Peregrine the fairy has been the apprentice of his town's finest gem crafter for a little over a year now. He couldn't be happier with the position. He's always wanted to work in this field and to end up working under the finest? It was a dream come true. Not only was this his first visit to Stonewrought but he was being sent alone! His master had sent ahead with the order. He had been given the gold. All he has to do was inspect the product for quality, pretty much a formality at this point considering the dwarves' work, and then.. recover from the sale. He was happy that he was being trusted with this job but deep down he knows it's because his master didn't want to deal with that anymore. He isn't exactly young after all.
If he had been standing Peregrine would be just under a foot tall.. but he was currently sitting cross-legged on the front of the small heavily armored metal wagon that was being pushed along by the shimmer he was projecting behind it. The armoring for the jewel cart was almost pointless. Very few people want to provoke a fairy. Very few people enjoy exploding. Even going through a portal, he was still not sure how he felt about that experience, this trip had been going on for several days now. He was currently traveling up a well crafted smooth path cut deep into the mountain surface. He couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship on the bronze lanterns hanging from a pole every 20 feet or so. Nobody could top the dwarves when it came to metalwork.
A while later he came around a bend that had been obscuring his vision and finally could see the entrance to Stonewrought. A massive rectangle carved into a sheer face in the mountain. At least 100 feet tall. Even from where he was sitting he could see how elaborate the carvings were around the entryway. On either side of the entrance were statues of dwarves just as tall as the entrance itself. 2 holding rifles, 1 an ax and one raising a flagon. He had heard the story but barely remembered. Some great dwarven heroes of the past. Maybe they had something to do with that death nymph thousands of years ago? He had never been good at history despite his people's obsession with archeology. He only had eyes for jewels. Well..also that girl who worked at the bakery across from his gem shop.
As he approaches the city he passes between guard towers occasionally. From where he is sitting he can see the rifles leaning at the ready. All the dwarves at least wave and grin as he passes. Most raise flagons as way of greeting. It really was true about how much dwarves love their beer he is learning. He's seen a few in his life but never really approached them. Whenever they came to his village it was to visit the archaeological museum they had built just outside of town. It was by far their largest building..it was constructed so all races could enter and learn from what his people had uncovered. He hadn't been since he was a child and it was required as part of his education. All he really remembered was some old jewelry from the race who built the portals.
Finally he approaches the gate. As he was nearing it he had noticed the small windows with more riflemen in them between the carved entrance and the statues. 2 dwarves had approached from a guard house as he neared. The shimmer behind the cart vanished as he stopped to talk with the guards. "Fairy eh? Gem crafting business?" One dwarf said happily..but very loudly. The other was drinking. From where he was sitting he could see several kegs in their guard tower. "Yes! My first time here actually. I'm excited to see your city. I've heard it's amazing." He said earnestly. The dwarf who was drinking stopped long enough to scream "AYE!!!" while toasting then drank deeply to celebrate. "Who are you here to see? Do you know where you are going?" The first dwarf asked. Peregrine turned around and held out his hand. The several locks along the top of the cart opened in a shimmer and a parchment map floated out from among his supplies. It unfurled itself in the air where both him and the dwarf could easily view it.
"Actually yes! I'm going to MacIntyres. My master has this map he lent me. Marked it and everything." He gestures at the map with the glowing mark on a business deep in the city. "MACINTYRE!! He beat my brother unconscious in a bar brawl just last month. Great man. Had him 'round for dinner the next night." the dwarf roared happy as can be. Peregrine just stared. He had no idea how to respond to this. The dwarf didn't seem to mind his silence at all. "Well then! On your way I'm sure you have lots to do!" He said happy as ever. "AYE!!" yelled the other dwarf between drinks.
Peregrine waved happily as he recast his spell to start pushing the cart again. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of his first interaction with dwarves but they seem very nice. As he passed through the great entryway he looked up and around. He saw the large slots in the wall going all the way up. He had heard that the entire entryway had extremely strong iron gates that could be pushed out to seal off the city. He couldn't imagine metal work that large. Very quickly the pathway starts heading downward at a sharp angle. He quickly deactivates the spell pushing and cast another one in front of the cart to keep it from moving too fast as gravity pulls it down the pathway. As he moves down the path he can't help but marvel at the bronze and stone walls with their elaborate carvings.
After nearly 10 minutes of traveling deeper into the mountain he finally enters the city itself. He is in total awe. He can barely make out the mountainous roof of the miles and miles of city stretching out before him. How can all this be underground? How could they have carved all this? They don't even have magic! The buildings are all stone and metal yet very warm and inviting looking. All of them with elaborate carvings. He manages to gather himself together and waves his hand bringing the map back up to his side. He examines it and starts on his way down a beautiful street lined with shops. He looks at them in curiosity as he goes. Clothier. Shoe maker. Tavern. Butcher. Rifle shop. Tavern.
He rounds a corner into what the map tells him is the theater district. He has heard all his life about dwarven theater. He's always found it odd, and now that he has met some dwarves downright preposterous, that dwarves are the greatest playwrights and actors on Lumina. He's never actually seen a play put on by the dwarves but he has seen his people act one out. He has to admit the story was amazing. He is approaching elaborate doors on his right at the top of beautiful marble stairs. This must be their main theater. As he gets close people start flooding out talking excitedly. The play must have just ended. He stops to allow the crowd to pass and watches the people as he does. Mostly dwarves but he spots several other races in there. An entire group of gnomes pass by. He's never seen one of them before. A redhead in all green floats out of the door and he immediately recognizes her as a wood nymph. He's very taken aback by this as they rarely venture out of the forest. He has seen them in his village of course but his people have a unique relationship with them.
Even by wood nymph standards her flight is wobbly. As her and the young human female accompanying her get closer he sees she is openly crying. The human has a weird mix of exasperation and amusement on her face. "H..h..HE HAD TO CHOOSE!! Why did he have to choose Nyx??" She slurs at the top of her lungs, clearly drunk. Her friend, Nyx apparently, says "I know Abigail. It must have been so hard." Her tone is soothing but Peregrine can tell she's holding back laughter. As they pass out of view the wood nymph cries harder than ever and almost falls completely out of the air. The city is definitely not what he was expecting. Finally the crowd disperses and he's able to continue.
A few more turns. A few more streets. A dozen or so more taverns. He finally reaches the shop. There is quite a bit of debate among fairies in his village about who to go to for raw gems but his master swears by MacIntyre. Apparently their families have had a working arrangement for several generations. He parks his cart near the door and, wings fluttering, enters the shop. Walls. Tables. Cases. All full of gems. Despite how long he had been at this he doesn't think he has seen this many gems throughout his entire life. As he looks around a dwarven head appears in a window leading to another room. "You must be Peregrine!" The Dwarven male yells happily in a deep masculine voice. He disappears from the window and enters the room through a door nearby.. and the extremely large breasts take Peregrine by surprise. He had heard, with their beards, it was very hard to tell male and female dwarves apart but he never thought it would be this hard.
He quickly recovers from the shock. "Yes! Are you MacIntyre?" He says politely. "Mrs. MacIntyre! Normally my husband would handle this but he felt like heading to the tavern. Speaking of which! Where are my manners? Come! Come! We have everything ready for you." She says as happy as all the other dwarves have been. Peregrine flutters along behind her as they enter the room she had just left. Laid out along the extremely long table is the entire order. A years worth of raw uncut gems organized by type and size. He immediately begins flying towards the gems to begin his inspection but is cut short. "No! Where is the fun in that? Drink! Drink!" She shouts happily gesturing at the table on the far side of the room. There are six kegs on the table all together. Three of them are fairy size along with a flagon made just for his people. He knew this was coming. He does love their beer but.. not a lot of it. Hopefully he can get through this and somehow politely turn down a few drinks.
Wings beating quickly he flies over and fills his first flagon. As he drinks he does somewhat understand why the dwarves can't stop. During his 1 beer Mrs. MacIntyre drinks several herself. Finally he finishes his beer and it seems she's happy for the moment so they can get to work. He goes up and down the table, row by row, very slowly. He trusts their work but he wants to prove to his master he's really putting in the effort. He examines each gem both with his tools and magically. Every few gems she happily declares it's time for more beer. At first he's frustrated because he really doesn't want to drink but as time goes on he doesn't seem to mind anymore. As the beer starts really affecting him the conversation turns to relationships. She happily tells him about how she met her husband out in the forest when it turned out they had been tracking the same boar to hunt. He has very little relationship experience to discuss but ends up finding himself spilling his guts about the cute fairy who works in the bakery across the street.
"H..her WINGS!!!" he shouts, reminding himself of a dwarf. "So pink! S…so delicate! So SHAPELY!!" He flutters toward the kegs of his own free will this time. It takes him 5 tries to get the flagon under the tap. "D..don't get me wrong. I'm not that kind of fairy. I..I don..don't just look at a girl's wings" he adds worried about how he sounds. "Of course not! But we all notice things. You should see my husband handle a rifle.." Mrs MacIntyre says. As he goes back to work drunkenly, but still accurately, inspecting the gems he continues telling all about Rosalind. He talks about how often he goes to the window just to see if she's visible working. How he goes there everyday for lunch even though he doesn't particularly like bread. How his conversations with her are the best part of his day. "Well? Why not just tell Ms pretty wings how you feel?" she asks in the closest thing to a soft tone a dwarf seems to be capable of. "I…i…i…" and that's where things go a bit blank for Peregrine.
Next thing he knows he's waking up in a dwarvish room that's his size. He had been told to expect this. The dwarves long ago learned fairies were going to need some place to sleep off the beer and constructed these just for them. He slowly sat up, his head throbbing. "These…are not my clothes." he thinks to himself as he throws off the blanket. He decides to solve that mystery later as he looks around the room. He zeros in on a large jug of water with a set of glasses on the table against the opposite wall. He quickly gets up and attempts to fly to the jug but the beating of his own wings is just too much sound for his throbbing head. He makes his way to the jug and, ignoring the glasses, drinks the entire thing quickly. He makes his way to the door and slowly opens it and steps outside.
He sees his room was built halfway up a wall and he's now standing on a ledge. As he looks left and right he sees there are several more fairy rooms. "They really do like to be prepared.." he thinks. He walks to the railing along the edge and looks around. Judging by the normal sized doors lined up along the other wall he's in an inn. Just as he's coming to this conclusion a door opens at the end of the hall and a familiar face pokes its head into the room, sees he is awake, and smiles brightly before entering the room fully. "Well hello! You have been asleep quite some time." Mrs MacIntyre says in a voice softer than he thought dwarves were capable of. He is extremely grateful for this. "I don't remember how I got here. Or…these clothes…"
Mrs MacIntyre laughed loudly despite her attempts to keep quiet for his sake. "I myself brought you here. See those hinges on the wall? That lets us open the entire room. Your people usually need help getting in bed. As for the clothes…not long before you passed out last night you declared yourself to be lord of the gems. Your first proclamation was to outlaw clothing and then you burned yours. I have to say you are quite the dancer." Peregrine's face burns bright red in shame but he presses on. Part of him doesn't want to know but at the same time…he has to find out what else he did. "Did…I do anything else horrible?"
"Horrible?! Your dance was the highlight of my year! And besides..you seem to need to learn to loosen up anyways. Other than that we mostly talked about Rosalind. How much you love her. How scared you are to tell her. And….quite a bit about how you want to chew on her wings. You were very detailed about that." She smiled brightly as she said this as if she hadn't just said something even more terrifying than his clothing law. All he could do was lean on the railing and hide his face. "Don't be ashamed!! You opened up to me. You can with her as well. Well…maybe not about the wings just yet. But reading between the lines and speaking as a woman…from what you said of your conversations last night..it really sounds like she is interested in you as well"
Despite the shame he looks up hopefully. "You really think so?" He says quickly. She smiles and nods. "Last night we had quite the conversation about her love of the hanging bioluminescent vines along a lake near your village. She brings it up a lot you said. Silly fairy..she's been dropping hints about a date for months." His jaw drops. That…sounds very possible. The fear is still there but that has given him a lot of hope. "I…thank you.." he manages to say between his racing thoughts. "It's my pleasure Peregrine! Now..do you think you are ready to begin the trip home?" She says. This snaps him back to reality. The inspection! "Did I inspect the gems?" He asks quickly. "Inspected. Juggled. Danced with. Blew one up because it offended you somehow. Your master doesn't need to know. I already replaced it." More shame fills his tiny body but he tries to hide it. "Thank you.." he manages to say.
From there she leads him downstairs to the inns main room. They eat an amazing breakfast and she tells him more about the signs she noticed about Rosalind. By the time breakfast is over he is feeling rather confident. They make their way through the city back to her shop. His cart is still parked outside and she informs him they loaded it for him. They say their goodbyes and he thanks her from the bottom of his heart for her insight. As he is leaving the city he is barely paying attention to the journey. He's building an entire life in his head.

Is anyone interested in critiquing the first chapter of my planned cultivation fantasy series. Sort of an alpha reader? it's less than 1800 words. I want to get several people's opinions of my prose before I write more chapters.
“I can’t wait to eat it.” Gong Li salivated over his next meal. Which was unfortunate, on account of the fact that it wasn’t dead yet.
Over 30 paces away from where he hid was a gnarlwood elk, its hind quarters marked by significant scarring that almost resembled burn marks. Presumably from a recent run in with a predator.
The gnarlwood elk was a truly majestic spirit beast that naturally cultivated the aspect of wood. And as was typically the case for spirit beasts, the path of its cultivation expressed itself in its unique physiology. The creature’s skin was the color of smooth, deep brown bark. It had fur like a normal elk, but it was green and looked more like moss that covered little of the lower half of the beast’s body. The elk sported massive antlers that more closely resembled gnarled tree branches, hence its namesake, with large flower buds growing out from it. Those flower buds were more than mere decoration, however. When opened, they would produce a pollen like substance. When exposed to it, a potential predator would experience severe irritation in its eyes and respiratory system. Also, the beast was about the size of a draft horse.
Li licked his lips in anticipation. “Mhm wood chi infused venison. My meat and veggies all in one bite.”
The Gnarlwood Elk stood cautiously in a clearing in the forest. It drank from a nearby brook, occasionally scanning the area for any signs of predators.
But Gong Li’s next meal wouldn’t find him. He had been on hunts before, but this was the first time he was permitted to join in on the hunt of a spirit beast. Such a thing would normally be too dangerous for someone of his cultivation and he was not expected to take part in the hunt itself. But the important thing was that the spirit beast didn’t notice him. This was an opportunity for Li to demonstrate his ability to suppress his spiritual power. What little he had as a mortal realm cultivator, anyway. Failing to do so might cost him and others their lives the elders of his clan told him. So he was sent on this hunt alongside his cousin Gong Fang and his team of beast hunters to prove his worth.
“Ready”, whispered the man himself in the bushes on Gong Li’s left. Gong Fang sported wild, spiky black hair that shimmered in the noonday sun with oil. His lean corded muscles clearly visible, as he wasn’t wearing a shirt. They bulged as if ready to rip out of his skin as he prepared himself for the hunt.
