were, but she felt like her assumption that they’d be petty thieves would be correct.

“Well, believe it or not, it’s a very long story. Basically, I’m being tested to see if I’m fit for a promotion and now I’m here. But now they’re making me help out with the night watch before I can go back. By the way, do you have a knife or something that you can cut these ropes with?”

“No.”

“Shit… I can probably untie this myself though.”

“No, you’re probably just going to look stupid. I’m heading into town; you should probably come with me instead of waiting to be killed by them again.”

“Wait, they didn’t do a good job with the knots!” Victor had managed to get his hands free, but Lillian had ignored her, continuing to ride into Elkurn. He grabbed his fallen spear and quickly caught up to her, eager to find out more about where she had ridden in from.

“If you don’t mind me asking…, where have you been? A bunch of people are looking for you.”

“I do mind you asking, actually.” She veered towards the stable, and she was glad to see that he took the hint and didn’t follow her further. Present day Victor was a constant nuisance in her mind and all she really wanted right now was the old barracks cot she slept on.

“Lillian! Welcome back!” The shaman was greeted by an apprentice stable hand; one of the few people awake this time of day. He had been reading some book, bored at the lack of activity in his job. How Lillian wished she could trade places with him right now.

“Is there room for another horse in the stable? A civilian loaned this to me, it isn’t bred for the military or anything.” Lillian had been given the horse towards the end of her journey back to Elkurn. She expected that its former owner would’ve dismissed her request, given that she looked like a common beggar, but all she had to do was recount a single story of her time on the battlefield and the patriot handed the horse over.

“I think we have space for it. You’re sure they’re not a military horse? They seem so obedient!” Lillian dismounted, and right there and then, she just wanted to topple over and lay on the mud floor. That sort of behavior went against the army conduct, but then again, her week had been filled with treachery. The pages she’d gotten from the black market, which she’d ashamedly skimmed a few times while on the road, were buried not too far from the Tower of Amnesia. A time would come later when she could inform Barnaby as to their location.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” the stableboy said as Lillian was about to leave, “I’ve been told that the Colonel wanted to speak with you. Sounds like someone’s in trouble…”

“Colonel? Did Captain Barnaby get a promotion?”

“Oh, you’re out of the loop?” It was a rarity for Lillian to not know what went on in town, but she had been away for quite a bit. “Barnaby did something really bad. I don’t know what because no one ever tells me any of the good rumors. But Colonel Spader’s in charge now!”

Both pieces of news felt like being drenched in cold water. Had Barnaby’s illegal actions finally caught up to him, Lillian wondered? And worse, did anyone know that she was a co-conspirator? If Spader, a former elite operative for the military, was looking into this, she could be in trouble. At worst, she’d be tried for an assortment of grievous crimes. The other scenarios weren’t much better. Despite the picture Wynn’s military textbooks painted, all accounts she’d heard of the Colonel painted her as a cruel and overly commanding person.

She proceeded into the barracks, trying to calm herself along the way. If she was wanted by the town of Elkurn for her crimes, surely Victor would’ve told her? He didn’t seem like he’d be overly oblivious.

“Excuse me? I don’t take kindly to people entering without knocking.” Lillian opened the door to the room that formerly belonged to Barnaby. Apart from the former captain obviously being gone, the room had undergone some other changes as well. All of his magic items he’d had lying around were absent, and the usually neat desk was now filled with military documents strewn about, one of which Spader was looking at right now.

“My apologies.” Her apology only seemed to make her boss angrier.

“You are to address me as ma’am.” The sheer frustration in Spader’s words served as a reminder that unlike with the previous commanding officer of Elkurn, Lillian wasn’t going to be on good terms with this person.

“My apologies, ma’am. I came here because I was told you wanted to speak with me.”

“That is correct. The two of us have a lot to talk about. Take a seat.” Lillian sat down. The last time she’d been in this unassuming wooden chair, she’d been given instructions as to how to visit the black market and then was handed counterfeit emeralds.

“According to the previous commanding officer’s notes, you were supposed to be on break in Detlas for five days maximum. You were gone for seven.”

“Ma’am. I have no excuse for this and am deeply sorry.” She felt it was better to remain truthful now, considering the amount of lying she’d probably have to do later.

“While I’m relieved to see you haven’t deserted us, your refusal to carry out your duty is an act against the province as a whole. Given how undermanned this town is, I cannot relieve you of your duties in any way, but beginning tomorrow, you will be assigned to clean the mess hall for the next month.”

“An entire month? Joyce was right about her.”

“Is that clear to you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course, there is one other matter I must discuss. I’m sure that by now, you’re aware that former captain Barnaby is no longer serving here, or anywhere for that matter. But you likely don’t know why. Or do you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” lied Lillian, “...Ma’am. I’m deeply upset to hear this news.“

“Barnaby was found to be forging currency for an unknown purpose. Unfortunately, he caught wind of the fact that someone had reported him and had fled before I could arrest him. I also know that in his reports, he spoke very highly of you. And in my own reports, you met with him on multiple occasions. I will only ask this once, and I demand the absolute truth. Where is he?”

There was no need to lie here. Barnaby had never told her about any contingency plan he had. He publicly talked about always wanting to go to Gavel, but that seemed like too obvious of a hiding place. “I have no idea where he could be, ma’am.”

“...Very well. I take it that you will inform me of anything else you learn about him. You are dismissed.”

Lillian didn’t want to spend another moment in this room. She got up, left the room, and quickly closed the door so Spader could no longer gaze at her. These past few days had been horrendous for her. First a near-death experience, then days of constant travel, then her dreams of a future outside of the war were squashed. In return for bringing him that book, Barnaby had promised to pull some strings and get her out of the army. Colonel Spader would obviously ensure that didn’t happen.

That was something to reflect on more tomorrow. After all, she would have all the time she needed to think as she toiled away on mess hall duty. The job was a ceremonial punishment, given that soldiers were instructed to clean up completely after eating. It would serve no purpose beyond confusing her comrades, who saw Lillian as a model protector of Elkurn.

Now having arrived at a room filled with sleeping servicemen, Lillian quietly took off her boots, not wanting to disturb anyone else. Right now, this felt like all she could muster. She climbed onto her cot and would’ve fallen asleep instantly if she didn’t feel something on her pillow. It was some piece of paper. She reached to grab it to find that it was a letter. If it had been anything else, like a document stating she was promoted to captain or a scroll that would teleport her to Gavel, she probably would’ve ignored it and gone to bed. A letter was something completely different. It was a sign that somewhere out there, a parent or loved one cared enough to contact you. Lillian had neither, so who could be contacting her?

She stepped back out into the hallway, where torchlight could better illuminate her findings. The envelope was sealed with wax imprinted with the symbol of Troms, and its back was addressed to Lillian with no last name. Not knowing what to expect, she opened it up and began to read the contents inside.

— — — — —
​

Private Lillian, Elkurn Battalion,

We are writing to inform you that Evan, from Fruma, has died protecting the province. As he has no known kin, this letter is going to you as he was in the same caravan as you were.

He was a hero of the province to the very end, trying his best to protect the family of Baron…

— — — — — ​

She stopped reading. All she could do was stare at the wall in front of her absentmindedly. It was inevitable, eventually one of the seven recruits from that caravan would have their journey cut short, but she had viewed it as an impossibility. They’d been through great challenges already, so why couldn’t they all overcome everything?

Lillian wanted to run away from the barracks, away from the army as a whole. She’d have no clean way out and would be deemed a deserter, but that didn’t bother her at the moment. She could live with the knowledge that she’d be oblivious to everything else going on. But she lacked the energy to run. All she could do was slump against the wall. If she cried now, it would be the second time she’d done so since coming to Wynn.

A horn blared throughout all of Elkurn. It wasn’t some embodiment of her anger, but rather a reminder that she needed to make a choice. Lillian could either run now or choose to fight one more time.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 11

SWARM​

The sound of a roaring horn was unfamiliar to Victor, but past experience informed him as to what it meant. Detlas had a similar system that used bells that echoed throughout the whole city, but he’d never heard the warning of an imminent siege in all his time there. Elkurn obviously wouldn’t be as lucky.

“You’ll have to tell me about those two men later,” the sergeant said, “We’ve got more important things at hand.”

“We’re under attack, right?”

“You new here or something? That sound means there’s going to be an attack at the main bridge. Get moving.” From the barracks nearby, a mass of soldiers flooded into the street, all heading towards the barracks at a fast pace. Victor himself wasn’t sure where he needed to go, but he figured if he followed this sergeant on the night watch he’d be fine.

The congregation point for Elkurn’s military force was in front of the very bridge Victor had ridden into town on. Barricades were already being set up, and a large ballista was being rolled out to the river’s edge. It seemed like the bridge’s defense would hold strong, especially with the number of active fighters the town had.

“Sir, where should I be during the fight?” Victor asked this question to the sergeant he’d been following, but they seemed more concerned with looking for his group of soldiers that he supervised.

“You should know this.”

“I’ll be at the front lines then.” His only response to this was a weird glance, which Victor thought made sense. Most people didn’t want to be at risk of being the first man skewered by an undead’s blade.

Soon, the rest of Elkurn’s army arrived. Victor had to count at least a hundred soldiers, and that was excluding those stationed further into the town. In the back were archers ready to let forth a volley of arrows at a single notice, and surrounding him at the front were his fellow warriors; all of which had remembered to bring a shield.

“Look at her, all the way in the back,” complained one of the soldiers, “Say what you want about Barnaby, but at least he was out here fighting with us.”

Sure enough, the colonel was in the way behind the last group of archers and even the ballista, flanked by what almost looked like a personal guard. Victor scanned the area for Lillian but couldn’t pick her out among the crowd. If she was here, her totem would eventually show it.

“Soldiers!” Someone, presumably a captain thought Victor, was making a speech from near the bridge. “Though the odds may be more stacked against us today than others, this will not be the hour where we falter! This town will remain standing as it has in centuries past. Because we have one thing the corrupteds don’t. Each other!”

The army cheered. It was a sign that morale was still high, despite the approaching threat. Victor could see it in the distance now: a mass of shambling lifeforms illuminated by fire and crimson luminescence. He couldn’t make out how many there were, but he could believe the notion that they were outnumbered five to one.

“Fire!” The captain’s order rang out and the first rain of arrows flew over Victor in an inspiring display. By the time the archers reloaded and shot forth their second volley, the horde of corrupteds was close enough that Wynnic mages could join them in conjuring devastating shots of fire. It was a strong defense, but not enough to halt the enemy. An army of human adversaries would turn back immediately, but a corrupted army would never stop their advance. Everyone human on that battlefield knew they couldn’t rest until every single one of the corrupted were slain.

The horde had reached the barricade now. With most of them lacking proper knowledge of how to deal with this new obstacle, they charged against the barriers, trying to knock them down. Victor and his fellow men struck back at them with their spears, making sure to aim for the head. It was a tried and tested tactic that every one of them had learned, but it could only work for so long. Corpses were beginning to pile up to a point where undead would soon climb over one another, and other corrupteds were flanking the barricades.

“Don’t let up!” The captain gave another order in a battle that would devolve into chaos within seconds. It was everyone for themselves, and the soldiers of Wynn were ready to do what it took to stop the corrupteds from crossing the bridge. With a warcry, Victor charged forward with his spear, striking a zombie so hard in the neck its head was severed. He was in a true battle now; one he could never imagine himself taking part in a year ago.

Victor heard what sounded like a falling anvil off in the distance, and he turned to see an iron golem slam into a group of undead so hard they went flying. He’d seen these war machines all around Detlas and Ragni, but he didn’t think they’d be this destructive on the battlefield. He assumed they were just there to look intimidating.

Elkurn’s army was dealing with the swarm well, even more so now that the iron golem had arrived. Undead were throwing themselves on it, helplessly trying to rip it to shreds. Unfortunately, the forces of the corruption had a final trick to unleash. At the center of the battlefield, a large spike burst from the ground, formed of brittle but corrupted rock. It impaled an Elkurn soldier, while a follow-up spike destroyed one of the barricades.

“They have a summoner!” A veteran soldier had encountered this type of enemy before and presumed them to be in command of the corrupted army. Sure enough, Victor saw a bloody, red-eyed figure standing in place, muttering some incantation.

“I need you to cover me, I’m going after them!” No one heard him over the din of battle, but that didn’t matter to Victor; he had a clean line of sight to his target. He vaulted over the nearby barricade and broke into a sprint as soon as he hit the ground. Most of the corrupted didn’t pay much attention to him, but one haphazardly swung their blade at Victor’s side, grazing him. It hurt like hell and Victor knew if he touched his side he’d feel blood, but he was too close to the summoner to let the pain get to him.

The summoner turned to Victor, staring at the human with soulless eyes. It didn’t have any time to conjure a defense as the warrior’s spear impaled him right through the skull. Victor’s counterattack was successful, but short-lasting. He’d captured the attention of the surrounding corrupteds, and they all pounced on him like wolves. It was the most excruciating pain he’d ever felt as he was hacked away at, defenseless.

And then he blinked, and the battlefield was gone.

The searing pain had stopped. For less than a second, his vision had gone black, but now everything felt fine. He could smell the flowers surrounding him, and as he moved his hand, he felt his spear beside him.

It was like this every time for Victor. He’d succumb to a fatal wound only to immediately wake up in the nearest safe place, as if it had all been a bad dream. The injury he’d received was gone, but he still felt a bit queasy. He suspected that it was a result of somehow appearing in a brand-new location.

There were a lot of quirks to his immortality, the main one being that he’d always reappear somewhere isolated. In Detlas, this usually meant some alley, but for Elkurn, it was a garden adjacent to someone’s house. Victor knew he’d need to move fast before anyone noticed he was gone, or if anyone noticed he was away from the fight.

“Hey!” Another soldier was marching towards Victor. “What are you doing smelling the flowers! Where’s your post?”

“Excuse me, I don't have the time for this right now.” Victor got up and grabbed his spear, which only confused the guard more, “I’m needed on the battlefield!”

“The battlefield? Then what the hell are you doing here?” Victor tried to push by the guard, but all that resulted in was a halberd being pointed towards his chest. “Are you some kind of imposter? ‘Cause that’s the last thing we need in a battle right now!”

There was no easy way to get out of this situation through lies. Victor needed to tell the truth, and tell it to the one person least likely to spill his secret. “You don’t believe me? Then take me straight to Colonel Spader. Or maybe just let me go, since you said we’re in a battle and all.”

“I doubt she has time for you, but so be it. Follow me and don’t you dare run off.” How untrue, thought Victor. Her subordinates seemed to be doing all the dirty work for her.

Something had changed on the battlefield since he’d died. The shouting and strikes of metal had died down, and a cheer rang out when he rounded a corner. Victor now had a view of the corpse-littered battlefield. Over a hundred or so soldiers remained standing, their weapons raised in the air in a show of triumph.