“Ready,” To Gong Fang’s own left was a woman. Gong Yue was built tall but slender. She shared the tanned complexion that most of the Gong Clan sported, which contrasted nicely with her short, silver hair. After a brief flash of light surrounded her uplifted hands, a wooden bow with a dark blue stone above the grip appeared in her grasp.
“Fire,” Gong Fang catapulted himself out of his hiding spot and into the clearing keeping up a storm of dirt and grass as he went. Gong Yue summoned an updraft, allowing her to take flight and break off small tree branches. As she knocked her arrow, the dark blue stone socketed into her bow’s limbs glowed with sparks of lightning inside. The sparks made their way to the bow proper, and Gong Li could smell the faint hint of ozone in the air.
The beast immediately knew something was wrong, but it was too late. Just as the gnarlwood elk popped its head back up, the arrow struck its neck. The beast reeled.
Gong Fang continued his charge, summoning a massive curved cleaver from his storage ring.
Gong Li watched as the beast struggled to get back on its feet, but the electrical current from the arrow had overloaded its nervous system. It violently flung mud into the air as Gong Yue fired another arrow into its flank.
As he closed in Gong Fang launched himself over ten paces into the air. He came down on the creature’s neck hard; The weight of the sword, his body and his technique. Together they easily cleaved through the base of the creature's neck. Gore sputtered out from the elk’s body and onto Fang but he jumped away from his fallen prey before the flower buds on the antlers blossomed. The beauty of the vibrant yellow petals were marred by the red gore that now covered them.
Fang was grinning. Grinning with the mischievous glee like a kid in an abandoned candy shop.
“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about.” Fang triumphed over his kill. His enthusiasm was contagious. Li couldn’t help but cheer as well, despite the gory scene.
As Li and Yue caught up to Fang, Yue generated a current of air around them. The current, shaped like a dome, would keep the pollen from the flowers from getting to them.
Fang looked down at Li was a few finger widths shorter. “so little cousin tell me what you think of our technique?”
“Your methods are solid. Yue using lightning to paralyze the target, which gives you time to close the distance and quickly deliver a killing blow. I initially wondered why you use a cleaver instead of a spear as a melee hunting weapon, but now I see the logic of it. Cooks typically use cleavers to cut through bone and thick meat. However, a cleaver style sword can also be an effective way of killing an enemy quickly if you have the strength and precision to wield it. If you attempted to pierce the large Grade 2 beast’s neck with a spear and raw strength alone, it wouldn’t have guaranteed a kill. Given the strong hide and healing factor of the target. But by using force chi, you can apply greater kinetic energy and wield a heavier weapon.”
Fang grinned and looked towards Yue. “Told you he was a smart one.”
“Do you use this strategy against all your targets?” Li asked.
“No. Different prey calls for different methods. Although this is the strategy we use most often. We specialize in hunting large herbivores. That’s what sells the best prices on the market, anyway. They’re also the main course for the most profitable dishes of the clan owned restaurant. Also you’d be amazed what a pair of testicles from just about any large spirit beast would go for.
Li raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Spirit beast testicles?”
Yue interjected. “Many people think the testicles of large spirit beasts make for a potent aphrodisiac and may even increase fertility. There’s not much evidence to support the claim, but who am I to deny a fool so eager to part with his money?”
Fang barked a laugh. “Especially if it’s lining my pockets, eh.”
“We should get moving now,” Yue started scanning the area. “The scars on the elk may look old, but wood aspected beasts have an especially efficient healing factor. The creature that gave it those wounds could be nearby.
“Alright then, just give me five minutes to clean my sword and wash the blood off in the brook.
As Fang made his way to the brook Li turned towards Yue. “I was wondering, cousin Yue. Why use a bow with a lightning aspected beast core instead of cultivating it yourself? It would seem like the perfect fit to supplement your wind path.”
Yue shook her head, “Well, for one, the lightning aspect is hard on the body. It’s one of the most difficult aspects to cultivate.”
“No offense, but you don’t cross me as the type who would fear a little hard work.”
“No I’m not. But…” Yue trailed off.
“Funds. Right?
Yue gave Fang a regrettable expression. “Lightning is also one of the rarer aspects out there. To learn to adapt to cycling it through my meridians, any large quantity would require me to go through several Grade 2 beast cores. The clan simply doesn’t have those kinds of resources anymore. Our current situation is the reason why the elders requested we take you on this hunt with us. While your own path was designed for smithing the metal and fire aspect have obvious combat applications. They want as many of us prepared to defend the clan as possible. Should our enemies decide to take advantage of our weakness and hasten the clan’s fall.
As Li contemplated the clan’s current predicament, he found himself suddenly slapped with a torrent of water. After recovering from the initial shock, Li looked in Fang’s general direction. And there he was beaming with satisfaction in the brook over 10 paces away, sword in hand.
“You bastard.” Yue screamed.
Fang simply laughed and pulled back his weapon. He dipped the bulk of the cleaver in the water and made a sweeping motion back towards Li and Yue creating another wave of water. The water was accelerated to deceptively high velocities due to his application of force chi to enhance the swing. Yue was ready for him this time however. She generated a wall of wind chi that redirected the wave of water back at Fang. The combined force of the water and Yue’s wind technique knocked Fang off his feet submerging him in the brook’s shallow waters.
Yue laughed.
Li flicked off a piece of the gnarlwood elk’s bark-like carapace off his shoulder with a sigh of irration. “You’re a child cousin Fa-.”
Li found himself smacked hard by a current of air. He went spinning and before he knew his face smacked hard into the dirt, dazed. It took a moment to realize what had happened. Yue had struck him with her own technique. But why? He was only a mortal realm cultivator. She wouldn’t have hit him with an attack that hard, only for her own amusement.
His head was spinning, but Li did his best to lift it up and look around. It was then that he came to realize what had happened.
The impact knocked him a clean fifteen paces away, on the other side of the stream for his own safety. For the predator had arrived to claim its wounded prey.

Hi Leon and Sasha,
I miss you guys so much. I hope that you are safe in Moscow. I think of you often. I hope that you and your mom (grandparents and Irina/Phil) are okay.
I hope you mom reads this to you. I hope that it helps you go to sleep. I will write more and post it for you to read.
Astral or Star Jelly is a real event/substance that has been found in all areas of the earth (please Wikipedia it). My friend performed a DNA analysis on a sample of Star Jelly, and the results were amazing. His group concluded that the sample mostly had mitochondrial-like DNA, but it was very different from anything reported (much longer and having possible different base pairs).
Astral/Star Jelly is often found after meteorite showers or other astral events. I found some when I was young (heavy Northern Lights and Meteor Shower event). I crafted the first chapter of a potential novel. Please give feedback. I am switching to google docs, so soon I will have links to my works.
Yes, Charlotte edited the chapter. She kept saying to keep it simple and direct. We hope to see you in Turkey this summer.
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Chapter 1
The Byproduct of Gods
with revisions by your favorite daughter
📷
Her owners had held her for so many lifetimes that the stream, which flowed, near her family’s hut was gone. The trees that provided fuel, housing, and food were missing, replaced by a prairie. After all the years of the concept of returning home keeping her going, she did not feel safe. There were no people near her village, and it took her days to unearth signs of her youth. She discovered the land that she had first walked on only because the mountain and stones did not move. As she cleaned the Blue Volga granite idol of her parents’ deity, she felt nothing. The blue-green face of the god looked sad to her. He also was no longer safe. His followers were dead and his power forgotten.
Her first owner was a traveler. They moved with each new moon. Her master felt safe but she failed to understand that her entourage plodded along a predictable path. After many decades, a tale of a demon woman who did not age traveled the same circuit. Finally, a village attacked the demon. Her second owner was the daughter of the woman who bought her. The daughter decided to build a fortress and to rule her fief. Her third owner was the daughter’s son who had grown tired of never gaining his birthright. His guilt and myopic greed caused him to sell her to an alchemist. From that point on, she was an item for trade or barter.
Her final master failed to return home. She remained in his caravan for a week, performing her duties. When she had eaten all the food, she felt justified using her knowledge to destroy her metal shackles. It took her five days to dissolve her bindings with her jellies.
She thought of the places that she had felt safe. Those havens were all underground. A magician made her live in the passages beneath Kyiv when he was being hunted. The tunnels funneled the 15 rivers of the city and protected inhabitants from invaders or punishing ruling forces. For twenty years, she had lived in the coquina catacombs of Odessa. A man who thought he was a seer was convinced that his power had attracted the attention of dragons and demons. No one could approach the lair unseen.
After a week of searching the now unfamiliar area, the woman began to carve her home from the soil of her childhood. She spent fifty years making her home safe. Only she would know the paths and twists of her underground world. Only she would know where the escape exits emerged into the surrounding world.
Eventually, her home attracted others. The woman could have chased them away, but she felt a need to observe people. When the fourth generations of villagers were aging to the grave, there was no hiding the fact that she had not died. The villagers erected a semi-circular wall around the entrance to the woman’s cave. The wall grew and the woman did not protest the separation.
Generations later, people whispered that the villagers maintained the defenses of their community to keep the woman away from the town’s children at night. In the tavern, each generation of gallant males would boast that they would be the one to remove the blight of the woman from the town. When she inevitably outlasted them, she would attend the funeral of the most vocal warrior from each age group.
Daily the woman would remove more soil from her dugout. The community would search her discarded diggings for possible minerals or stones. They did not share any discoveries with the woman. During times of blight or famine, the locals would collect her soil and remove it from the community.
People would peer around the wall to scan the woman’s home. As the village grew, a leader placed two chairs at endpoints of the semi-circle barrier. During full moons, periods of strife, festivals, and other social events, menacing men sat in the chairs. Infrequently, people tried to enter the woman’s home. Aside from the guards, it was the more distraught people of the village who visited her.. The most recent person to enter the woman’s home was a grieving widow. Her grief made her seek the woman to find answers about her loss. Three mornings later, the villagers found the widow in the public square with drapes of herbs, flowers, and crafts around her limbs. The people thought the widow was dead or mindless from torture. When the widow awoke, she went to her house and began the chores for the day. When pressed about the woman’s abode, the widow would state that the home was loved, clean, and well maintained.
On the spring day when the widow was about to remarry, she was again discovered in the square coated with ropes of herbs, flowers, and idols. The woman disappeared for a decade after the wedding, but the widow brought her newborns to the opening of the earthwork to declare their names into the sunken space.
The aging hamlet relaxed when the woman was away. There was a sense of freedom in the people. They did not fear the retribution of the woman for their actions, and parents could not correct their children with threats of giving them to the woman. At times, the leaders of the people would consider filling in the woman’s hovel, but shovels and spades would split if used to cover the opening of the woman’s home. One regretful man tried using a mule and cart to dump rocks into the fastness. The stones crushed the man after his own tram flipped over on him.
Although the townsfolk feared and despised the woman, she had free reign in the village. As an indicator that she was amongst the people, the woman would adorn her head with a dark purple scarf. No other members of the village would wear that color. They looked for it whenever the woman shopped at the market. The woman paid with old and foreign coins, but the merchants welcomed the precious metals they were composed of. During the dark days of winter, the people collected the woman’s tender and deposited it into a lead box. The villagers had a belief that the more people touched the woman’s currency, the longer the winter would be.
After the community fortified against the woman, religious leaders organized efforts to erect carved idols and large wagon-wheel hexes aimed at her home. Each generation attempted to counter the woman with the current symbols of spiritual protection. The largest structure in the village was now a church, and the threshold of the church was oriented to face the woman’s home.
The woman was home when Alyona began her schooling in the church. She had learned the fundamentals of math, reading, and writing. She knew that her coursework would end soon. The village expected girls to be useful to a limit. Her mother walked her only surviving child to school along a path that would prevent their shadow from falling close to the woman’s realm. The villagers performed this ritual after someone claimed that the woman had controlled their behavior by stealing their shadow.
Alyona was daydreaming during school of a life away from the village when the woman touched her. Alyona had spent the morning in the woods collecting mushrooms and other edibles. Her findings made for great, free additions to their usually simple meals. . On days that Alyona returned with a bounty, they shared the extras with neighbors. It was a wager that these people would remember the gift and provide Alyona’s home with food during lean days.
The person gripping Alyona twirled her body so that she faced the opposite direction. Alyona assumed the culprit was another student or a young assistant at the church. It could have been a boy attempting to bully her to get her attention. She lowered her right hand, preparing to use the back to slap the violator. Alyona’s willingness to confront her accoster left when she saw the face of the woman under her purple scarf. Alyona knew she should look away from the woman, but her eyes locked with the woman’s gaze. All the stories the Alyona heard about the town ghoul stated that the woman was so old that her skeleton was all that was left of her body. The woman’s youthful face surprised Alyona. There were no lines or furrows on the woman’s forehead. If anything, Alyona would have stated that the woman’s face glowed.
I can smell it on your hands. The woman placed Alyona’s fingers under her nose. The force of the drawn air startled Alyona. She thought that the woman had pulled the top layer of skin off her index finger. Alyona’s toes curled when the woman sampled her hand. Across a church aisle, one of the priests was herding schoolchildren. He spotted the two of them. His face darkened at the sight of their contact.
WHAT IS ON YOUR HANDS, ALYONA? The priest shouted over the children.
Nothing, Sir. The woman’s tongue darted over the tip of Alyona’s index finger. I was harvesting in the woods before class.
You touched more than growths and nuts this morning, Singleton Child of the Crying Matron. The woman chewed on her thumbnail.
Alyona did not like her mother being referred to in that way, but the eyes of the woman immobilized her. How could she react forcefully to a person who was savoring her hand?
She is mine today, priest. The woman held out her other hand to the shepherd of the church. I will pay her mother for occupying her child for the day, and she will be returned unsoiled and whole.
The priest brought a gurgle of protest up but was shut down quickly.
My tunnels are beneath your place of worship and the bedchambers of Mistress Blake, The women stomped on the ground, and I know all of what has occurred within your walls.
Alyona realized that she was screaming when her throat began to sear. She expected that the woman’s hole would be dark, but the home glowed. There were mirrors and reflective glasses positioned throughout the house to harness sun rays from many holes and entrances in the surface of the residence. Therefore, Alyona was able to see herself yelling on fifty surfaces.
Hush child. The woman touched her mouth. Do not be afraid of the manner in which I inspected you. It is a show for the people. I only want to talk about your morning, and then I will let you go with a full belly and money to buy many toys.
Alyona felt her utterances dwindle down to a wheeze that slipped out her lips.
You have the scent on your fingers, girl. The woman was now examining Alyona’s left hand. It is on both hands, so you must have found a huge source.
A source? Alyona wanted to look at her hands but she maintained her attention on the woman.
Sit. The woman pointed to a well-padded chair. Sit and I will return with small pies and honey.
Alyona hovered over the seat. She wanted to be strong and to stand, but then she smelt the pies. The chair was very soft. There were no pins, claws, or spines in the cushion like she feared.
Alyona. The voice of the woman wove through the tunnels of the underground network. Alyona felt her name circle around her. She had never been afraid of her name before. Alyona Pistan…daughter of Fiva and the missing soldier.