“Ma’am,” the guard exclaimed as they approached the colonel, “I found someone who wants to speak to you, they claim to be a soldier–”

“I remember him.” Spader turned to face Victor, her expression being that of curiosity rather than anger, “You’re dismissed. Back to your post, there could always be stragglers out there.” It was an order not directed to the four soldiers surrounding Spader, who all stayed put. Judging by the lack of any insignia on their chestplate, Victor was certain now that they were just her personal guard.

“Ma’am, allow me to explain what happened. I am not a deserter, I was on the battlefield, I’m sure many of my fellow men can attest to that. In fact I was the one who killed that summoner. What happened was, well let me explain,” he never really planned how he’d explain this, “I’m immortal. I can’t die. Well, if I do die, I just reappear nearby like nothing happened.”

Some of the colonel’s bodyguards seemed to be holding back laughter, but Spader seemed to remain neutral, if not unimpressed. “You don’t believe me,” continued Victor, “don’t you?...Ma’am.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I promise, I would never–”

“Take him to the dungeon. I want to question him more in private.”

“What!” Two of Spader’s guards grabbed Victor by his arms, almost dragging him off to Elkurn’s prison. He pleaded once more, hoping they’d understand that what happened to him wasn’t fiction. To the guards, that wasn’t enough. The colonel’s words were final.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 12

THE THIEF​

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

It had taken an hour or two of travel, but it turned out that Nora’s map was accurate. In front of Joyce was a grassy clearing, with a real airship right in its center. Hammering a plank of wood into its side was someone; presumably Nora. It didn’t seem like any sort of ambush had been set.

“Hey!” It looked like Joyce had been spotted. “Glad you finally showed up!” She must have noticed the former soldier’s hesitation, so she followed that up with “No one’s gonna ambush you, I promise!”

Joyce figured she was probably fine, and that she really was just the first member of the Aeronautics’ Guild. That was assuming that no one else had enlisted since that one night in Detlas. It had been a few days, after all.

“I won’t deny it, I was kind of expecting one.” Having walked forward towards Nora, Joyce had managed to get a closer look at the airship. It seemed to be in pretty good shape, apart from a currently deflated balloon. It seemed impressively large too.

“Pretty great looking ship, huh? I’d call it my pride and joy but it’s not really mine.”

“I thought you said you owned an airship?” inquired Joyce.

“Well, it isn’t really mine, but I just happen to be in possession of it right now.”

“Isn’t that what owning it means? Actually wait, are you meaning to say you stole it?”

Nora seemed embarrassed, like she was some kid who got caught taking candy. “Yeah, I stole it. You think my parents would just let me have their airship?”

Joyce felt like things were making more sense now. For whatever reason, she’d taken her parents’ ship and traveled all the way to Wynn, only to crash along the way. Joyce wasn’t too sure if she wanted to go for a ride on it, like she was considering earlier today, but she hoped Nora’s offer still stood.

“Alright, I can see that. Now, why don’t we discuss something a bit more important, like my payment for helping. Would I be correct in guessing that you took some of your family’s money too.”

Nora grinned. “A deal’s a deal. But trust me, a first-class trip to Gavel’s better than some emeralds. I promise my ship won’t crash this time!” The two of them laughed, although deep inside Joyce did still have some reservations.

“So, what work still needs to be done? The ship looks to be in good shape to me.”

“Oh, not much. Just reinforcing the hull, inflating the balloon, loading everything up,” she pointed to a nearby cave filled with crates and barrels, “and fine-tuning the engine.”

“I know nothing about engines or any of that fancy modern tech. But I did do a lot of repairs back when I was in the army. I can help with the hull while you focus on everything else.”

“Yeah, sounds good. All the tools and stuff you’ll need are right there.” Nora pointed to a pile of wooden boards and a bag of screws. It seemed like a strange thing for an ambassador’s airship to have, and Joyce wondered if those had been stolen too.

As with most airships, Nora’s vessel consisted of a mostly flat base connected by a rope ladder to upper floors enveloped by a balloon. The ground level was in fairly good shape too, despite some parts needing reinforcement. “Hey,” Joyce asked, “Did you repair all of this by yourself?”

“Oh, of course not. Some lad helped me out with the hull, it used to be in a much worse shape than it is now. I think his name was Chip?”

“So, I guess I’m not truly the first member of the Aeronautics Guild?”

“Well I’m not counting him. I’ve seen drunk people, and people on… strange stuff in Gavel, but he seemed different. Like…”

“And he was like that constantly?” Joyce asked. To her, it seemed like Nora had just been dealing with the average Nemract resident.

“Yeah. He was nice but, like, a murderer trying to trick you nice. No big deal though, he’s gone now and I could’ve killed him before he killed me.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~​

After an hour of work passed, Nora and Joyce decided to take a break for lunch. Their meals were humble, consisting of bread and apples from the airship’s cargo that hadn’t spoiled yet.

“So, you were in the army?” Nora asked between bites of a crunchy apple.

“Yeah, I was. Got discharged a few weeks ago, can’t say I really miss it. Well, I don’t know if I can say that either. It was nice, getting to make a difference. But the bad stuff… you don’t mind me ranting for a bit, do you?” She’d told Lillian about what had happened, or at least part of the story, during a brief reunion in Detlas. Getting it out had helped a bit.

“Sure, I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know if you heard, but there was this mutiny at Nemract. It was about a year ago, right before I got stationed there. So this Colonel, her name was Spader, you might know her too,” Nora shook her head, “she took over. And, to put it mildly, she was a piece of shit. All she cared about was holding a sense of authority over everyone else. Step out of line once and she’d ruin your life. Why? Because she enjoyed it.”

Nora frowned. She wanted to emphasize or help the woman she now considered a friend, but she wasn’t sure how similar her own situation related to Joyce’s. “My mother was like that too. Had a bunch of power and made sure everyone knew it. So I guess I just stuck to the belief that I was in the right, despite what she’d say about me.”

It was advice Joyce wished she could follow, but deep inside she thought the colonel might be right. That she could be nothing more than a liability.

“Is that why you ran away?” Joyce finally responded, “Actually wait, aren’t you old enough to just move out on your own? Why should she care?”

“She wanted me to be in the military.”

“Wynn’s military?” Joyce found that hard to believe. The entire point of being born to a prominent family was getting an easy pass out of the army.

“Yeah, Wynn’s army. Hey, maybe in another world we could’ve been working together!” Nora took the last bite out of her apple, throwing its core into the grass, “Hey, y’know if we get back to work, we could get this off the ground by tonight. You’d be in Gavel by the end of the week!”

“Oh, I can help.” Joyce’s mind had begun to wander with all this talk about the military. A page from her military textbook had returned to her memory; one that spoke of an army of pirates that plagued the skies of Gavel. It was a group said to be full of thieves and skilled fighters, and if the ocean raiders spoken of in Nemract were anything to go off of, convincing liars as well.

[CLICK TO GO TO THE NEXT CHAPTER]

 

I love your take on respawn mechanics!

 

[CLICK TO GO TO THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

Spoiler: CHAPTER 13

THE FALLEN​

The entrance to the tomb was well-hidden; anyone wandering the wilderness would easily pass by the passage dug into the side of a hill. Normally it was sealed off by a simple stone door that blended into the rocks around it, but Oliver saw that it was slightly ajar, for that was how he had even seen it in the first place. It had been raining for the past few hours, and while the group would be keen to find some shelter in average circumstances, this tomb didn’t seem like an appealing choice; Cole had recounted spotting about a dozen corrupted inside. That had happened about a month ago, and there was a real possibility that someone else had gotten the treasure before they did. Oliver had begun to hope that was the case, as the closer he got to the tomb, the more he dreaded having to fight the undead head on.

In the place of his normal wand was a dagger, gifted to him by Faris for the purpose of this mission. The group had agreed three to one that if any of them would be the spellcaster today, it would be Horace. It was a reasonable decision, Oliver thought, but he would have much preferred something with longer range. It seemed as if a zombie would bite his head off before he could successfully stab it.

“Remember,” stated Cole, “We stick together, no one runs away. Although the danger is high, the reward is greater than anything we could dream of.” It was a simple but inspiring speech.

The group passed through the doorway, finding themselves in a hallway that sloped downward. Its floor had crumbled with age, and Oliver found it hard to keep his footing, even with Cole’s lantern lighting the way. The passage continued for a while longer until it opened up into a large room filled with a putrid stench. In the darkness two different shapes were evident: rectangular stone coffins arranged in rows by the walls, and humanoid figures, which turned to face the party of treasure hunters one by one. They were undoubtedly corrupted.

“Attack!” Cole shouted as he nocked an arrow onto his bow. Before he had even fired it, Horace had unleashed a blast of energy at the nearest zombie lurching towards him, causing it to stagger. Dashing forward, Faris slashed at its decayed torso, nearly cleaving it in two. There had to be little over a dozen of the undead in total, and none of them seemed armed with anything more than teeth and claws. Not the most threatening alone, but in numbers they could’ve overwhelmed any one of the party individually. It was important for their group to stay close together, and to have no weak links.

And by chance or some semblance of intelligence, one of the corrupted had noticed such a link. Oliver watched as a zombie wearing the ornate clothes of a nobleman charged towards him, its grotesque appearance becoming evident as it moved into the light of Cole’s lantern. The undead grabbed Oliver by the shoulders, its head moving forward to bite him. The Fruman thrust his dagger upward with what minimal might he could muster, piercing its prey right in the eye. The attack did the trick, as the zombie could only let out one final groan before its head went limp. To be safe, Oliver gave it a final kick, sending it down to the ground.

Around him, the rest of the battle was drawing to a close. The floor was littered with bodies, one of which Faris pulled a sword out of. The final undead left standing made a half-hearted swipe towards Cole, only to get shot in the throat with an arrow. Only Horace had ceased his fighting early, and his face had gone pale. It was a scene Oliver remembered clearly when he had first arrived at Wynn; this was how many felt during their first encounter with the corruption.

“Hey,” Faris said, leaning down to console the boy, “It’s okay, they’re gone now. Nothing’s going to hurt you.” Horace didn’t seem that assured. “How about this, when we get into town, I’ll buy you whatever you want with this treasure.” Oliver still remembered Cole’s original words. He’d said that the treasure would be split among himself, Oliver, and Faris, with Horace being left behind. Hopefully, with Horace’s skills as a mage revealed, the group’s leader would walk back that decision.

Pulling a lighter out of his pocket, Cole began to set the torches on the walls ablaze. Slowly, the room was filled with a warm light that allowed the group to finally get a good look at what was inside the opened coffins. Every single one of them was lined with emeralds, as if the bodies they formerly held were intended to bathe within them. These, along with the jewelry worn by the corpses in the room, could ensure the financial security of all four of them for years to come.

“I can’t believe it! We’re rich!” As Faris cheered for everyone in the tomb to hear, Oliver reached within one of the coffins to pick up one of the emeralds, feeling its perfectly-cut shape in his hand.

“Don’t take anything,” Cole warned, seemingly spotting what Oliver was doing, “Not until we’ve decided how we’re splitting this up.”

“Horace is getting a quarter of the pay, right? He proved himself tonight.”

“Well, you see,” Cole had stopped lighting the torches, and was now strangely nocking another arrow on his bowstring, “There’s been a change of plan.” He pointed his bow straight at Faris.

“Don’t you dare.” It was a hollow warning from Oliver, but he had immediately figured out what was going on. He’d witnessed this treachery all too often as a nomad.

“I’ll be taking all of the treasure. If anyone has an issue with this, my arrow here is going right through Faris’ head. You’ve all seen my accuracy, I won’t miss. And I also know you other two can’t fight me back.” Oliver knew he was right. He couldn’t tackle or punch Cole in time, and Horace didn’t seem like he would be willing to fight another living person, less so someone he formerly trusted. In fact, looking to his right, Oliver saw that the boy looked horrified.

“You’re not supposed to do this! You promised!”

“Grow up. This was bound to happen to you sooner or later. Hell, you’ve honestly been living a coddled life for far too long, based on what you’ve told us.”

“My parents will make you pay.” It was a threat spoken with venom, but Horace’s words didn’t bother Cole at all.

“You three, take everything out of the coffins and put it in a pile in the center of the room. No funny business. Once we’re done, I’ll be leading you all to the wagon to get some bags for it. Understand?”

Faris was the first to nod. Like Oliver, he understood the need to be patient and wait for an opportunity to strike back. Horace on the other hand, looked furious, with tears running down his face. It felt as if he would shoot a beam of fire from his wand at any minute. Unlike the other two now-hostages, he didn’t even bother with gathering up the treasure.

As Oliver grabbed each emerald out, he examined them one by one. Quality didn’t matter when exchanging them at a bank, but one not properly cut could have a sharp edge. Sharp enough to stab an unsuspecting bowman. It was the best plan he had, but his thought process faded away as he heard something unexpected in the distance. Footsteps.

Whomever was coming down the passageway was making no attempt to conceal their presence, and everyone but Cole turned to face the entrance. It could be anyone who had entered the tomb, ranging from a passerby who had noticed their wagon to a convenient soldier. Oliver and Faris felt like they could get the upper hand.

The new arrival finally came into view, and his appearance garnered even Cole’s attention. His clothes were tattered and he was barefoot, revealing a heavily blistered body. A massive scar ran up his right arm, and like other parts of his skin, it looked almost infected. What stood out above all else were his eyes. Almost obscured by a mess of hair, they looked bloodshot in a way that seemed almost demonic.

“I told you. I’d have my revenge.” His words, spoken in a guttural voice, seemed directed at a mortified Cole.

“Scalon?” His words seemed addressed at the visitor, and for the first time since Oliver had met him, he seemed legitimately terrified. Cole quickly pulled himself together upon receiving no response, and fired an arrow at the figure in the doorway. The man Cole feared, presumably named Scalon, leapt on all fours as the arrow barely missed him. He bounded forward like a dog, throwing the room into chaos as the rest of the treasure hunters moved to react. They all had figured out what Scalon was, and knew that they would be his next victims.

With a sickening crunch of bones striking stone, Scalon slammed Cole’s body to the ground with an unnatural force. Not yet satisfied with what had to have been a fatal blow, he continued punching the body, all in pursuit of some kind of vengeance. Oliver couldn’t bear to watch as he darted towards the doorway, and sincerely hoped Horace wasn’t witnessing this. Yet curiosity got the better of him, and he turned around one last time. Scalon was staring right at him.

“Ahhh!” With a cry filled with fury, Horace moved in front of Oliver, almost as if he was intent on protecting his fellow mage. For a moment, the bloodstained man stopped, staring at a boy who didn’t belong in a part of a world that was this cruel. Before the corruption could manage to regain control of him, Scalon was hit square in the chest by a conjured ball of cinders.

“Get moving!” shouted Faris. Neither of the two mages looked back, and ran up the slope that led out of the tomb. For a moment Oliver feared he would slip and would be left behind, but some unnatural force had taken control of him; his normal clumsiness was gone. There was no time to close the door to the tomb as the group emerged into the pouring rain. There was no time to gather their stuff from the wagon nearby. They all knew their quest had ended in failure, but that didn’t matter now. It was time to run and not look back.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 14

IMPRISONED​

Elkurn’s prison was by all accounts pitiful, with a lone cell at the bottom of a staircase, dimly lit by a flickering torch on the wall. The town’s proximity to the heart of the corruption had led to a higher-than-normal camaraderie among the townspeople, who had a greater need to survive together than to commit crimes and live a step above the rest. The most common type of prisoner would therefore be a soldier locked up for defying orders. This was the exact situation Victor found himself in now, and it was something he thought would never happen to him.