Alyona closed her fist and felt the pain of her nails digging into her palms.
Fiva lives off the salary that the Duke must pay for your father’s military service. Your mother knows that the Duke no longer wants to pay this burden.
Alyona wanted to speak but her throat stung from screaming.
Your father’s name is Bay. He earned this title because he would not stop speaking when he was a baby. Like a horse that always had an opinion, your father would squawk at everyone before he knew words. The voice was now coming directly towards Alyona. My first gift to you and Fiva is the information that your father lives. There was a pause in the woman’s words. An enemy does not enslave him; he is lost with the simpleton that led him away. One day a map will lead him home, child.
The woman emerged from a cutout with a basket laden with pies, a pot of honey, wooden utensils, and slices of ham. In her other hand, she held a bucket of colored water.
We will eat together. The woman placed the basket on Alyona’s lap and retrieved two cups. After you accept the first pie, I will tell you an important secret of mine.
I do not think I want to know any of your secrets Starly-Gradda.
The woman laughed and placed the small wooden spoon into the pie directly in front of Alyona.
Elder-grandmother, you call me. The woman dunked a cup into the water and held it in her left hand. I think that term is the nicest thing a child has called me in a lifetime.
Alyona brought the food to her lips. She smelt the mint, berries, and kasha. Gently she laid the pie onto her tongue. She did not chew; she only let it rest in her mouth. She expected that the food would burn or numb her. The taste was full and made her wish to spit the substance out because it was too good to be real.
Ah, she eats. The woman clapped her hands. I was your age when I saw my first god being born.
Alyona choked on the pie.
I was sitting by a riverbank when the god entered our place. The woman drank from her cup. It was a bright yellow fish with shiny scales. I saw it come from nothing to being here.
The woman snapped her fingers and Alyona swallowed her food.
No one prayed for its existence. No one was singing for it to bring salvation. The woman made circles with her hands in front of Alyona. As far as I know, simple fish do not worship gods, but a god came for the fish of that river.
The woman tapped Alyona’s hand to take another bite of pie.
It floated there. The woman held up her hands. Here I am…a young maiden…thinking a god or demon turned itself into this creature to seduce or corrupt me. Again, a chuckle came from the woman. No other god cared about this special fish. I think it was floating only because it did not realize that a fish should swim in water.
Alyona grabbed a slice of ham. It had been two months since she had meat that was not paste.
Eventually, the golden fish fell into the water and swam away. The woman pulled back her hood and revealed her full face to Alyona. I tried to follow it, but it swam away from shore, and I lost sight of it.
Alyona cleared her throat and licked her lips.
Girl, if you want a drink, just take it. The woman filled Alyona’s cup and handed it to her. The ham is not that salty, but I think your sore throat would improve if you drank.
Alyona sipped the water. It did not taste bitter. It did not smell foul. In fact, the water’s taste was a mixture of apples, roses, and plums.
I told my mother, and she whispered to my father that they needed to trade me into marriage now, before I became soft in the head. I did not want to marry at my age, so I told her that I would go find proof of my shiny golden fish. The woman used a toothpick to dollop out a portion of honey. There was nothing in the water when I returned. I waded in the cool stream. I put my head under the surface and looked at the rocks for the golden shimmer. I found nothing.
Alyona ate the ham.
I was weeping on the spot that I saw the god be born. My heart was full of dread. I started to believe that the shiny golden god was not real. I was so sad that I was quickly accepting that I would be married to an old man so that he would tolerate my problems. The woman tapped her top lip. I felt that my mother had no love for me. I thought that if the golden fish were my mother, it would love me just because that is what should be.
Alyona selected another pie. This pie contained spices and mashed nuts.
Your mother loves you. I listen to all the words spoken in this village. If a parent lacks love for their child, I correct them or have them leave. The woman did not form a fist. She turned her hand into a claw, the conviction in her words hanging in the air until she relaxed it. As all hope was gone, I put my hand down in the grass, and felt the substance.
The woman held her hand flat towards Alyona.
It was clear. It was squishy like the rendered bones of stock animals. It had a pleasant smell, but I was scared to taste it. The woman cupped her hands. I gathered this glob. I used the front of my dress to carry the material. When I believed that the last speck was contained in my clothing, I ran to my parents.
Alyona had felt something similar in the forest that morning.
My mother accused me of only finding the discarded waste of an animal. She threatened to smear it over my face. The woman moved the honey pot closer to Alyona. My father took me to the village shaman, and he looked at the material. They scraped the material off my clothes, but not around my breasts. The shaman thought it was bone waste from an owl, the eggs of a species of frog, a shell-less egg from a dying bird, a mushroom that was usually underground, or the spit of an evil spirit.
Alyona’s eyes widened.
Of course, something as amazing as what we found would be considered evil. The woman waved her hand. I have discovered many bundles and I have never seen the substance created by an evil thing.
No? Alonya asked, breaking her food-induced silence.
No, child. The woman touched the tip of Alyona’s nose. It is not to say that evil people and things are not interested in the substance, but the creation of it does not come from evil.
Alyona resumed consuming the luxurious treats.
The morning after I saw the god being born, people started to fall sick. The woman sighed. My mother blamed the god substance. It was hard for the village not to turn on me after my mother told them it was my fault. The woman’s shoulders lowered. I had not slept that night, and I did not clean after my discovery. They put me in a crate that only had three holes. My father fed me and still cared for me.
Alyona did not know how to react but to nod at the woman.
When my elder brother was close to death from the illness, my mother brought him to my crate. She told me that I would have to watch my brother die because I was an evil liar who unleashed a demon on the community. I could see him wither in pain from the openings in my prison. The woman moved a third pie in front of Alyona. The night my mother told me that my brother would die, my father talked to me. It was an act of rebellion against my mother, but he asked me if I knew what had happened. I cried to him about how this was not something I did. I pleaded with my dad that I would never make my brother suffer, and that the day watching him had crushed my will to live.
The woman tore a slice of ham into pieces and placed pieces of the meat on the floor of her keep.
My father and I wept. He told me that I was likely to die because of the sickness. The woman tapped the tray. Not that I was sick… or was likely to get sick, but because it would seem as justice to the people. I knew his words were true, but I could not think of anything else to say.
The third pie was berry and egg meringue. Alyona did not know that pies like this one existed.
I entered the crate in the dress I wore when I saw the god be born. The truth is that I only had that dress and a wedding dress. My mother kept the dress I would’ve worn to my wedding in a box near her bed. A cat approached the pieces of ham. My grandfather had given me the wedding dress when he died, but she took it from me. My father used what he received from his father to buy me the only special clothes I would have in my life. My father loved me, Alyona, just like yours.
The cat touched Alyona’s leg. It startled her, and she confirmed that the cat was not black.
We talked about the jelly I had found. My father told me that he had tried to burn it, thinking it was an odd piece of animal fat. The substance did not burn. My father then tried to crush it out of existence, but the material was soft, but not easily destroyed. The woman touched the center of her chest. My father’s words made me remember that there was still some of the jelly on my dress. I touched where they did not scrape, and there was a patch of the substance. I pinched the substance and it coated my fingers. It felt warm, but not hot.
Alyona was glad that the cat had returned to the ham.
My father grew angry. He was arguing with the air that if he were a real man, he would protect his daughter and revive his son. He was a good father. The woman showed Alyona a closed smile. He was crying because he knew he could do nothing. I was sore and battered from being in the crate. I felt so greasy and disgusting. I thought I was no longer the same girl that wandered in the meadows.
The woman offered to refill Alyona’s water cup.
For some reason, I brought the fingers I had used to touch the smear of the jelly that was on my dress to my mouth. The taste was tangy, but not foul. It was better than the food that my father had inserted into the holes in my crate. I sucked on it. With both hands, the woman rattled the basket. I felt so much better. It was amazing. I could not see it, but I felt my dry, cracked lips heal. My mind became clear. I knew what I had to do.
Alyona stopped eating to listen to the woman.
I asked my father to place my brother’s mouth in front of the biggest hole of my crate. He thought I was mad. He accused me of confessing that I pledged my soul to demons, but I told him that I felt different after praying to our god. The woman looked directly at Alyona. I rubbed my fingers on the same spot of my dress, and I placed them into my brother’s mouth. He was so weak that he did not respond to this action. I moved my fingers along his gums, his teeth, I even touched his tongue.
Alyona spoke to the woman. Was he healed right away?
The woman chuckled.
I like you Alyona, but you have the impatience of a child. The woman touched Alyona’s chin. It was not a sudden reversal, but he did not die. People died that night, but my brother lived. More importantly, he was the only person to get even slightly better. He was not running in the fields, talking to everyone better, but he was no longer crying in pain. His eyes were no longer looking like they would burst. Moreover, my father stopped crying for us.
I am glad. Alyona looked at the half-eaten pie. She wanted more of it, but she thought it would be rude to return to eating.
It was another day, another four deaths, before my father told the shaman that he thought I could heal the sick. They pulled me from the crate and inspected me. The women called for me to be stoned. The men wanted me burned. The shaman asked how my brother was alive, and how I was still in good health. The woman tapped her right temple. I knew I had to lie. I knew that I could not tell the truth. I had to convince these scared people that I was not dangerous.
The woman shuffled the half pie back to Alyona.
I fell in front of the shaman and shouted, ‘The Green Man came to me.’ I do not think you know the Green Man, child, but he was the god of the people before Christ came to the land. The woman pointed to a drawing of a large tree man. It matters not what god I said talked to me. I yelled that I knew that I did something wicked, but our god had forgiven me, and I was now able to cure the sickness that was killing the village.
Alyona returned to eating the pie.
They whipped me and bound me. I feared that they would burn my dress, so I yelled that the Green Man said that if I were to heal the village, I would need to be as I was when he forgave and blessed me. The woman opened her hands so that Alyona could see her palms. The oldest people would pray in this manner. They tied my legs together and only allowed my right arm to be free. However, that was all I needed to start to heal the people of my life.
Alyona finished her meal.
I would say our prayers; tell the people who were watching that the Green Man wanted everyone to close their eyes so that his healing ray could hit the person. The woman pulled her head backwards with a laugh. During this time, I would pull some of the jelly off my dress and stick the substance in the person’s mouth.
The woman laughed deeply.
What? Alyona asked.
I did not know that so many of my fellow villagers were missing teeth. Children of the people that always had food, had damaged and missing teeth. I was trapped and bored, so my mind began to guess how many disgusting teeth injuries each person would have.
Alyona shivered.
I thought the teeth were bad, but then it got worse. The woman looked upwards. It was on the third day of my healing that it happened for the first time. It was night, and the shaman had decided to blind me with a rag during the healing. Someone’s parents said that they did not want me to steal the soul of their child while I healed them. I placed my finger into a very small mouth, and everything was different. I did not feel a tingle from treating a person with the substance. I sang our songs to Green Man and rubbed jelly over my right fingers. I had planned to give the infant as much of the stuff as I could. The woman covered her eyes. The tiny body jumped, but there was still no response.
Why? Alyona wanted to know.
The baby was dead. I did not know if the god-gift could bring life back to a person. I was scared that if I did not return this child alive to their parents, I would be killed. The woman bobbed her head to the ceiling of her cave home. I kept doing it for a long time. I replenished the coating of my fingers four times, but still there was no living response. I finally shouted into the air. I faked arguing with the Green Man. I begged him to give me the infant. I spoke words that no one had ever heard in an odd voice that I thought would sound like the Green Man. This battle went on for minutes until I asked if whoever brought this child to me would allow the Green Man to have the special child live with him. I am not sure if the parents knew that their baby had died. I am uncertain if the parents wanted me to do something that I thought was evil, but a male voice eventually responded that it would be an honor if his young son joined the hunters of the Green Man.
Alyona gasped.
I spoke in my fake Green Man’s voice that the parents of his new hunter would be honored with a new child by the next spring. I informed the parents that they would find gifts for the next year. The woman rocked her head so that she was looking at the floor. They brought me five more dead people to heal, but no more deceased children. I did not make a fuss over the dead adults. I stated that the Green Man blamed the family for their death. If they truly believed in the power of the Green Man, they would have brought their loved ones to me before the sickness took them.
Alyona nodded her head.
On the fifth day, my fingers were raw. My nails felt like they were growing too fast. I guess I was healing and benefiting from the jelly, but I was placing the same fingers into people’s mouths most of the day. The worst problem was that my dress was getting dry. The woman traced her lips with her right index finger. I think my father was watching me. I think he saw me searching desperately on my dress for any of the substance. I believe this because he brought me fresh peas to eat that night. In the third pea he gave me, the pod was full of the jelly.
Did your village love you for healing everyone after those days? Alyona smiled at the woman.
No. The woman patted the girl’s forehead. They kept me in the crate. There was no joy for me after I found the jelly.
You saved them.
The woman breathed deeply.
I said that the Green Man had used me to save them. I was nothing but a tarnished girl who may have the power to harm or make people ill. The woman turned her head to the side.
Did your father and brother free you from the crate? Alyona looked hopefully at the woman.
No child, the town folk dispatched the shaman with me in that wooden prison out into the world to purge the town of my evil. He threatened to kill me daily. He attempted to abandon me at every opportunity. The woman cupped her hand in front of Alyona. When I sensed a second source of the god jelly, he was able to sell me to a person.
No! Alyona did not know if it was a spell, but she was extending her hand towards the woman.
The sum was so great that my parents and brother lived well. The woman clapped each hand separately. That was after the shaman took his share of my bounty and spent more money on food, drink, and women on the trip home.
That’s…..
That is life, my special girl. The woman grabbed her hand and they stood up. The woman led the pair through tunnels and caverns. Eventually, the woman pulled her through a blanket of vines that concealed an exit to her labyrinth.
Your forest, Alyona. The woman gestured to the glade Alyona crossed to enter the woods.
Alyona pulled her hand away from the woman and pulled her hair back.
I am not sure what you want me to find. Alyona looked up to the woman. She received a smile.
I have never told anyone this before, the woman stuck her tongue out to Alyona, when I first touched the jelly, I felt that there were ants under my skin. It was the power of the jelly moving through me. It was such an odd feeling that I thought it was a sign of madness.
Alyona lowered her head. I felt something like that. I thought it was worms latching onto me from the peat.
That is the place, little one. Take me there.
Alyona was about to step forward when the woman asked her another question.
What color was the substance you touched today?
It was not one color, ma’am. Alyona moved her hand down to her legs. She brushed unseen but felt passengers from her body. I grabbed it first because I thought it was rose root. My mother could turn the flower into medicine to sell or trade. Alyona knelt and touched the ground. Except that the flower was so low to the ground and it was not the red or yellow flower I normally pick. They were violet with orange centers.
They did not feel like flowers.
No. Alyona pulled her hand away from the ground. They stuck to me like honey.

Astral or Star Jelly is a real event/substance that has been found in all areas of the earth (please Wikipedia it). My friend performed a DNA analysis on a sample of Star Jelly, and the results were amazing. His group concluded that the sample mostly had mitochondrial-like DNA, but it was very different from anything reported (much longer and having possible different base pairs).