At first, he wondered where former sergeant Bristol would be. After all, he had been arrested hours earlier for the far greater crime of betrayal against the province itself. It didn’t take long for Victor to find an explanation, next to a stool outside his cell, there was a large crimson stain on the stone brick floor. Victor figured it was probably best for him to think about something else from now on.

He wished he could just sleep until some guard came to check on him, but the ground was deeply uncomfortable, and he simply didn’t feel tired at all. That was always one of the more peculiar quirks of his resurrection; coming back from the dead always made him feel refreshed. He was no longer hungry or fatigued in any way, and it truly was as if he had just woken up from the best part of his nap. It was the sort of thing he had no explanation for, not unlike every other aspect of this power. “It really does make no sense,” Victor thought, “No wonder they can’t believe me.”

The more time passed, the more Victor started to worry if anyone would check in on him at all. “Where are those two?” he pondered. Matthew and Armand were willing to accompany him to Elkurn and had been by his side countless times at Detlas, but in a desperate hour like this, could he truly call them his friends? Or were they ever that to begin with? It was a deep disappointment Victor would have to accept later, when he was actually able to walk free, and not be forced to count the bricks in his cell wall to pass the time.

When the door finally did open after what must have been hours, Victor almost reeled back in shock from the sound of its rusty hinges. The first figure coming down the stairs was clearly identifiable by their prosthetic arm. The second was a bit harder to make out until she strolled into the torchlight, where Victor found himself surprised to see her of all people making an appearance down here. Lillian had paid him a visit, a bowl of broth in her hands. It was the same food he’d have back on the surface, only now repurposed as a prisoner’s meal. She said nothing as she set the bowl down and left, the colonel watching her every move.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” Spader began as the door finally closed behind Lillian, “You’re probably wondering why you’re being held for so long, especially since I never explicitly said you were in trouble for deserting your post.”

“Ma’am,” Victor wasn’t sure if he should bother using formalities here, since he couldn’t be arrested twice for ignoring them, but it was probably better to be on the polite side, “I assure you I have done nothing wrong. You see,”

“You’re immortal, I remember that part clearly. I’ve heard it before, someone explains they should’ve died, but somehow here they are, far away from danger!”

Victor took this moment to examine his captor more closely. Spader’s normally grim expression was replaced by a slight smile, as if she was talking to a friend at dinner instead of someone locked in a moldy dungeon. At her side she held some unknown bag resembling one a tradesperson would use to store their tools.

“You told me you were thinking about whether you believed me, ma’am. If you haven’t made up your mind yet, I promise I can explain everything I can, to the best of my ability.”

“I believe you, but please, I insist you tell me everything you can.” Spader pulled a ring of keys from her belt, stepping forward to unlock the cell door. “Here,” she continued, motioning towards the stool at the center of the room, “Why don’t you take a seat? It isn’t much, but it’s more comfortable than that cell you’ve been in.”

Victor had never worked interrogation or prison guard duty before, but he could immediately sense something was up. This looked like a clear attempt to get on his nice side. Either that, or the colonel just wanted to be kind to him for once, but all past experiences with her disproved that notion. Either way, there was no benefit to refusing her simple request.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning. How did you first… notice you couldn’t die?”

It was a story Victor had never recounted to anyone but himself. A memory he played over and over now and then, as if it was a dream he was trying to cling to. In a way, it felt like one. “It first happened when I was traveling to Detlas from Ragni. I had finished my training a few days earlier, before you ask nothing weird happened to me in Ragni. I’m sure there’s a whole stack of papers on me back there, not because I was special, they probably just have that for every recruit… ma’am.”

Victor began to recount what had transpired on that journey. It had all happened in Nivla woods, ten or so minutes after his group had left the outpost they spent the previous night at. “...All seemed to be going well, but then we were attacked. It was a group of corrupted, massive in size. We were outnumbered, so I just fled.” Victor realized now that he was admitting to deserting a battle, although due to it being an ambush, he had a plausible defense for doing so. “I just ran as far as I could, which wasn’t far. I tripped, and before I knew it, an undead was cleaving my head in two with a sword. There was nothing I could do. I didn’t fight back; all I could do was feel some burning anger in my head. And then, I woke up, back at the outpost. I made it back to our caravan, and they were just happy to see me alive.”

No one questioned him then, and no one questioned him since. It had been his secret, his way of slowly building up a reputation of a hero that would go on the riskiest missions alone and come out unscathed. Victor told Colonel Spader about every one of those events as well, spilling every lie out into the world. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this; the punishment for fabricating all these successful missions likely outweighed getting in trouble for deserting the battle at Elkurn. Deep inside, he may have just wanted someone to finally talk to about all of this. Someone who would finally understand his bizarre life full of secrets.

“I see,” Spader finally said, “You have a desire to be a hero of some sort? I can assure you that is not an uncommon sentiment, especially with the void left behind by Bob. But I have connections. I think you deserve something better than just being a private, toiling away at mundane tasks.”

“Is this a trick?”, Victor thought. It felt like one; this was nicest the colonel had been to him, or anyone for that matter. Yet here she was in front of him, going on and on about her connections, how she could make him a champion of the province. As she kept rattling on about his potential, Victor watched as she pulled a syringe from her bag. It was empty, but she nonetheless brought it towards the prisoner’s arm.

“This will only hurt for a bit.” The syringe’s needle pierced Victor’s skin, and he watched as it began to fill with a crimson liquid. It was strange; he’d seen the blood of his fellow soldiers plenty of times, yet he was usually dead before he could look at his own. It had led to him forgetting that he could even bleed and being reminded of the fact down here felt weird. “If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, what is this for?”

“You told me you didn’t understand how you were immortal. Maybe someone else can figure that out.”

“I’m not really opposed to being tested, but if I’m helping you this way, I think I deserve to not be kept in the dark. In particular, what does being a ‘hero of the province’ mean to you? What would I be doing… ma’am?”

“Apologies for my choice of words, but you’re what one would call ‘a new discovery’. I’d have to present my findings to my superiors, and potentially the royal family.” That last sentence felt like it was intended to excite Victor, but he knew what was going on behind the colonel’s facade. The fact that he was down here in a dungeon confirmed it.

“What if I refuse all this?” Victor asked.

“Refuse the chance to be a savior of Wynn? Isn’t that what you want?”

“You don’t have a damn idea what I want.” Spader’s expression turned cold instantly. Swearing in front of a commanding officer was grounds for punishment, but as far as Victor was concerned, being a soldier was his past life. If he did what Spader wanted, he’d be nothing more than a living and unbreakable weapon.

“I offer you a chance to help me make the world a better place, and this is how you react?” The colonel glared at Victor a final time before turning to walk up the stairs. “I’ll give you a night to change your mind.” Victor half-considered attempting to follow her out of the dungeon, but as soon as she exited, two armored and heavily armed soldiers strolled in. They appeared to be members of her personal guard.

“Back to your cell,” bellowed one of the men, whose hand was on the hilt of their sword. Victor raised his hands in defeat, slowly backing up. As soon as he was inside his cell the door was locked in front of him, leaving Victor more trapped than he’d been the minute earlier.