Astral/Star Jelly is often found after meteorite showers or other astral events. I found some when I was young (heavy Northern Lights and Meteor Shower event). I crafted the first chapter of a potential novel. Please give feedback. I am switching to google docs, so soon I will have links to my works.
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Chapter 1
The Byproduct of Gods
Her owners had held her for so many lifetimes that the stream, which flowed, near her family’s hut was gone. The trees that provided fuel, housing, and food were missing, replaced by a prairie. After all the years of the concept of returning home keeping her going, she did not feel safe. There were no people near her village, and it took her days to unearth signs of her youth. She discovered the land that she had first walked on only because the mountain and stones did not move. As she cleaned the Blue Volga granite idol of her parents’ deity, she felt nothing. The blue-green face of the god looked sad to her. He also was no longer safe. His followers were dead and his power forgotten.
Her first owner was a traveler. They moved with each new moon. Her master felt safe but she failed to understand that her entourage plodded along a predictable path. After many decades, a tale of a demon woman who did not age traveled the same circuit. Finally, a village attacked the demon. Her second owner was the daughter of the woman who bought her. The daughter decided to build a fortress and to rule her fief. Her third owner was the daughter’s son who had grown tired of never gaining his birthright. His guilt and myopic greed caused him to sell her to an alchemist. From that point on, she was an item for trade or barter.
Her final master failed to return home. She remained in his caravan for a week, performing her duties. When she had eaten all the food, she felt justified using her knowledge to destroy her metal shackles. It took her five days to dissolve her bindings with her jellies.
She thought of the places that she had felt safe. Those havens were all underground. A magician made her live in the passages beneath Kyiv when he was being hunted. The tunnels funneled the 15 rivers of the city and protected inhabitants from invaders or punishing ruling forces. For twenty years, she had lived in the coquina catacombs of Odessa. A man who thought he was a seer was convinced that his power had attracted the attention of dragons and demons. No one could approach the lair unseen.
After a week of searching the now unfamiliar area, the woman began to carve her home from the soil of her childhood. She spent fifty years making her home safe. Only she would know the paths and twists of her underground world. Only she would know where the escape exits emerged into the surrounding world.
Eventually, her home attracted others. The woman could have chased them away, but she felt a need to observe people. When the fourth generations of villagers were aging to the grave, there was no hiding the fact that she had not died. The villagers erected a semi-circular wall around the entrance to the woman’s cave. The wall grew and the woman did not protest the separation.
Generations later, people whispered that the villagers maintained the defenses of their community to keep the woman away from the town’s children at night. In the tavern, each generation of gallant males would boast that they would be the one to remove the blight of the woman from the town. When she inevitably outlasted them, she would attend the funeral of the most vocal warrior from each age group.
Daily the woman would remove more soil from her dugout. The community would search her discarded diggings for possible minerals or stones. They did not share any discoveries with the woman. During times of blight or famine, the locals would collect her soil and remove it from the community.
People would peer around the wall to scan the woman’s home. As the village grew, a leader placed two chairs at endpoints of the semi-circle barrier. During full moons, periods of strife, festivals, and other social events, menacing men sat in the chairs. Infrequently, people tried to enter the woman’s home. Aside from the guards, it was the more distraught people of the village who visited her.. The most recent person to enter the woman’s home was a grieving widow. Her grief made her seek the woman to find answers about her loss. Three mornings later, the villagers found the widow in the public square with drapes of herbs, flowers, and crafts around her limbs. The people thought the widow was dead or mindless from torture. When the widow awoke, she went to her house and began the chores for the day. When pressed about the woman’s abode, the widow would state that the home was loved, clean, and well maintained.
On the spring day when the widow was about to remarry, she was again discovered in the square coated with ropes of herbs, flowers, and idols. The woman disappeared for a decade after the wedding, but the widow brought her newborns to the opening of the earthwork to declare their names into the sunken space.
The aging hamlet relaxed when the woman was away. There was a sense of freedom in the people. They did not fear the retribution of the woman for their actions, and parents could not correct their children with threats of giving them to the woman. At times, the leaders of the people would consider filling in the woman’s hovel, but shovels and spades would split if used to cover the opening of the woman’s home. One regretful man tried using a mule and cart to dump rocks into the fastness. The stones crushed the man after his own tram flipped over on him.
Although the townsfolk feared and despised the woman, she had free reign in the village. As an indicator that she was amongst the people, the woman would adorn her head with a dark purple scarf. No other members of the village would wear that color. They looked for it whenever the woman shopped at the market. The woman paid with old and foreign coins, but the merchants welcomed the precious metals they were composed of. During the dark days of winter, the people collected the woman’s tender and deposited it into a lead box. The villagers had a belief that the more people touched the woman’s currency, the longer the winter would be.
After the community fortified against the woman, religious leaders organized efforts to erect carved idols and large wagon-wheel hexes aimed at her home. Each generation attempted to counter the woman with the current symbols of spiritual protection. The largest structure in the village was now a church, and the threshold of the church was oriented to face the woman’s home.
The woman was home when Alyona began her schooling in the church. She had learned the fundamentals of math, reading, and writing. She knew that her coursework would end soon. The village expected girls to be useful to a limit. Her mother walked her only surviving child to school along a path that would prevent their shadow from falling close to the woman’s realm. The villagers performed this ritual after someone claimed that the woman had controlled their behavior by stealing their shadow.
Alyona was daydreaming during school of a life away from the village when the woman touched her. Alyona had spent the morning in the woods collecting mushrooms and other edibles. Her findings made for great, free additions to their usually simple meals. . On days that Alyona returned with a bounty, they shared the extras with neighbors. It was a wager that these people would remember the gift and provide Alyona’s home with food during lean days.
The person gripping Alyona twirled her body so that she faced the opposite direction. Alyona assumed the culprit was another student or a young assistant at the church. It could have been a boy attempting to bully her to get her attention. She lowered her right hand, preparing to use the back to slap the violator. Alyona’s willingness to confront her accoster left when she saw the face of the woman under her purple scarf. Alyona knew she should look away from the woman, but her eyes locked with the woman’s gaze. All the stories the Alyona heard about the town ghoul stated that the woman was so old that her skeleton was all that was left of her body. The woman’s youthful face surprised Alyona. There were no lines or furrows on the woman’s forehead. If anything, Alyona would have stated that the woman’s face glowed.
I can smell it on your hands. The woman placed Alyona’s fingers under her nose. The force of the drawn air startled Alyona. She thought that the woman had pulled the top layer of skin off her index finger. Alyona’s toes curled when the woman sampled her hand. Across a church aisle, one of the priests was herding schoolchildren. He spotted the two of them. His face darkened at the sight of their contact.
WHAT IS ON YOUR HANDS, ALYONA? The priest shouted over the children.
Nothing, Sir. The woman’s tongue darted over the tip of Alyona’s index finger. I was harvesting in the woods before class.
You touched more than growths and nuts this morning, Singleton Child of the Crying Matron. The woman chewed on her thumbnail.
Alyona did not like her mother being referred to in that way, but the eyes of the woman immobilized her. How could she react forcefully to a person who was savoring her hand?
She is mine today, priest. The woman held out her other hand to the shepherd of the church. I will pay her mother for occupying her child for the day, and she will be returned unsoiled and whole.
The priest brought a gurgle of protest up but was shut down quickly.
My tunnels are beneath your place of worship and the bedchambers of Mistress Blake, The women stomped on the ground, and I know all of what has occurred within your walls.
Alyona realized that she was screaming when her throat began to sear. She expected that the woman’s hole would be dark, but the home glowed. There were mirrors and reflective glasses positioned throughout the house to harness sun rays from many holes and entrances in the surface of the residence. Therefore, Alyona was able to see herself yelling on fifty surfaces.
Hush child. The woman touched her mouth. Do not be afraid of the manner in which I inspected you. It is a show for the people. I only want to talk about your morning, and then I will let you go with a full belly and money to buy many toys.
Alyona felt her utterances dwindle down to a wheeze that slipped out her lips.
You have the scent on your fingers, girl. The woman was now examining Alyona’s left hand. It is on both hands, so you must have found a huge source.
A source? Alyona wanted to look at her hands but she maintained her attention on the woman.
Sit. The woman pointed to a well-padded chair. Sit and I will return with small pies and honey.
Alyona hovered over the seat. She wanted to be strong and to stand, but then she smelt the pies. The chair was very soft. There were no pins, claws, or spines in the cushion like she feared.
Alyona. The voice of the woman wove through the tunnels of the underground network. Alyona felt her name circle around her. She had never been afraid of her name before. Alyona Pistan…daughter of Fiva and the missing soldier.
Alyona closed her fist and felt the pain of her nails digging into her palms.
Fiva lives off the salary that the Duke must pay for your father’s military service. Your mother knows that the Duke no longer wants to pay this burden.
Alyona wanted to speak but her throat stung from screaming.
Your father’s name is Bay. He earned this title because he would not stop speaking when he was a baby. Like a horse that always had an opinion, your father would squawk at everyone before he knew words. The voice was now coming directly towards Alyona. My first gift to you and Fiva is the information that your father lives. There was a pause in the woman’s words. An enemy does not enslave him; he is lost with the simpleton that led him away. One day a map will lead him home, child.
The woman emerged from a cutout with a basket laden with pies, a pot of honey, wooden utensils, and slices of ham. In her other hand, she held a bucket of colored water.
We will eat together. The woman placed the basket on Alyona’s lap and retrieved two cups. After you accept the first pie, I will tell you an important secret of mine.
I do not think I want to know any of your secrets Starly-Gradda.
The woman laughed and placed the small wooden spoon into the pie directly in front of Alyona.
Elder-grandmother, you call me. The woman dunked a cup into the water and held it in her left hand. I think that term is the nicest thing a child has called me in a lifetime.
Alyona brought the food to her lips. She smelt the mint, berries, and kasha. Gently she laid the pie onto her tongue. She did not chew; she only let it rest in her mouth. She expected that the food would burn or numb her. The taste was full and made her wish to spit the substance out because it was too good to be real.
Ah, she eats. The woman clapped her hands. I was your age when I saw my first god being born.
Alyona choked on the pie.
I was sitting by a riverbank when the god entered our place. The woman drank from her cup. It was a bright yellow fish with shiny scales. I saw it come from nothing to being here.
The woman snapped her fingers and Alyona swallowed her food.
No one prayed for its existence. No one was singing for it to bring salvation. The woman made circles with her hands in front of Alyona. As far as I know, simple fish do not worship gods, but a god came for the fish of that river.
The woman tapped Alyona’s hand to take another bite of pie.
It floated there. The woman held up her hands. Here I am…a young maiden…thinking a god or demon turned itself into this creature to seduce or corrupt me. Again, a chuckle came from the woman. No other god cared about this special fish. I think it was floating only because it did not realize that a fish should swim in water.
Alyona grabbed a slice of ham. It had been two months since she had meat that was not paste.
Eventually, the golden fish fell into the water and swam away. The woman pulled back her hood and revealed her full face to Alyona. I tried to follow it, but it swam away from shore, and I lost sight of it.
Alyona cleared her throat and licked her lips.
Girl, if you want a drink, just take it. The woman filled Alyona’s cup and handed it to her. The ham is not that salty, but I think your sore throat would improve if you drank.
Alyona sipped the water. It did not taste bitter. It did not smell foul. In fact, the water’s taste was a mixture of apples, roses, and plums.
I told my mother, and she whispered to my father that they needed to trade me into marriage now, before I became soft in the head. I did not want to marry at my age, so I told her that I would go find proof of my shiny golden fish. The woman used a toothpick to dollop out a portion of honey. There was nothing in the water when I returned. I waded in the cool stream. I put my head under the surface and looked at the rocks for the golden shimmer. I found nothing.
Alyona ate the ham.
I was weeping on the spot that I saw the god be born. My heart was full of dread. I started to believe that the shiny golden god was not real. I was so sad that I was quickly accepting that I would be married to an old man so that he would tolerate my problems. The woman tapped her top lip. I felt that my mother had no love for me. I thought that if the golden fish were my mother, it would love me just because that is what should be.
Alyona selected another pie. This pie contained spices and mashed nuts.
Your mother loves you. I listen to all the words spoken in this village. If a parent lacks love for their child, I correct them or have them leave. The woman did not form a fist. She turned her hand into a claw, the conviction in her words hanging in the air until she relaxed it. As all hope was gone, I put my hand down in the grass, and felt the substance.
The woman held her hand flat towards Alyona.
It was clear. It was squishy like the rendered bones of stock animals. It had a pleasant smell, but I was scared to taste it. The woman cupped her hands. I gathered this glob. I used the front of my dress to carry the material. When I believed that the last speck was contained in my clothing, I ran to my parents.
Alyona had felt something similar in the forest that morning.
My mother accused me of only finding the discarded waste of an animal. She threatened to smear it over my face. The woman moved the honey pot closer to Alyona. My father took me to the village shaman, and he looked at the material. They scraped the material off my clothes, but not around my breasts. The shaman thought it was bone waste from an owl, the eggs of a species of frog, a shell-less egg from a dying bird, a mushroom that was usually underground, or the spit of an evil spirit.
Alyona’s eyes widened.
Of course, something as amazing as what we found would be considered evil. The woman waved her hand. I have discovered many bundles and I have never seen the substance created by an evil thing.
No? Alonya asked, breaking her food-induced silence.
No, child. The woman touched the tip of Alyona’s nose. It is not to say that evil people and things are not interested in the substance, but the creation of it does not come from evil.
Alyona resumed consuming the luxurious treats.
The morning after I saw the god being born, people started to fall sick. The woman sighed. My mother blamed the god substance. It was hard for the village not to turn on me after my mother told them it was my fault. The woman’s shoulders lowered. I had not slept that night, and I did not clean after my discovery. They put me in a crate that only had three holes. My father fed me and still cared for me.
Alyona did not know how to react but to nod at the woman.
When my elder brother was close to death from the illness, my mother brought him to my crate. She told me that I would have to watch my brother die because I was an evil liar who unleashed a demon on the community. I could see him wither in pain from the openings in my prison. The woman moved a third pie in front of Alyona. The night my mother told me that my brother would die, my father talked to me. It was an act of rebellion against my mother, but he asked me if I knew what had happened. I cried to him about how this was not something I did. I pleaded with my dad that I would never make my brother suffer, and that the day watching him had crushed my will to live.
The woman tore a slice of ham into pieces and placed pieces of the meat on the floor of her keep.
My father and I wept. He told me that I was likely to die because of the sickness. The woman tapped the tray. Not that I was sick… or was likely to get sick, but because it would seem as justice to the people. I knew his words were true, but I could not think of anything else to say.
The third pie was berry and egg meringue. Alyona did not know that pies like this one existed.
I entered the crate in the dress I wore when I saw the god be born. The truth is that I only had that dress and a wedding dress. My mother kept the dress I would’ve worn to my wedding in a box near her bed. A cat approached the pieces of ham. My grandfather had given me the wedding dress when he died, but she took it from me. My father used what he received from his father to buy me the only special clothes I would have in my life. My father loved me, Alyona, just like yours.