He was alone once again. The guards exited the dungeon as soon as they knew their prisoner would have no chance of getting out. They believed Victor’s situation was hopeless, and he himself was inclined to agree. All he could do was slump against the wall behind him as he stared into space.

Enough minutes passed, and Victor came to the realization that if he was to somehow escape, he’d need to stay strong. That meant eating the food Lillian had placed in his cell; he’d almost forgotten about it if not for its distinct and almost nostalgic stench. He crawled forward and picked up the spoon, realizing only now just how hungry he’d gotten down here. As he moved his utensil through the bowl, he felt it brush against something hard. Reaching into the broth, he pulled out a small and worn key. Not wanting to immediately give into complete hope, Victor hesitantly slid the key into the cell’s keyhole.

With a light clicking noise, the door slid open, and Victor smiled for no one to see. Perhaps, he thought, Lillian didn’t hate him as much as he assumed.

The hard part was over, and all that remained was the slightly less hard task of getting outside the dungeon. Colonel Spader was intelligent, and she surely had at least one guard posted outside. Unfortunately, there was no way to know this for certain. The door that separated the dungeon from the outside world lacked a window, and without one Victor would struggle to find an opportune moment to slip out. This led to him forming a plan based around waiting. He’d stay inside his cell, finishing his bowl of stew and exercising, but every now and then he’d creep towards the door, listening and waiting for something to happen.

The plan was exactly what he did for what felt like hours. And with each passing hour, the knowledge that he was this close to freedom taunted Victor. He eventually decided that when the last bit of sunlight vanished from under the dungeon’s door, that was when he’d break out. After that? He planned on running straight to the stables, getting his horse, and running off with no one the wiser. “Maybe I’ll go to Gavel. I could finally start up that guild I was thinking about.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~​

Night had fallen at last, and Victor stood in front of the door, ready for whatever came next. The faint sounds of Elkurn outside had died down, and the prisoner couldn’t be sure whether there was even anyone out there. As reckless as it may be, he reached for the door’s handle anyway. His patience had run out.

The handle didn’t budge. Panicking, he stuck his key into the door’s handle, finding that it was an improper fit. Had he or Lillian underestimated the enemy?

Improvising on the spot, Victor prepared himself for a hastily conjured part of his plan. “Help!” he shouted in a deeper voice than usual, “The fuck–ahh, the fucking prisoner escaped. Aghh!” Almost immediately, someone opened up the dungeon from the front and was met with an immediate punch to the face. Victor was expecting a giant of a man hired by Spader, someone who could overpower him in a fistfight, but instead he found a scrawny private from Elkurn. He was unconscious from the punch now too.

No one else seemed to have watched him break out of prison, but Victor understood that he needed to move quickly and get to the stables. Spader’s guards could be lurking anywhere, and they didn’t seem like they’d go down in a single punch. The escapee sprinted towards the stables, constantly glancing back and forth. He felt as though he looked quite odd to anyone glancing at him from their homes.

“Hey, you there!” Victor called out to the stable hand in the distance, who seemed surprised that someone would need a horse at this hour. He also looked out of place for a soldier too, given his lack of equipment. The kind worker seemed to sense his urgency and opened up the door to Elkurn’s stable. “That one, over there,” Victor said, pointing to a horse he was only half-sure was his, “Can you get it ready for me now? It’s urgent.”

“I can tell by your voice. You’re a soldier, right? I trust you, I just wanna make sure.”

“Am I a soldier?” It was something Victor had been wondering since he made his plan to escape. The second he left his cell he had relinquished everything he had worked for this past year. He would never become a sergeant or anything greater. There was only one clear path ahead, and that was leaving this place.

“Yes, I am a soldier. I’m on an urgent mission for the colonel.” The stable hand nodded, convinced enough, as he led a horse out of their stall. The steed neighed as Victor got in the saddle; it was time for them both to leave this town for good. Before he could hear any objections about riding into the night, he urged his horse forward and out of the stable. As they rode towards the bridge leading out of Elkurn, Victor looked back a final time, noticing that some unknown figure was watching him.

Long ago, when he ran away from the caravan in Nivla Woods, Victor had only one thought in mind: survival. He would’ve left the military for good if that’s what it meant, and it was only through an unexplainable power that he ended up on the path that led to today. And now, here he was again, on the run from more than just undead. He wasn’t sure who would find him first, the colonel, or whomever else out there wanted his power.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 15

CROSSROADS​

The rain continued to pour outside, further obscuring the dark view beyond the cottage’s small window. At times like this, Oliver was grateful for the fact that kind-hearted people still existed in the world. The family who owned this property had let him and the other treasure-hunters spend the night here, free of cost. It was a truly generous gesture, even if Faris did think Horace was the only deciding factor here.

Now that they’d all had their share of baked potatoes and cabbages, and with Horace fast asleep, Oliver and Faris sat across from each other in old armchairs. Despite being tattered they were comfortable; it was nice to finally rest at the end of a journey, even if it was a failed one. That was a topic no one except Horace wanted to talk about. For Faris, it was due to a deep disappointment that had been the culmination of a weeks-long quest; a quest that had ended in betrayal. For Oliver, it was because of the realization that he was back at square one. “What the hell do I even do now?”

Every now and then, Victor's words would flash in his head, only to be stamped out by the realization that it was a futile offer. Even if he got into the military through nepotism, he’d be discharged immediately upon the discovery that he was devoid of any magical talent. It seemed as if Horace would have a better likelihood of getting accepted than him.

“Now that we’re actually somewhere dry, and all that,” began Faris, “If you don’t mind me asking, where are you even gonna go now?” he then continued before Oliver could respond, “Sorry if that came off as rude, I was just wondering if you had anything in mind. You’re welcome to come with me and Horace to Nemract.”

Treasure or no treasure, Faris’ future was already set. He was on his way to Nemract regardless of what happened at the tomb, and from there, he’d continue to Gavel as a part of his quest to join the Amber Knights. He’d take Horace with him in the hopes that someone could help him get to his parents safely.

“I have one idea,” proposed Oliver, “I’ll see if these farmers need a hand. They’re getting on the older side, and their house is pretty nice.”

“You’re going to settle for being a farmer?”

“Well, maybe?”

“You deserve better than this. My dad was a blacksmith and my mom was a librarian, but I didn’t want to settle for a life like that,” No offense to his parents, thought Faris, he still deeply loved them both, “I wanted to make a difference and get stronger and make the world a better place in my own way.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“There’s no easy way. I got decent at swordfighting through years of practice, maybe magic is the same for you. I’m sure if you search enough you can find someone willing to take you in.”

“...Like the Lightbenders’ Order!” Oliver had almost forgotten about the guild Horace’s mother owned until this moment, but now that he’d remembered it, he started to consider what would happen if he enlisted in it. It was the most hopeful he’d felt since arriving at the tomb. “I do know the owner’s son, that has to be enough of a reason to let me in.”

“Them?” asked a skeptical Faris, “I mean, there’s probably some better option out there.”

“It works perfectly, though. I’ll go to Gavel with Horace, and then he can take me to them. See, now you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Hey, it’s your life, I can’t tell you what to do.” Faris glanced at the closed door of a bedroom. Inside, Horace was asleep, as he had been since they arrived. “Although, I don’t know how keen he’d be on the plan.”

“I think I could convince him. He’d have someone he could show off to constantly if I tagged along.”

Faris chuckled. He admired how optimistic Oliver was able to remain despite everything that happened to him in Wynn and wished that was a trait he could possess too. It was something the Amber Knights would admire when considering accepting someone.

“There’s just one problem with that plan of yours? Are you sure you want to have to listen to Horace talk more than you have to?”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
​

The airship had been restored to its full glory. Its balloon was now fully inflated, and only a few ropes kept it clinging to the ground. All Joyce had to do was tell Nora she was ready to have the airship cut loose. Then she’d be in Gavel, a province of answers… and danger. Any path taken by the side of a Skyraider would be. They’d talked a lot more, mainly about a fabricated childhood as the daughter of two diplomats. Joyce was impressed; she’d put a lot of work into such a lie.

“See, what did I tell you? We’re all ready to go.” Nora was already on the airship’s deck, seemingly eager to leave this province behind.

“I just need a minute. I’ve been in Wynn for as long as I can remember, I’m not traveling around all the time like you are. It’s just, I want to say goodbye.”

“You have some bloody emotional attachment to this place? The second you enter Gavel you’re going to lose all your memories again, because that place is so much better you’ll forget you were ever in this wasteland.”

“I’d still consider it home, though.” Joyce paused briefly, contemplating her options, “I have an idea, do you want to play a game?”

“We have games on the ship, like cards and… I think some board game. Come on, you’re just wasting time now. It’s going to rain soon.”

“It’s nothing much. You’ve heard of the game truth or dare?”

“Never heard of it before.” That surprised Joyce; it was a game she saw kids back at Nemract play from time to time. A group as large and communal as the Skyraiders could reasonably have picked it up.

“I think it’s self-explanatory, you either have to answer a question truthfully or complete a dare, like catching a fish with your hands tied behind your back.”

“I still think this can wait until we’re in the air, the sky is literally–”

“Nora, are you a Skyraider?”

“No, I’m not a Skyraider.” Nora gave her answer like she had rehearsed it a dozen times over. Despite the amount of practice she had, her voice still had an element of panic in it.

“I knew it.” Joyce said with confidence, “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

“I just said I’m not a Skyraider!” Now Nora was beginning to look genuinely agitated.

“That whole story about being the daughter of diplomats was a lie, wasn’t it? You can see why I didn’t want to get on that ship with you?”

“Fine, you win. I’m a Skyraider. But I’m not who you think I am! I’m here because I escaped them.”

“Escaped?”

“I didn’t want to be some bloody sky murderer, so I stole this ship and now I’m on my own.” Her voice got less frantic, and now seemed more solemn to Joyce. Whatever she was saying meant a lot to her. “I’ve never killed or hurt anyone innocent; I promise. I don’t want anything to do with their bullshit.”

“...I trust you.” Joyce wasn’t sure if this was the right choice, but Nora had a strong argument. She’d never heard any reports of a skyraider acting alone.

“You do?”

“Well you finally stopped lying, that means enough to me.” Joyce put her foot on the airship but then didn’t continue further. Nora was shaking her head, warning her potential crewmate to not come any further.

“I have to ask you a question or give you a dare too, don’t forget.”

“That’s fair, yeah.” Joyce had a feeling that out of the two options, she’d be given a question too.

“What got you demoted from being a soldier?”

It was a question not even Joyce knew the full answer to, and one that she’d never confided with anyone about, not even Lillian. Since leaving Nemract she had formulated the best explanation she could, and the time had come to share it with the world. “I’m cursed.”

Nora flinched. “The fuck? You thought I was a threat for being a Skyraider when you were hiding that?”

“No no no, I’m not cursed in the way you think, I’m not going to make everyone around me sick or anything… and quit stepping back, you’re going to fall off the ship.”

“Then how are you cursed? Something happen to you over in Fruma?”

That was actually a reasonable explanation for how her curse came to be, Joyce thought. “Possibly. I guess I should explain why I even think I’m cursed to begin with. I was on this mission with the rest of my squadron. We were investigating some undead said to be hiding in nearby ruins, about an hour away from Nemract. Once we were there, I got sent ahead for reconnaissance, and I found them alright. One of them had an arrow pointed right at me, and then the next thing I knew, and bear with me here, I was back at Nemract without a scratch.” It sounded even stranger out loud.

“And then?” inquired Nora.

“Well, I ran back to my squadron as fast as I could, and it turns out their mission completely failed without me. None of them died but some of them got really injured.” Joyce wasn’t sure if she wanted to say anything further. The fact that she was responsible for her comrades getting wounded had weighed on her consciousness for weeks. This was why she, in her mind, was cursed.

“Hey, don’t be sad,” reasoned Nora, “I found a logical explanation to this; teleportation.”

“Teleportation?”

“You know, like one of those fancy wizard scrolls. Something magical like that probably happened and it was an unfortunate mistake. Happens to the best of us.”

“I guess.” Joyce only half-agreed. As someone who knew little about magic, she couldn’t help but wonder if something else was involved.

“So, are you coming or not? You still can have a seat as a copilot.” Nora beckoned for Joyce to come forward, and she obliged. Together, they untied the ropes anchoring the airship to the group, and slowly, the two of them began to rise into the air. The feeling of watching the ground grow smaller was one Joyce hadn’t felt before, but she felt like she would be excited in any other circumstance. That was a feeling reserved for another life; one where she didn’t have as many questions.

 

Spoiler: CHAPTER 16

A GOD AMONG MEN​

Victor had reached the end of the road. His journey had begun in the night and had concluded in an overcast morning, with both him and his horse too exhausted to keep going. He didn’t know where exactly he was, but he knew from the ruined structures in the surrounding hills he wasn’t too far from Detlas. Once there, maybe he’d be able to lay low for a while or plead to Granat for help. That was assuming Spader or anyone else still cared about him and his power. A hopeful part of Victor wanted that to be the case, but those thoughts were immediately quashed when he realized he was technically a deserter now.

Victor felt like he’d found a good enough place to stop. It was a small cave, empty except for some wood shavings and cloth scraps. This was a solid find, but not as great as food or water, as Victor felt he’d collapse without either. His steed wasn’t in the best of shape either, and as he dismounted, Victor removed its saddle as well. The horse had served him well and was now free to wander in search of a drink. He himself couldn’t imagine running off, and instead merely slouched against the cave’s stone wall. All he felt he could do was stare up at the sky. It could rain at it any minute, it seemed. “Maybe that will be my water source.” He didn’t even register the mounted figure that appeared on the horizon. Its pace was slow, and Victor had enough time to see it out of the corner of his eye before the rider called out.

“We need to talk.”

Fatigue wasn’t enough to keep Victor down. When he heard Lillian call out to him in the distance, he stood up, prepared to run or fight.

“Listen, I’m not here to take you back to Elkurn. I’m not being followed by anyone. I just want to talk.” Lillian looked like she wasn’t in the best state either. All this shouting she was doing from across the field wasn’t doing any good for her sore throat, and she dismounted her horse to approach Victor as rain began to fall.

“Just who exactly are you?” Lillian was about a dozen or so feet away from the escapee now, and all he was doing was staring at her. He didn’t appear frightened but rather exhausted, not unlike her. The same recruit she had seen almost a year ago on the road to Ragni was gone, and she couldn’t believe they were ever the same person. “You’re actually immortal, right? I wasn’t overhearing Spader wrong?”

“Yeah.” The statement couldn’t have been more simple, yet it carried so much weight to it.

“Then that makes you the most powerful person who has ever lived.”

“I don’t want your compliments. Why are you here?” Victor knew that Lillian hated her, and as of late, he felt like he had begun to hate her too.

“I think we can work together. The Colonel wanted to find out… why you’re the way you are. You don’t deserve to spend the rest of your life rotting away in a dungeon. No one does. But the two of us, maybe we can figure out something about what gave you this power.”

“I don’t even know why I’m like this! Why the fuck do you care?” Victor was tired of being asked this, and it showed in his pleading.