The cat touched Alyona’s leg. It startled her, and she confirmed that the cat was not black.
We talked about the jelly I had found. My father told me that he had tried to burn it, thinking it was an odd piece of animal fat. The substance did not burn. My father then tried to crush it out of existence, but the material was soft, but not easily destroyed. The woman touched the center of her chest. My father’s words made me remember that there was still some of the jelly on my dress. I touched where they did not scrape, and there was a patch of the substance. I pinched the substance and it coated my fingers. It felt warm, but not hot.
Alyona was glad that the cat had returned to the ham.
My father grew angry. He was arguing with the air that if he were a real man, he would protect his daughter and revive his son. He was a good father. The woman showed Alyona a closed smile. He was crying because he knew he could do nothing. I was sore and battered from being in the crate. I felt so greasy and disgusting. I thought I was no longer the same girl that wandered in the meadows.
The woman offered to refill Alyona’s water cup.
For some reason, I brought the fingers I had used to touch the smear of the jelly that was on my dress to my mouth. The taste was tangy, but not foul. It was better than the food that my father had inserted into the holes in my crate. I sucked on it. With both hands, the woman rattled the basket. I felt so much better. It was amazing. I could not see it, but I felt my dry, cracked lips heal. My mind became clear. I knew what I had to do.
Alyona stopped eating to listen to the woman.
I asked my father to place my brother’s mouth in front of the biggest hole of my crate. He thought I was mad. He accused me of confessing that I pledged my soul to demons, but I told him that I felt different after praying to our god. The woman looked directly at Alyona. I rubbed my fingers on the same spot of my dress, and I placed them into my brother’s mouth. He was so weak that he did not respond to this action. I moved my fingers along his gums, his teeth, I even touched his tongue.
Alyona spoke to the woman. Was he healed right away?
The woman chuckled.
I like you Alyona, but you have the impatience of a child. The woman touched Alyona’s chin. It was not a sudden reversal, but he did not die. People died that night, but my brother lived. More importantly, he was the only person to get even slightly better. He was not running in the fields, talking to everyone better, but he was no longer crying in pain. His eyes were no longer looking like they would burst. Moreover, my father stopped crying for us.
I am glad. Alyona looked at the half-eaten pie. She wanted more of it, but she thought it would be rude to return to eating.
It was another day, another four deaths, before my father told the shaman that he thought I could heal the sick. They pulled me from the crate and inspected me. The women called for me to be stoned. The men wanted me burned. The shaman asked how my brother was alive, and how I was still in good health. The woman tapped her right temple. I knew I had to lie. I knew that I could not tell the truth. I had to convince these scared people that I was not dangerous.
The woman shuffled the half pie back to Alyona.
I fell in front of the shaman and shouted, ‘The Green Man came to me.’ I do not think you know the Green Man, child, but he was the god of the people before Christ came to the land. The woman pointed to a drawing of a large tree man. It matters not what god I said talked to me. I yelled that I knew that I did something wicked, but our god had forgiven me, and I was now able to cure the sickness that was killing the village.
Alyona returned to eating the pie.
They whipped me and bound me. I feared that they would burn my dress, so I yelled that the Green Man said that if I were to heal the village, I would need to be as I was when he forgave and blessed me. The woman opened her hands so that Alyona could see her palms. The oldest people would pray in this manner. They tied my legs together and only allowed my right arm to be free. However, that was all I needed to start to heal the people of my life.
Alyona finished her meal.
I would say our prayers; tell the people who were watching that the Green Man wanted everyone to close their eyes so that his healing ray could hit the person. The woman pulled her head backwards with a laugh. During this time, I would pull some of the jelly off my dress and stick the substance in the person’s mouth.
The woman laughed deeply.
What? Alyona asked.
I did not know that so many of my fellow villagers were missing teeth. Children of the people that always had food, had damaged and missing teeth. I was trapped and bored, so my mind began to guess how many disgusting teeth injuries each person would have.
Alyona shivered.
I thought the teeth were bad, but then it got worse. The woman looked upwards. It was on the third day of my healing that it happened for the first time. It was night, and the shaman had decided to blind me with a rag during the healing. Someone’s parents said that they did not want me to steal the soul of their child while I healed them. I placed my finger into a very small mouth, and everything was different. I did not feel a tingle from treating a person with the substance. I sang our songs to Green Man and rubbed jelly over my right fingers. I had planned to give the infant as much of the stuff as I could. The woman covered her eyes. The tiny body jumped, but there was still no response.
Why? Alyona wanted to know.
The baby was dead. I did not know if the god-gift could bring life back to a person. I was scared that if I did not return this child alive to their parents, I would be killed. The woman bobbed her head to the ceiling of her cave home. I kept doing it for a long time. I replenished the coating of my fingers four times, but still there was no living response. I finally shouted into the air. I faked arguing with the Green Man. I begged him to give me the infant. I spoke words that no one had ever heard in an odd voice that I thought would sound like the Green Man. This battle went on for minutes until I asked if whoever brought this child to me would allow the Green Man to have the special child live with him. I am not sure if the parents knew that their baby had died. I am uncertain if the parents wanted me to do something that I thought was evil, but a male voice eventually responded that it would be an honor if his young son joined the hunters of the Green Man.
Alyona gasped.
I spoke in my fake Green Man’s voice that the parents of his new hunter would be honored with a new child by the next spring. I informed the parents that they would find gifts for the next year. The woman rocked her head so that she was looking at the floor. They brought me five more dead people to heal, but no more deceased children. I did not make a fuss over the dead adults. I stated that the Green Man blamed the family for their death. If they truly believed in the power of the Green Man, they would have brought their loved ones to me before the sickness took them.
Alyona nodded her head.
On the fifth day, my fingers were raw. My nails felt like they were growing too fast. I guess I was healing and benefiting from the jelly, but I was placing the same fingers into people’s mouths most of the day. The worst problem was that my dress was getting dry. The woman traced her lips with her right index finger. I think my father was watching me. I think he saw me searching desperately on my dress for any of the substance. I believe this because he brought me fresh peas to eat that night. In the third pea he gave me, the pod was full of the jelly.
Did your village love you for healing everyone after those days? Alyona smiled at the woman.
No. The woman patted the girl’s forehead. They kept me in the crate. There was no joy for me after I found the jelly.
You saved them.
The woman breathed deeply.
I said that the Green Man had used me to save them. I was nothing but a tarnished girl who may have the power to harm or make people ill. The woman turned her head to the side.
Did your father and brother free you from the crate? Alyona looked hopefully at the woman.
No child, the town folk dispatched the shaman with me in that wooden prison out into the world to purge the town of my evil. He threatened to kill me daily. He attempted to abandon me at every opportunity. The woman cupped her hand in front of Alyona. When I sensed a second source of the god jelly, he was able to sell me to a person.
No! Alyona did not know if it was a spell, but she was extending her hand towards the woman.
The sum was so great that my parents and brother lived well. The woman clapped each hand separately. That was after the shaman took his share of my bounty and spent more money on food, drink, and women on the trip home.
That’s…..
That is life, my special girl. The woman grabbed her hand and they stood up. The woman led the pair through tunnels and caverns. Eventually, the woman pulled her through a blanket of vines that concealed an exit to her labyrinth.
Your forest, Alyona. The woman gestured to the glade Alyona crossed to enter the woods.
Alyona pulled her hand away from the woman and pulled her hair back.
I am not sure what you want me to find. Alyona looked up to the woman. She received a smile.
I have never told anyone this before, the woman stuck her tongue out to Alyona, when I first touched the jelly, I felt that there were ants under my skin. It was the power of the jelly moving through me. It was such an odd feeling that I thought it was a sign of madness.
Alyona lowered her head. I felt something like that. I thought it was worms latching onto me from the peat.
That is the place, little one. Take me there.
Alyona was about to step forward when the woman asked her another question.
What color was the substance you touched today?
It was not one color, ma’am. Alyona moved her hand down to her legs. She brushed unseen but felt passengers from her body. I grabbed it first because I thought it was rose root. My mother could turn the flower into medicine to sell or trade. Alyona knelt and touched the ground. Except that the flower was so low to the ground and it was not the red or yellow flower I normally pick. They were violet with orange centers.
They did not feel like flowers.
No. Alyona pulled her hand away from the ground. They stuck to me like honey.

Had a major hailstorm in TX and long story short, my car (2018 toyota camry le, 33k miles, perfectly good condition before the event occurred) got rocked to oblivion. Rear windshield completely shattered, it most likely needs a new roof and hood replacements. etc. (I will add pictures if it would help but picture it for right now please)
The insurance gave me an estimate repair of around $6k, to which multiple parties said it wouldn't be enough for the damage and it would most likely be more or considered a total loss once it goes to a body shop and the real estimate for repairs come in.
I really want to repair it if its even possible because the value of a new camry these days are astronomical and I got this car for a pretty good deal back in 2020, so I don't want to let it go if I can help it.
The guy I spoke to said a total loss in my case would be a "win" because I'd get a pretty good payout but idk if it would be good enough for me to buy a new car type of win. Im looking at all sorts of similar car values and some are giving me 17-18k while the guy said I might be able to get higher than that.
My question is, should I just give it to a repair shop, see what they have to say first and if the total estimate from them isn't too high to the point where the insurance actually approves of it and let it proceed from there on?
The car still has about 5k left of loan, so in the event of a total loss call, should i pay it off to get the full value or what do i do? Im new to all this and just trying to figure it out along the way. Please be nice to me if you can help it 🥹

Is anyone interested in critiquing the first chapter of my planned cultivation fantasy series. Sort of an alpha reader? it's less than 1800 words. I want to get several people's opinions of my prose before I write more chapters.
“I can’t wait to eat it.” Gong Li salivated over his next meal. Which was unfortunate, on account of the fact that it wasn’t dead yet.
Over 30 paces away from where he hid was a gnarlwood elk, its hind quarters marked by significant scarring that almost resembled burn marks. Presumably from a recent run in with a predator.
The gnarlwood elk was a truly majestic spirit beast that naturally cultivated the aspect of wood. And as was typically the case for spirit beasts, the path of its cultivation expressed itself in its unique physiology. The creature’s skin was the color of smooth, deep brown bark. It had fur like a normal elk, but it was green and looked more like moss that covered little of the lower half of the beast’s body. The elk sported massive antlers that more closely resembled gnarled tree branches, hence its namesake, with large flower buds growing out from it. Those flower buds were more than mere decoration, however. When opened, they would produce a pollen like substance. When exposed to it, a potential predator would experience severe irritation in its eyes and respiratory system. Also, the beast was about the size of a draft horse.
Li licked his lips in anticipation. “Mhm wood chi infused venison. My meat and veggies all in one bite.”
The Gnarlwood Elk stood cautiously in a clearing in the forest. It drank from a nearby brook, occasionally scanning the area for any signs of predators.
But Gong Li’s next meal wouldn’t find him. He had been on hunts before, but this was the first time he was permitted to join in on the hunt of a spirit beast. Such a thing would normally be too dangerous for someone of his cultivation and he was not expected to take part in the hunt itself. But the important thing was that the spirit beast didn’t notice him. This was an opportunity for Li to demonstrate his ability to suppress his spiritual power. What little he had as a mortal realm cultivator, anyway. Failing to do so might cost him and others their lives the elders of his clan told him. So he was sent on this hunt alongside his cousin Gong Fang and his team of beast hunters to prove his worth.
“Ready”, whispered the man himself in the bushes on Gong Li’s left. Gong Fang sported wild, spiky black hair that shimmered in the noonday sun with oil. His lean corded muscles clearly visible, as he wasn’t wearing a shirt. They bulged as if ready to rip out of his skin as he prepared himself for the hunt.
“Ready,” To Gong Fang’s own left was a woman. Gong Yue was built tall but slender. She shared the tanned complexion that most of the Gong Clan sported, which contrasted nicely with her short, silver hair. After a brief flash of light surrounded her uplifted hands, a wooden bow with a dark blue stone above the grip appeared in her grasp.
“Fire,” Gong Fang catapulted himself out of his hiding spot and into the clearing keeping up a storm of dirt and grass as he went. Gong Yue summoned an updraft, allowing her to take flight and break off small tree branches. As she knocked her arrow, the dark blue stone socketed into her bow’s limbs glowed with sparks of lightning inside. The sparks made their way to the bow proper, and Gong Li could smell the faint hint of ozone in the air.
The beast immediately knew something was wrong, but it was too late. Just as the gnarlwood elk popped its head back up, the arrow struck its neck. The beast reeled.
Gong Fang continued his charge, summoning a massive curved cleaver from his storage ring.
Gong Li watched as the beast struggled to get back on its feet, but the electrical current from the arrow had overloaded its nervous system. It violently flung mud into the air as Gong Yue fired another arrow into its flank.
As he closed in Gong Fang launched himself over ten paces into the air. He came down on the creature’s neck hard; The weight of the sword, his body and his technique. Together they easily cleaved through the base of the creature's neck. Gore sputtered out from the elk’s body and onto Fang but he jumped away from his fallen prey before the flower buds on the antlers blossomed. The beauty of the vibrant yellow petals were marred by the red gore that now covered them.
Fang was grinning. Grinning with the mischievous glee like a kid in an abandoned candy shop.
“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about.” Fang triumphed over his kill. His enthusiasm was contagious. Li couldn’t help but cheer as well, despite the gory scene.
As Li and Yue caught up to Fang, Yue generated a current of air around them. The current, shaped like a dome, would keep the pollen from the flowers from getting to them.
Fang looked down at Li was a few finger widths shorter. “so little cousin tell me what you think of our technique?”
“Your methods are solid. Yue using lightning to paralyze the target, which gives you time to close the distance and quickly deliver a killing blow. I initially wondered why you use a cleaver instead of a spear as a melee hunting weapon, but now I see the logic of it. Cooks typically use cleavers to cut through bone and thick meat. However, a cleaver style sword can also be an effective way of killing an enemy quickly if you have the strength and precision to wield it. If you attempted to pierce the large Grade 2 beast’s neck with a spear and raw strength alone, it wouldn’t have guaranteed a kill. Given the strong hide and healing factor of the target. But by using force chi, you can apply greater kinetic energy and wield a heavier weapon.”
Fang grinned and looked towards Yue. “Told you he was a smart one.”
“Do you use this strategy against all your targets?” Li asked.
“No. Different prey calls for different methods. Although this is the strategy we use most often. We specialize in hunting large herbivores. That’s what sells the best prices on the market, anyway. They’re also the main course for the most profitable dishes of the clan owned restaurant. Also you’d be amazed what a pair of testicles from just about any large spirit beast would go for.
Li raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Spirit beast testicles?”
Yue interjected. “Many people think the testicles of large spirit beasts make for a potent aphrodisiac and may even increase fertility. There’s not much evidence to support the claim, but who am I to deny a fool so eager to part with his money?”
Fang barked a laugh. “Especially if it’s lining my pockets, eh.”
“We should get moving now,” Yue started scanning the area. “The scars on the elk may look old, but wood aspected beasts have an especially efficient healing factor. The creature that gave it those wounds could be nearby.
“Alright then, just give me five minutes to clean my sword and wash the blood off in the brook.
As Fang made his way to the brook Li turned towards Yue. “I was wondering, cousin Yue. Why use a bow with a lightning aspected beast core instead of cultivating it yourself? It would seem like the perfect fit to supplement your wind path.”
Yue shook her head, “Well, for one, the lightning aspect is hard on the body. It’s one of the most difficult aspects to cultivate.”
“No offense, but you don’t cross me as the type who would fear a little hard work.”
“No I’m not. But…” Yue trailed off.
“Funds. Right?
Yue gave Fang a regrettable expression. “Lightning is also one of the rarer aspects out there. To learn to adapt to cycling it through my meridians, any large quantity would require me to go through several Grade 2 beast cores. The clan simply doesn’t have those kinds of resources anymore. Our current situation is the reason why the elders requested we take you on this hunt with us. While your own path was designed for smithing the metal and fire aspect have obvious combat applications. They want as many of us prepared to defend the clan as possible. Should our enemies decide to take advantage of our weakness and hasten the clan’s fall.
As Li contemplated the clan’s current predicament, he found himself suddenly slapped with a torrent of water. After recovering from the initial shock, Li looked in Fang’s general direction. And there he was beaming with satisfaction in the brook over 10 paces away, sword in hand.
“You bastard.” Yue screamed.
Fang simply laughed and pulled back his weapon. He dipped the bulk of the cleaver in the water and made a sweeping motion back towards Li and Yue creating another wave of water. The water was accelerated to deceptively high velocities due to his application of force chi to enhance the swing. Yue was ready for him this time however. She generated a wall of wind chi that redirected the wave of water back at Fang. The combined force of the water and Yue’s wind technique knocked Fang off his feet submerging him in the brook’s shallow waters.
Yue laughed.
Li flicked off a piece of the gnarlwood elk’s bark-like carapace off his shoulder with a sigh of irration. “You’re a child cousin Fa-.”
Li found himself smacked hard by a current of air. He went spinning and before he knew his face smacked hard into the dirt, dazed. It took a moment to realize what had happened. Yue had struck him with her own technique. But why? He was only a mortal realm cultivator. She wouldn’t have hit him with an attack that hard, only for her own amusement.
His head was spinning, but Li did his best to lift it up and look around. It was then that he came to realize what had happened.
The impact knocked him a clean fifteen paces away, on the other side of the stream for his own safety. For the predator had arrived to claim its wounded prey.

Coming face to face with people in suits always makes me hyper-aware of how badly I dress. Since I knew I was going to meet up with Mary Markov today, I intentionally put some more effort into my appearance. I picked out a pressed shirt to wear over my leggings. Since it was far too big for me, I threw my wide yellow belt into the mix. Thus satisfied, I called up Elijah Carter and asked whether he wanted to come along. He agreed readily enough so I had him pick me up and drive us over to Mary's office. It was nowhere near the hospital and not in the vicinity of her news channel headquarters either. It was located in a slate gray concrete building that was quite confusing to look at.
No outside observer could have mistaken it for a residential house, for there was hardly a less homely or comfortable place imaginable. It was utterly repellent in its rough, dreary nature. It couldn't have belonged to some kind of business either, though. There were no marked parking spaces for employees, no signs or advertisements. Altogether, it reminded me of something out of a cheap or unfinished video game.
"Sketchy," Eli remarked, eyeing the slab of concrete with a similar lack of enthusiasm. "Looks almost abandoned. How weirdly fitting for a semi-secret government operation."
I nodded. The warm air had taken me by surprise and I found the weight of my jacket suffocating, so I took it off to leave in the car. "What is it?" I asked, noticing the way Elijah squinted at my outfit.
"What are you wearing?"
"Clothes."
"You don't say." He snorted. "Looking kinda funny there, Shirley."
"I look professional," I corrected him.
"I suppose." He grinned to himself. "Depends on the profession, though."
We rang the bell and a highly official-looking security guard let us in through the heavy double doors after confirming that Mary Markov was expecting us. He gave the necessary directions, sending us down several flights of stairs. The better part of the building was in fact underground, like with an iceberg. Eli made a remark about how it'd be safer if outsiders weren’t allowed to roam the place by themselves. It seems to be a habit of his to vaguely analyze and point out flaws in the structures of government institutions. Then again, maybe it's just flaws in general he's fascinated with.
Upon arriving outside Mary's office, we were called inside to find her sitting behind her desk. She lifted her head, giving us a polite, if cold, smile. "Good morning. You're on time. Wonderful."
"Would you please give me an honest appraisal of my outfit?" I asked.
The newsreader frowned in confusion, her eyes briefly roaming my form. "You put effort into your appearance today," she concluded. "It's appreciated."
"Wait, what do you mean today?" I inquired.
"Note also how she did not actually answer your question," Elijah added.
I huffed, flinging myself into one of the chairs in front of Mary's desk. Eli sat down beside me, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back. "Thanks for letting me come with Shirley," he told her.
"Naturally. I assume you're her emotional support human." Mary Markov's lips curled slightly. "At any rate, you had contact with the Collective yourself, so this does concern you. As far as I'm concerned, it can't hurt having an ex-cop in the mix, anyways. Despite the regrettable reasons you had for leaving the force."
Elijah's brows lowered, the muscle in his pronounced jaw twitching. "How do you know about that?"
Mary looked innocent. "It's very important that I'm fully informed, of course. Don't worry. We don't need to go into it, and I don't judge you, either. The effect the incident at that highschool had on you is completely understandable."
"I didn't ask for your assessment." My friend's voice had sharpened. "Can we move on from this?"
"Of course." If the sudden shift in tone had rattled the agent, she wasn't letting it on. Sifting through the neat stack of papers on her desk, she pulled out a thin brown file which she slid over to me. "Miss Shirley, you remember the female member of the Collective we took into custody? She has already been questioned by the local police. Unfortunately, I don't have the authority to lead such an interrogation, but I was present for it and I want you to have this transcript."
I perked up and began leafing through the folder.
"You may take that with you to read in peace," Mary told me. "But don't expect too much, lest you'll be sorely disappointed. The girl hardly said anything at all. The most helpful information she gave us was a name she kept referencing. Jewel. At first, we thought it was a sort of code word, but it seems to be what the other person she was with calls themself."
“Jewel,” I echoed.
“Sadly enough, that’s all we have. We’ve never provided our services to anyone of their physical description. There are a couple clues, but they don’t amount to anything helpful. There’s the fact that you met them at a convenience store with relatively high prices. Maybe I’m just grasping at straws, but that could indicate a cushy financial situation. On top of that, the store is rather far away from here, so they might be an out-of-towner. They also might be able to influence the way others perceive them, considering the way they seemed to hypnotize you in the woods merely by holding eye contact.”
“How come they couldn’t do anything to Frank Preston?”
Mary Markov twinkled at me. “They couldn’t? Huh. That rather intrigues the philosopher in me. Jewel works through eye contact and it is said that the eyes are the window to the soul.” She cocked her head at me.
“Are you saying Blondie doesn’t have a soul?” Eli asked, raising a skeptical brow. “Is this one of those Plato-Schopenhauer-whatevers?”
The newsreader shrugged artfully, watching my reaction. “We could discuss this for hours on end. I only meant to draw attention to the implied distinction between an organically born entity and a being who was originally an inanimate object.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said slowly.
“Oh, nevermind; that’s neither here nor there.” Her tone told me that she did, in fact, consider it to be both here and there. Not wanting to go further into this with her, I made a mental note to ask Frankie later.
“There’s more,” I added, trying to gently prepare her for what I was about to say. “I want to get Kit Sutton back.”
Mary’s lips thinned. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean for the town to get flooded in the process. I think we can find a solution to help her, if we work together. I’m convinced we can figure something out, but I don’t believe in abandoning her anymore. Which is essentially what we’re doing if we leave her to her fate.”
“You do realize what you’re asking of me? Your former roommate isn’t some kind of minor water spirit. Her father appears to hold tremendous power over the seas, or at the very least our part of it. He has countless similarly dangerous individuals at his service so he might be considered a ruler of sorts, if not a deity.”
“So Kit’s the little mermaid, basically?” Elijah asked, equal parts joking and genuinely intrigued.
Mary grinned an actual, amused grin. “I must ask you to take this seriously, Mr Carter.”
“I am!” he chuckled, raising his hands. “I swear.”
“Anyways, Miss Shirley, the point you make is an individualistic one, but I see why you’re invested in the girl’s fate. I want to help, I do… But we need to proceed with caution. If you can suggest to me some kind of sensible approach, then I’ll do what I can. That’s all the promises I can make at the moment.”
I thanked her and got up, Eli following me as I headed for the door. “Miss Shirley,” Mary called out and I stopped, turning back around to face her. “If you like my style, we could perhaps meet up to go shopping sometime? I could show you some quality stores. It wouldn’t be anytime soon since I’m currently swamped, but I figure—well, just in case you might like to.”
I nodded. “That sounds pleasant enough.”
She smiled brightly and waved us out the door. “Excellent. I’ll be in touch.”
Back inside the car, I tossed the file onto the backseat to read later. “Would you like to go to the beach?” I suggested.
“Why not. Wait, is this for a stroll and ice cream or do you want to kickstart the mermaid-rescue-operation?”
“I can’t see why it shouldn’t be both,” I replied comfortably. “We’ll need to take your flashlight, though.”
"You know I don't like getting myself into trouble unless it's paid."
"Yes, but you also find me endearing and want to protect me from danger, which you can only do by accompanying me."
"You're a terrifying tentacle beast from another dimension. I don't know that I'm all that scared for your safety," he grunted.
I gave him an affronted look. "You have now hurt my feelings."
"Have I?"
"Plenty, but I'll forgive you if you come with me."
Elijah Carter sighed deeply but started driving anyway. I let my arm dangle out of the open window, allowing the warming spring air to wash over my skin. The closer we got to the shore, the stronger the scent of salt mixed into the breeze. The cries of seagulls became audible over the sounds of the road and the streaming wind and was finally joined by the crashing of waves when we pulled into a parking spot and got out of the car. Taking along the heavy duty flashlight he always kept in the passenger seat footwell, I led Eli to the mouth of the cave, explaining what Nettie and I had seen along the way. He looked commendably calm, simply turning on the torch and entering alongside me.
The tunnels were just as damp, dim and quiet as the last time. Before long, we had reached the spacious canyon room with the lake at the bottom. "I want to go across and see if there's anything important in the rest of the grotto back there," I reminded him. "Please hold on to your bearings."
"I'm not repeating your mistakes," he replied gamely. "What do you think? This oughta be connected to the ocean somehow." He let the beam of the torch roam the mirror-like surface of the lake. It seemed almost deceptively quiet. My eyes followed the lengthy stone ledge. Eli stepped close, and after receiving a nod of approval, he grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me onto the rocky protrusion. I straightened up, instantly pressing my back against the wall. A wave of nausea hit me as I glanced at the water below. "Chill," Elijah muttered, climbing after me with ease. "Nothing will happen. You're not gonna fall."
I merely shook my head. "You didn't see what's down there."
"And I won't, because we'll be careful," he answered steadfastly.
I started walking, the warm light of the torch upon my back, illuminating the path ahead. The shelf narrowed as we reached the end. I swiftly clambered down, relieved to place my feet on wider, solid ground once more. Now looking over the lake from the other side, it had an entirely different feel to it. It seemed darker somehow, but also less big—I attributed it to the change in perspective. We were standing in a cramped little nook with two passageways leading off into separate directions behind us. Elijah Carter eyed them pensively. “Which do you reckon?”
I pursed my lips. “The right one. Because it’s right.”
“Makes sense.”
We proceeded into the passage, the tight space pushing us closer together. He had to duck his head, uncomfortably hunching his shoulders, and for once, I was grateful for my own short stature. The corridor seemed to go on forever. The darkness and silence created a feel of unnatural solitude, and for more than once, I got the distinct impression that I must have jumped dimensions again. It was as though Elijah and I were enclosed in some kind of bubble, cut off from everything outside; a place where time was a foreign concept and the only sun was our flashlight. Needless to say, I was distinctly uneasy. I allowed myself to lean back, brushing against Eli’s chest whenever I could. Eventually, I cleared my throat.
“Could you touch me?”
“What?”
“Just so I still know you’re there.”
His palm came to rest on my shoulder, his thumb digging into one of the tense, painfully rigid muscles of my upper back, forcing it to soften. “Good?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He hummed. “You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“Me, too.”
This caused my resolve to falter. “Maybe we should turn around after all,” I said quietly. “Who knows how much longer—”
“Look.”
I perked up. Before us, the tunnel grew wider, opening into a large, spacious room. We picked up our pace, tackling the remaining distance in a light jog, and finally found ourselves standing in another hall. The beam of light traveled the floor and high walls, revealing a sight that took our breath away. We were standing in front of another lake, only slightly smaller than the last. The water glittered in violet hues and strange, pale plants climbed up the walls, some of them looking rather like starfish. Multiple rocky protrusions formed an almost complete bridge across its middle. With a bit of light climbing, we'd undoubtedly be able to get to the other side. Wordlessly, Elijah Carter swung himself up onto the platform closest to the edge of the water, pulling me up after him. The flashlight switched hands a couple times as we maneuvered ourselves along.
Soon, we reached the middle of the lake. I risked a glance at the water below. All was still and perfectly quiet. Eli was about to take on the next rock when suddenly, I felt something heavy and gooey drip onto my head from above. I flinched, then slowly pointed the torch up to the ceiling. My stomach dropped. My throat had turned paper-dry, and I frantically tugged on Eli’s arm. He tipped his head back, following my pointing finger. His eyes blew wide and his face fell.
There was a creature clinging to the high walls, its pale, enormous body describing a streamline curve as it pressed itself against the hollowed stone. The closest thing I can compare it to would be a sort of olm, except probably a hundred times larger. Its snout looked large enough to swallow either of us whole. It hung open, secreting a thick fluid that slowly dripped down to hit the rocks or create ripples upon the water. Its blind eyes seemed to be trained on us, and I could spot tiny, sharp teeth lining its maw. It wasn’t moving, not even an inch, but somehow, I knew it was aware of us.
I looked up at Elijah, the panic in his eyes mirroring mine. Both of us had freezed up mid-motion, not daring to take another step. My mind was running wild; I was thinking feverishly. We’d have to turn around for sure, but how? The olm was already highly alert, if we were to start scrambling back to solid ground, it would undoubtedly hear us straight away. Eli looked equal parts terrified and furious, and I could tell he was scolding himself for not thinking to check the entirety of the room before proceeding across the lake. I could understand the sentiment, we’d definitely made a grave mistake. I figured it had been the misleading beauty of the cave hall that had taken our edge off. Glancing over into the direction we’d come from, I found myself wishing to be back in the endless dark corridor. The entrance to the passage seemed miles away.