“Think about it. Imagine if we could make sure a dozen soldiers were incapable of being killed in combat. Wynn would have an unstoppable army. We could finally end this war that’s been going on for a thousand years. I know it sounds far-fetched, but don’t you want this?” It was far-fetched and the two of them knew it. No one in the province ever actually entertained the thought of the ever-raging war coming to a halt. Lillian would have counted herself in that group the other day, but with the possibility of a solution in front of her, she knew she had to take her chance.

Victor was contemplating the offer too, not out of a feeling of hope, but because he had nothing left. “You’re actually serious?” he finally shouted, “You’re going to throw away everything because of me? That’s a lie!” And then his mind drifted to Sergeant Bristol. A man who left everything behind at a grasp for power. “And so what if you are, why would I ever help you?”

It wasn’t an expression of anger on Lillian’s face, in sharp contrast to Victor. Instead, she seemed deeply disappointed. It almost looked like she was turning to leave, but she had one last thing to say. One last thing she felt she owed one of the first people she remembered meeting.

“Evan’s gone. He died protecting someone in Troms.”

“Yeah, right, you’re just trying to get me to… wait, you’re serious?” Lillian stepped into the cave, pulling the soaked letter out of her pocket. The text on it was becoming increasingly illegible, but Victor could deduce enough about what happened. Evan was dead and had been for months.

“I can’t bring him back.” It was Victor’s way of telling himself and the world that there was nothing he could’ve done.

Lillian had said all she could, and it was time for her to leave Victor behind. She turned back around, heading towards her mount, only to stop right at the entrance to the cave. She spotted something in the distance; something moving through the air. It was a strange and unnaturally large object, seeming to pulsate through the sky as it approached the two Frumans. Right as it was close enough to clearly discern, a bright flash of light took Lillian’s attention away. She knew what this was and needed to act rapidly.

“Get back!” She gave the command as she leapt away from the lightning bolt arcing towards the ground. It struck right where she formerly stood, its thunderous roar threatening to tear her and Victor’s ears apart. Before Lillian could adjust after witnessing the lightning’s impact she was attacked again, this time by a gust of wind that moved through the air like a blade. If not for her resilience she would’ve been knocked to the ground or worse. As this occurred Victor stood in bemusement at the unexpected visitor. They were tall, wearing tattered black robes that went all the way down to their feet. In their hand was a decrepit tree branch morphed into a wand, a ball of swirling winds at its tip and a dagger bolted to its bottom. The mage turned to face him, revealing the absence of their face. Where one should’ve been there was instead a yellow-orange mask that seemed to have been carved from stone.

Lillian began a counterattack as quickly as she could. She caused the ground to shake beneath her enemy with a force that could uproot a small tree, but the mage teleported away as expected. The move nonetheless gave her space, and she summoned a stone totem from the earth. It was a temporary defense; one that just prevented the mage from getting closer for a time. Lillian was aware that this skirmish would eventually end in defeat for her. She knew who this masked man was from Barnaby’s stories of him, and she knew what powers he wielded as well. They were the same forbidden ones depicted in that book she’d gotten from the black market: the powers of a true riftwalker.

She scoured her memories, thinking of something she’d read about that could reveal a weakness. Ultimately, she found nothing, and by diverting just a bit of her concentration away from her totem, the mage was able to break through its aura, crushing it with the concentrated power of wind and fire. As Lillian blinked, he teleported away again, his new location given away by Victor’s gasp. The riftwalker had his blade to the young man’s throat.

“If you want to live, you’ll let him come with me.” His voice, amplified by magic, echoed through the desolate plains around them. He had Lillian at a stalemate; if she attacked, she’d end up dead within the minute. Alternatively, Victor would be taken away to god-knows-where by him. He could be tortured or experimented on, but in the end, Lillian knew he’d live. With someone expendable involved, there was only one logical choice.

“Evan would hate you for doing that.”

She prepared to fire a beam of energy, but it was ultimately Victor who made the choice for all of them. With a sharp rock in his hand, he moved his hand up and pierced through the mage’s mask. He screamed in response, faltering for only a moment before slicing Victor’s chest with his blade. His hand moved up to cover the wound on his face, and then he teleported away as if he was flying. The rain obscured his distant self almost immediately.

“Victor!” Lillian knew it wasn’t the end for him, but the sight of his collapsed body sent her into shock anyway. She rushed forward to examine the wound, which by now was staining his body and the cavern floor red. Her healing magic was useless here; there was nothing that could be done. Victor seemed to be trying to say something, but this close to death Lillian could barely make it out. “Detlas?” she wondered. It wasn’t far away, and it was a place Victor had connections to. Perhaps his next life would send him there.

Lillian stood up. Victor was dead now, and there was nothing left to do here except watch what happened next. The body of the fallen warrior was getting increasingly blurry, as if she was looking at particles of dust illuminated by light in a window. Eventually, he vanished completely, as if he was never there at all.

Spoiler: CHAPTER 17

ON THE RUN​

3 MONTHS EARLIER​

The smoke that had filled his lungs was gone.

It had all happened in the flash of an eye. One moment Evan had seen someone, but he couldn’t make out who, in front of him. Then there was a feeling of immense pain, and as he blinked, he was something else. It was a lumberyard, devoid of any life apart from llamas grazing in a nearby pen. Immediately he realized he’d been here before; this place wasn’t too far from the baron’s manor.

“The manor.” He had to help them. His confusion about how he’d been teleported all the way here, how his lungs and flesh were seemingly unharmed despite being in the heart of a burning building, were all gone. All that was there was a desperation to save someone. But as he climbed atop the hill overlooking the baron’s residence, he knew he was too late. The building was engulfed in an inferno, and in front of it stood a monster: a man who had slaughtered his friends minutes earlier with seemingly no remorse, their only crime being that they wanted to protect an innocent family. The murderer stood there as if he had done nothing, his robes swaying in the wind and his eerie mask the color of the raging fire behind him.

And he was looking right at Evan.

The soldier ran. He knew it was futile, and that the sorcerer who slaughtered his comrades would do the same to him in an instant. They were an almost inhuman enemy; one that seemingly apparate in front of you in the blink of an eye. It was what they did right before stabbing Evan in the heart. This thought caused him to hold his hand to his chest as he ran, feeling for any sort of wound or blood. There was nothing there; it was as if he never was killed in the first place.

“Oh, of course!” Evan couldn’t believe the idea hadn’t come to him sooner. This had to just be a dream, he thought. Why wouldn’t it be? It would explain how he came back to life and how that mage could do things so cruel so effortlessly. He didn’t know when he’d wake up, but it had to happen eventually. Evan had made it to the jungle’s undergrowth now and continued running recklessly, pushing through vines with no intent beyond fleeing the masked mage. It was only a matter of time before he tripped over a root and hit his head.

But first, he needed to catch his breath. His stamina had been unnaturally high since he had awoken in the lumberyard, and it only now had just run out. Evan assumed that being in a dream would let him run forever, but perhaps it didn’t work that way. What was even more peculiar was that he was feeling increasingly tired; something that felt impossible given his predicament. He looked down at his right arm as it began to go numb, and in the darkness of the jungle, he could just barely make out two bite marks from the fangs of a snake.

Deep down, Evan always knew he wasn’t dreaming. It had just been the preferable outcome to what was really going on; a truth he admitted to himself as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

[CLICK TO GO TO THE NEXT CHAPTER]

 

Hey, were the chapters past 17 uploaded somewhere? I can't find them on this forum post

 

Oh, I've been busy with other things, so I haven't uploaded any new chapters anywhere in a while. I'll try to have some out next week though!