The olm lifted a three-toed foot, shifting its massive form to a lower spot on the wall. It was taking a tentative step towards us, extending its snout as its body bent into our direction. Elijah had grabbed onto my arm, his fingers clamping around it like a vice. He stayed silent and unmoving, but he held my gaze with clear, sharp eyes.
“Don’t move,” I mouthed, and he gave me a curt nod.
Slowly, I reached around to push my shirt out of the way of my unfurling tentacles. Elijah took a quiet step back to make room for my changing form, something of a resolute expression settling on his face. I opened my mouth, relieved when my teeth acted according to my will and elongated. I didn’t know to what extent I would be able to defend against this absolute giant of an amphibian, but at least it would give us a chance. I took a deep breath, trading glances with Eli once more before darting off to the side, bounding onto the platform next to our current one. Elijah followed suit, grabbing onto one of the limbs I extended to him for support. Despite the swiftness of our movements, we were anything but quiet, and the olm reacted in an instant. It slithered down from the wall, sinking into the lake below to make its way to the rocks we were standing on. As we headed for the next stone, it darted out of the water, splashing wildly as its snout breached the surface. Its jaws snapped at us, missing me by a mere foot as I jumped across the gap between the protrusions. Droplets flew as the creature dropped once more, but instead of retreating, it swam around the platform. Its massive, snake-like body was bobbing up and down as it circled us.
“Oh fuck,” Elijah breathed, his chest heaving. “Keep going! Move, move!”
I took a short running start, then flung myself onto the next rock, using my extra limbs to land safely. I then helped him cross again. The olm rose from the depths of the lake once again, and I lashed at it with one of my tentacles, hitting it on the snout and forcing it to dive underwater again. We kept working our way back towards the other side of the lake, slipping and sliding as we went. The water surrounding us seemed to hum with unrestrained energy, the white salamander’s tail whipping up waves and splashing around. We were finally getting close to solid ground again, or at least it looked like we were for a moment. That’s when the creature took a massive leap, draping itself over the final stepping stone, effectively blocking our path.
“Shit,” Eli hissed beside me as we came to a skittering halt.
I’d have to try and fight this thing. There was no way around it now. I clenched my sweat-laced palms into fist, trying to slow my rapid, shallow breaths. I can do this, I said to myself. All I’d have to do is send it back into the lake for long enough so we could run back into the tunnel. There was no way the olm would fit through the passage—once we were in there, we’d be relatively safe. I stared at the dripping, writhing animal; stared at its bared needle teeth, and the less hopeful, more realistic part of my brain told me that I would, indeed, probably not be able to do this. Just as I was contemplating the degree of our screwed-ness, an unseen someone called out from behind us. I didn’t understand a word they were saying, but I recognized the language, and more importantly, the voice.
It was bright as a bell, girlish but with a rough, warm edge. Even before I could turn to face her, I knew who it was.
The gigantic amphibian perked up at the sound, lowering its head and withdrawing into the murky depths with a splash. Elijah Carter let go of a long-held breath, dropping his shoulders before tensing up again, realization setting in. He shot me a look of utter disbelief.
“Wow,” the newcomer spoke up again, this time not in the tongue of the deep ones. “You two have to be actually crazy or something to show up here.”
X
1
2: deadbeat roommate
3: creepy crush
4: relocation
5: beach concert
6: First date
7: Temp work
8: roommate talk
9: a dismal worldview
10: warehouse
11: staircase
12: explanation
13: hurt
14: hospital
15: ocean
16: diner
17: government work
18: something in the caves
19: shopping cart

Hello all! I'm a screenwriter and longtime lover of horror prose, taking some time during the strike to polish up old unpublished pieces and maybe embark on some new ones. This is the first I'm sharing publicly -- it's a nasty piece of work, about a nasty little man who receives a power he really shouldn't have. Most of my stories aren't like this, but Lyle Hereford insisted upon himself, and I haven't yet managed to forget him. It's also a bit lengthy, about 8600 words (30ish manuscript pages). I'm posting it in two parts.
WARNING: This story contains depictions of non-consensual sex and gun violence.
​
GHOST WORD
By Jonathan Redding
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ghost word
1. (noun) A previously unknown word appearing in a dictionary or list of words, often by error--but sometimes by design.
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Lyle Hereford laid there, slick and frightened, and thought about the Word.
He rolled his head to the right, to the nightstand beside his narrow bed, saw the flat green numerals pronounce it 3:17AM. On another night he might have thought of the Gospel According to John, at that hour, or more obscurely, of the Weird Sisters, of the Walpurgisnacht. Sleeplessness was a condition of his pinched, brittle being*.* Tonight he lay there sweating, insomnia buzzing in his thighs, his hamstrings. The inevitable heartburn seethed in his concave chest, and he thought about the Word.
The Word was not with him.
He thought about it sitting, inert, on the small rolling desk, in his office, across the city. Thought about the urban glow, blotting out the stars, seeping in the window, slanting though the low-bid venetian blinds the first contractors must have installed and none of those cheap bastards at the University ever bothered to replace, the blinds that always tear at their thin top fixtures, that Lyle mends with tight sleeves of Scotch tape. He thought about the city’s ambient nightlight seeping in, and falling, across the side desk, across the Word. He thought about the binding. Cream, once, probably, soft and blameless. Faded to no-color, now. An old traveler. But what was it? And how had it come to be there? How did it come to rest on that shelf, that groaning, overburdened, mid-century plank?
Lyle imagined someone slipping into the library, furtive, mounting the stair, the tome swinging against them, tucked in a messenger bag. Some faceless someone, head down, hood up, sunglasses in the dim. Lyle pictured them skirting around the encyclopedias and the medieval histories and bypassing the long rows of technical manuals and the corridors of Euclidean geometry and enzymology and theoretical economics and arriving at the neglected, quaint, neat rows of purest Reference: the Dictionaries.
Lyle had gone to consult the Oxford English Dictionary. Specifically the 1989 Second Edition, magnificent in twenty volumes; a tool with which he insisted each of his students familiarize themselves. On this day he had sought out the second volume specifically, the one beginning with B.B.C.
James, that young Turk, had challenged his interpretation of a passage of Taming of the Shrew. It turned on the etymology of the word bonnie.
Tried to score off me, in front of the whole class, that smug little prick.
James, graduate student par excellence. James of the falling black hair, perpetually obscuring his face, terminating above his perfect smile. James who was such a favorite among the bouncing, giggling undergraduates. James who found it easy to excel, in any environment, who found it very difficult to accept Lyle’s criticisms, Lyle’s guidance. James was many things Lyle was not, had never been, and Lyle knew it. But James had not yet learned to survive in academia. James was going to discover that you did not score points off Lyle Hereford, Ph.D., and Lyle would see to it that it happened painfully. In the town square, as it were. It would have to be just a touch humiliating.
`Darby, especially, Lyle thought. She has to see it. Yes. Just the right amount of condescension to really cut into him, to make it memorable.
Only Lyle never found his ammunition in the second volume beginning with B.B.C. because his interest was diverted. He never queried the etymology of bonnie in the compressed italics of lexicalese, never perused the examples from John Donne and Sir Thomas Aquinas and the Cursor Mundi behind their truncated century marks, because something else caught his eye. Something that shouldn’t have been there. Tucked in between the seventh and eighth volumes (Interval and Look, respectively, he knew) was a tattered book, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred pages, grayed to nothing, the color of a shroud. Lyle reached down, placed his index finger atop the book’s spine, and drew it from the shelf. He gave it a cursory glance—the cover lettering had been savaged by time, but fragments of the lower half survived:
PART A—ANT
#
OXFO D
1877
“What in the world,” Lyle said. The library swallowed the sound, took it into the mute stillness of itself, into its hush. What he held in his hands was not genuine—could not be genuine. The original OED was printed like this, piecemeal, in what were called fascicles.
But not this soon, God, not this soon! They hadn’t even started!
The first fascicle of the OED, the very first product of their seventy-year odyssey, the publication that made the London philologia realize they had bit off quite a bit more than they could chew, was designated A-Ant. It was a rare bird, a thing to be coveted. It was valuable.
It was first printed in 1884.
Lyle had always thought it a clever, tiny nod of Orwell’s, lost to the mass of readers: that the OED should rule for a century, before Newspeak replaced it. This, then, if it was what it purported to be, what the front cover claimed it to be, was early. Seven whole years early.
A misprint, he thought. Has to be. That would change the valuation—this could be one-of-a-kind. Not that Lyle would dream of selling such a book. Before this moment, he wouldn’t even have allowed himself to dream of holding such a book. He checked for a barcode, a borrower’s card. He found neither. What is it DOING here?
He had let it fall open at random, there, among the stacks, a single water-damaged page stood up like a cowlick, he gingerly pressed it flat. The type within was much more preserved than the weathered front-plating. He scanned, gliding over the forms: aglist, aglitter, aglomerular, aglopened, aglossal, aglow-
That was when he had seen the Word.
Though it wasn’t the Word itself, that had drawn his attention. It was the empty white, beneath it. The dictionary game was all about spatial economy. Column inches and abbreviations. In forty-seven years of nebbish quietude, forty-seven years of slow vanishing into a wilderness of text, Lyle Hereford, Ph.D., had never encountered empty white space in the body of a dictionary. Thus, first, the white. Then he had looked above it.
The Word did not begin with the letter “A”.
The Word did not conform to any structural schema that Lyle recognized. There was no easily discernible root in the Romance lineage, nor the Germanic, nor even the primordial Oriental or Sanskrit Anglicizations which the casual peruser of the Mahabharata or of Patanjali’s Sutras might intuitively place. The Word began with the character “X”, and proceeded from there to a feral enjambment of consonants and choked, almost Hebraic “Y’s”. It possessed no other vowels. Merely the Word, this strange word, had greeted Lyle. No origin, pronunciation, part-of-speech. No definition. Merely the Word, and the white beneath, there in the stacks.
Lyle brushed his thumb across the Word. Looking back, now, he couldn’t really say why. It was the sort of automatic, immediate impulse that you don’t question until it’s complete. It came over him like a yawn. He felt the thin whisper of the paper beneath his skin, he traced the Word from its first syllable to its eighth and final and
“FUCK— “
A kind of WRETCH, a spasm, behind his eyes, within his temples, his core, the cilia of his inner ears. His stomach flopped over queasily in his abdomen and he clenched his ass, just ahead of a hot dart of pressure, a hot sharp dart of pressure, gas and a tincture of liquid, a foul egg smell, he fought to hold it—
“fuckfuckfuck— “
Tremoring in his calves, his whole body strained, the feeble musculature flared from his neck, his weak chin pressed down and his gorge rose. Warm coppery blood pattered and trickled over his lips. Lyle’s nose was bleeding. The fit—whatever it was—began to pass, and Lyle looked down through watering eyes to the object in his hands.
“What in the Christ-?”
The library remained silent, the book remained still, the Word remained inscrutable. He noticed the spatter, low on the page, of his blood, obscuring the column inches, smearing over agnathous. He gathered up a shirt cuff in his hand, squeezed it to his nose—*that’s never coming out—*and awkwardly sat, pooling the book in his lap. He reached down with his other cuff to dab at the page, mitigate the damage. That is when, Lyle now thought, he may have gone mad.
The beads of blood began to crawl up the page.
The traversal of the droplets wasn’t smooth, wasn’t a rolling. They jerked upward in spurs—they forked, like lightning. They crept laterally, then cut upward again, the spastic scribbling of an unseen hand. Lyle became aware that his body was rigid, his breath held, his eyes dry and pained, he stared unblinking. Sweat stood out on the crenellations of his widow’s peak, his acne-scarred brow. His ruptured sinus oozed, his sleeve was warm and sodden. The bloodbolts reached the inexplicable white gap. Swirled into the emptiness. Beneath the Word the blood swirled. It arranged itself.
It formed shapes.
It formed letters.
Lyle had made a sound, then, something between a sob and a laugh and a scream—
—snakebit it’s a snakebit sound—
*—*rupturing the stillness, a harsh throaty sound, reeding through the library, and then he clapped the book shut and fled.
“But I didn’t drop it, did I?” he asked the green numerals. They showed 4:07AM. Time always slid, on sleepless nights. He thought it one of their worst qualities.
“I ran. I ran from it*.* But my hands… my hands wouldn’t let it go.”
Lyle sat up in bed. Only when the sheets peeled away from his back did he realize he was perspiring. He stripped the damp bedclothes and shambled across the room, to his small closet. He bent to his hamper, deposited the sheets inside, closed the latch with a discrete click. He took a fresh button-up and crisp slacks down from their hangers, and he began to dress.
#
Lyle barely heard as the starter of his aging Acura chugged, and whinnied, and finally caught. He floated across town, the CD player in the dash resumed Rachmaninov’s Prelude in C sharp minor, the volume hovered at the bottom edge of audibility. It did not pierce the veil of Lyle’s exhaustion. His memory, the vision of the mounting blood, felt unreal. The marine layer had rolled in with the night’s cool, heightening the strangeness. Occasionally headlights swam up out of the fog, the vague shapes of alien drivers flickered and were gone. Lyle had passed through a membrane—*a glass, darkly—*and everything normal was rendered strange, as though the laws underpinning the universe had grown suddenly elastic. His fatigue coupled with the new fact of the Word to cast a surreal pall over the familiar streets. He wondered, at each car he passed, about the journey of the driver. Was it possible that just beneath the frequency of his attention there was a whole world of men on grim, predawn errands? Men confronting mad and impossible things, men fallen through unsuspected cracks in their comfortable facade? And just where in the wild blue fuck had it come from?
Lyle made it, not without difficulty, to the faculty lot. He parked askew—someone’s sure to bitch about that he thought, and tittered*—*and walked his scuttling walk across the plaza toward the Humanities complex, fumbling for his keycard. His footsteps seemed to echo off of nothing but haze. The fog encroached, he felt as though it watched him.
His office was a shabby, cramped afterthought on the fourth floor. He turned the bolt behind him as he entered, resting his weary head against the door. He thumped it, once—his forehead, that is—against the wood. He crossed to his chair, the brown faux leather cracked and peeling, and sat heavily. The office was cheaply appointed, but pristine. No tchotchkes or personal touches were in evidence, with the exception of some of Lyle’s own (stark, black-and-white) photography. The book he had found, the impossible book, was not alphabetized on his shelves with the others. It sat alone. Nothing shared, with it, the small rolling side-desk, which Lyle pulled to himself. He reached for the book, heart pounding, hands tremoring. He breathed deeply, closed his eyes. Mastered himself. By and by, the shaking passed. He opened his eyes to look, again, upon the Word.
First there’s fear, of course there’s fear, but then... but then....
Then, perhaps, there was room for curiosity. He had found this thing, this extraordinary thing, or perhaps, just possibly…
“It found me. Maybe it was--meant. For me.”
And if it were, that might make it—would make it—the first thing, the first special thing, that had ever been meant, for Lyle Hereford, Ph.D. He opened the book, the tremor in his hands barely perceptible, now. He sought out the Ag’s—aglow, aglist, aglitter—and found them easily enough. He stared, eyes bulging, straining, at the page.
The Word was gone.
Nothing. No fractal X’s and Y’s, no phantom space, no broken line. Smooth, black column inches, the rhythms of the dictionary, nothing out of place.
“No—no, no, no—” Lyle flipped the page, aggressively, almost tearing it from the binding, another, another, flipped them, faster and faster, scanning, rapidly scanning, seeking white space.
“No, fuck you, no, it was here, you were just here, I didn’t imagine you you cocksucker come back here and talk to me— “
He flipped forward, the opposite direction, toward the front of the fascicle, when he felt something under the pad of his thumb. It was—a shift in the texture, a vibration—a definite, awful, sly little movement. He felt the thing change, somehow. Lyle froze. He held perfectly still—*snake, snake in my hands, subtle subtle snake—*then he slid his thumb, just his thumb, the tiniest hair, a fraction of an inch, over the page-ends. Rasped his thumb, along the margin of the book. *Something, there’s something, right there—*he rasped again. Felt it. Toward the back. A water-damaged page. Lyle seized on it, almost eagerly, letting the book part around it. It stood up like a cowlick. He pressed it carefully down, closed his eyes. Lyle felt a curious swirl of anxiety and hope. He was afraid. Afraid to see it again.
He needed to see it again. He needed to know.
He opened his eyes. He scanned the page, now, a completely different section of the fascicle. Amputee, ampyx, amrel, amrita, amry, amsel. Faster, faster…
There.
Crowded into the bottom-right corner. An empty, white space. Above it, a Word.
A different Word.
This one began with an LN, and to the litany of Y’s had been added double-Us. The same layout: no explicatory text below, nothing else. The single, unpronounceable Word.
“There you are,” Lyle whispered. He turned to his computer, felt for the green button along the back of his monitor, pressed it. He thumbed the spacebar on his keyboard. The desktop awoke mid a staccato burst of tiny electronic clicks, followed by the usual cheery synth-tone. Lyle set a yellow legal pad on his lap, popped the well-chewed end of a mechanical pencil into his mouth, clenched it between his teeth. He tugged open a gray metal desk drawer, hideous and utilitarian, pawed around inside until he found what he wanted, closed it again. He turned back to the Word.
“Tell me a secret,” he said. His voice was queerly pitched, hollow. He hardly recognized it. He held up the small object taken from his desk, held it up above the page, showed it to the Word. It was a pushpin. Tell me. Lyle pricked the ball of his middle finger, blood welled into a fat bead. He turned his hand over, held the blood above the white, watched it distend, watched it fall. This time there was no lightning, no crawl. This time it sizzled, as though he had dropped it on a skillet. It sizzled, bubbled, on the white, then separated, it raised blood-red letters below the Word. Characters. This time, Lyle was ready.
It’s Attic Greek, he realized. The characters stood out in the elegant script of the Septuagint, the language of Alexander the Great. The language that, at one time, had conquered the world, and had later been conquered in turn. A language of emperors, and of slaves. Lyle sucked on his bleeding finger as he hunched over the legal pad, copying out the unfamiliar letters:
ύπνος
It was a matter of a few moments to download a keyboard for ancient Greek characters on the desktop. A few more to pull up Google, find a translator widget, and hunt-and-peck his way to the answer. The cursor blinked beside the translation. The word beneath the Word, the Greek extraction written in blood, fat and placid and banal:
sleep
Lyle felt a flush of disappointment. He had expected something, he realized. Some kernel of an answer. The name of a daemon, or of a god. A celestial body, perhaps. And why Greek? If it was printed in the nineteenth century, printed in English in the nineteenth century? Lyle turned back to the fascicle but the blood was gone. He brushed a cautious knuckle across the white gap and found it dry.
Thirsty, he thought. You feel thirsty.
The language of Alexander, and of Oedipus Rex, and of Aristotle. He considered the Word. Sleep. A definition? Was the book itself carrying some kind of, what, repository, fragments of a lost language, preserved by some oblique arcana? The work of a secret society, or a cult? Some Rosicrucian gimmickry? He looked down at the white space, the secret-keeping space, awakened by blood. Considered, again, the crooked syllables, the LM, the double-X, the Y’s and double-U’s.
Sleep.
Sleep was a word with a certain beauty. Especially for the chronic insomniac. A beauty and a kind of longing. Sleep. The LM, the double-X, the Y’s and the double-U’s. Strange, riotous Word.
“Sleep is a beautiful word.” Lyly was unaware that he had spoken aloud. The LM, the double-X, in the middle, the double-X. It occurred to him that this Word, too, was beautiful.
Beautiful and possessed of a kind of interior sense, Lyle realized. A kind of logic. When you think about it.
The double-X, a kind of sluggish, sloughing sound in the middle. A collapse, to link the long consonants, as if the effort of producing the Word were too much for one’s throat, all at once. The LM, the double-X, the double-U’s. Lyle opened his mouth, still unaware. The Word intensified, in his field of vision, came into a sharp focus. The rest of the page somehow fell around it. Lyle wondered if he was being hypnotized. There was no more color in the world, he knew how to say the Word, the Word was teaching him, patiently, to say it, he opened his mouth not knowing and he said the Word that meant Sleep and—
#
Lyle awoke on the floor of his office. He shook his head, once, experimentally. He winced—his left temple was sore; a bruise was coming on.
Did I fall? Black out? The fascicle was still on his side-desk. It was closed, now. His computer was dark and quiet, hibernating. All at once he remembered—*oh, my God—*it wasn’t a definition or a repository or a code—
“It’s a command,” he croaked, his voice husky in the stillness. Everything clicked, almost audibly, like tumblers turning in his head. It was a command, and that made the book something else, that made the book something very much else indeed, oh, oh God, that makes it something else.
What time is it? The sun hadn’t risen, the streetlights still slanted through his shitty, frail blinds. Traffic had picked up though, he could hear it outside, and he felt—incredible, I feel incredible—fine, other than the bump on his noggin and a few cricks in his shoulders, his neck, Lyle felt like a million bucks. He pawed at his phone. He carried it in his front-left pocket, and if he had fallen on it it might have—
The phone showed 9:44PM. He had slept, all right. He ran the math. He had been at his desk, it had been maybe five thirty…
It put me to sleep for sixteen hours? Lyle have never slept that long in his life, to the best of his knowledge*.* It was enough to make him want to weep. He’d been just an anxious little bedwetter when his long war against insomnia began, and the notion of simply saying a Word, a beautiful Word, and dropping off like a stone—
He crossed to his office door, turned the bolt. Opened it. A sticky-note was affixed to the outside:
Dr. L, wasn’t able to get ahold of you today, hope you feel better. Walked the class through Act III, reiterated their assignments re: Marlowe comparison & cut them loose, will check in tomorrow first thing.
It was James’s fluid cursive. Even his penmanship was pretty*.*
Lyle turned his attention back to the fascicle. He picked it up carefully, reverently. He felt a surge of glee, an unbridled joy at the power in his hands. When he closed his eyes he could still see the sleep-Word, the constellation of unwieldy letters stood out bright and vivid. His heart raced with the implications of his discovery—something else something else it’s something else—
The term Grimoire drifted hazily across his consciousness.
He rasped his thumb along the margins and felt immediately the bristle of the damaged page, somewhere in the center. He held the book upright and let it fall open, the single page left standing. He smoothed it carefully down. He looked upon the book.
The empty white stood out easily, in the center column, the exact mid-point. Above it was yet another Word, this one shorter, beginning with an A and three O’s, a sound meant to be moaned. Lyle rummaged for another push-pin in his desk. He pricked his ring-finger, this time—*spread the love, I might be doing this a lot—*and smeared a sizzling patina of blood onto the white paper. The red letters formed on the page, he couldn’t wait for them, he was greedy for them—
That isn’t Greek, Lyle realized. The new Word was explicated in a much more familiar—and, curiously, more recent—tongue. The new Word was translated in Latin.
libido
Was the first Word I saw translated into Greek? he wondered. When I ran from the library, from the blood, the first time, were those Greek letters? He couldn’t be sure, it had happened so quickly, and hysteria warped the memory.
He couldn’t be sure, no. But he didn’t think so.
“Libido,” he pronounced into the quiet of the office. “Lust. Desire.” He stood there a long moment, lost in thought. Finally he reached beneath his desk and pulled out a slender leather briefcase. He wouldn’t leave it at the office again, not—
Not knowing what it can do.
He placed the fascicle inside, locked the briefcase, and killed the grating fluorescents overhead. As he left the office he crumpled James’s sticky note in his fist and let it fall.
​
​
CONTINUED IN PT. 2:
https://www.reddit.com/Horror_stories/comments/13wyq9j/ghost_word_pt_2/

Lately, some peculiar occurrences have taken place. Take, for instance, last night when my girlfriend Heather left the bathroom and insisted she saw me in the kitchen. Strangely, I have no recollection of getting up during the night, so I attributed it to sleepwalking. Surprisingly, she shared details of a full-fledged conversation we had, followed by me returning to my room after devouring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. While it does sound like something I might do, I simply cannot recall that particular incident.
Little did I know, this was only the beginning of a series of such incidents.
Curious about that night last week, I asked Heather, "Do you remember what we were talking about?"
With a smile, Heather nudged me playfully on the shoulder and replied, "Sweetheart, you were all over the place. You mentioned how you wished you had a new job and that you were starving. Why do you ask?"
As I gazed into the distance, a heavy sensation enveloped my mind, akin to a weighted blanket draped over my thoughts. "Hmm, I just can't remember conversing with you. I never woke up."
"It's possible that you were sleepwalking. It happens to many people, dear. You know, you look quite handsome even when you sleepwalk," Heather smirked, gently clasping my hand. "That's one of the many reasons I love you." I planted a soft kiss on her forehead, "I'm going for a run. I'll be back in a little while!" I needed to meditate and frankly running was my best therapy session.
Although I attributed these incidents to sleepwalking, they still troubled me. However, there was no point in allowing stress to consume me.
A couple of weeks later, another unsettling incident unfolded, this time at my workplace—Dunesbarry, a printing company that produces everything from small pictures to large-scale posters. It happened on a Tuesday when I woke up feeling unwell, prompting me to make a decision to call in sick.
My boss, James, was known for being a rather easy going manager, and I dialed his number to inform him about my condition. "Hey James, I'm not feeling great. I woke up with stomach issues and won't be able to come in today." After a brief pause, James burst into laughter and retorted, "Hold on, Caesar. What are you talking about? I just saw you here a few minutes ago."
My heart sank into my stomach, and perspiration formed on my forehead. "What do you mean? I'm at home, James."
"Buddy, I don't know if you're trying to pull a prank on me, but I assure you, you're here. Although it's quite unexpected for you to be early, you waved at me and headed into the bathroom. Are you still in there?"
Feeling a sense of disbelief, I momentarily put my phone down after promising James I would call him back."What in the world..." My pulse raced, throbbing in various parts of my body as the unsettling realization sank in. This had to be something more than I initially thought.
The remainder of the day I was immobilized, trapped in a state of mental paralysis. I laid on the couch, anxiously awaiting Heather's return.
My mind reverberated with the same haunting thoughts, from the first time I experienced a memory lapse at home to now, encountering a similar phenomenon at my workplace. What on earth was happening to me?
Driven by a growing urgency, I hurried over to my laptop and launched into an immediate search for any instances resembling my own. "Not remembering conversations at night" I typed into Google. The initial search results yielded blog websites discussing sleepwalking, which aligned with my initial assumption. Nevertheless, I pressed on. Next, I came across some Reddit posts recounting incidents of sleep-talking without any recollection.
As I scrolled through the various links and websites, one particular post caught my attention. Doppel-gänger? I had heard that term before.
Doppelgänger: "an apparition or double of a living person" was the definition I encountered, but comprehending its implications proved challenging. As a skeptical individual, I typically dismissed notions of the paranormal and supernatural. Why, out of all people, would something like this happen to me?
I closed my laptop, taking a deep breath to steady my racing thoughts.
Finally, Heather returned home after her shift, and I dashed towards the door to greet her.
"Hi, love! I'm so glad you're home. I have something absolutely mind-boggling to tell you!" I tightly embraced her, holding her for longer than usual."Hello, my sweetheart. What happened?" Heather set down her purse, and we both settled onto the couch.
"You won't believe this, and honestly, I'm struggling to wrap my head around it. Remember how I mentioned calling out of work today? Well, when I called James, he accused me of playing a prank on him. He even mentioned that I was already at work."
Heather nervously chuckled and turned to process my words. "Wait, what?"
"He said I had already arrived at work and was in the bathroom. But I never went. I've been here at home the entire day." As I looked at Heather, I could see a hint of discomfort on her face.
"I don't understand. Maybe he was just messing with you since you called out," Heather suggested, rising to grab some water from the kitchen. Bursting into laughter, a wave of relief washed over me. "Wow, I never actually considered that. I'm sorry, I'm still preoccupied with that incident in the kitchen that night. It's been twisting my thoughts."
"You're okay, honey. How are you feeling?" Heather asked, her concern shining through.
"Much better now that you're home, I must say."
Heather was my rock, always asking the right questions and loving me in ways I had never experienced before. I couldn't fathom my life without her. Feeling slightly more at ease, I decided not to inquire further with James, choosing to let the matter rest.
It was 3:23 am when I was awakened by the sound of slow footsteps creaking past our slightly open bedroom door. We kept it ajar to listen for any unusual nighttime noises.
Rubbing my eyes and stretching my legs, I sat up in bed, my gaze fixated on the doorway. The room was enveloped in darkness, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The footsteps abruptly ceased as I continued to stare at the sliver of the doorway crack.
Resolute in my determination not to jump to the worst conclusions, I dismissed the idea of an intruder breaking into our home. Surely, I would have heard some sign of forced entry. Grasping the nearest object within reach, our vintage lamp, I mustered the courage to approach the door, striving to remain as silent as possible. With a trembling hand, fueled by fear of the unknown, I reached out for the doorknob.
Taking a moment to steady my pounding heart, prepared to confront anybody, even if it were against God Himself, I cautiously opened the door. There was nothing outside. I checked in both directions, even stepping into the hallway with a stance ready for battle. Utter silence enveloped the space. Releasing a sigh of relief, I turned around, intending to return to the bedroom.
Then, a solitary footstep echoed in my ears.
I halted, gripping the lamp so tightly that its exterior threatened to shatter.
Turning slowly toward the source of the sound, my eyes caught up to the movement, leaving me no choice but to confront whatever lurked within my house.A figure emerged from behind the kitchen island, hands tightly gripping the countertop, barely visible in the dim light. Their eyes locked onto mine, wide open as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.
I noticed a striking resemblance between us – the same haircut and a mole on the top left of our heads. Yet, I couldn't spare a moment to ponder our shared appearance. There was an intruder in my house.
Carefully edging backward, I needed to make my way back to the bedroom to alert Heather and call the police.
"Heather! There's someone in the house! Call the police right now!" I shouted, keeping my gaze fixed on the intruder, even though I wished I didn't have to. The intruder remained motionless, almost frozen in place. As I shouted for Heather to call the police, I could hear teeth chattering as if it were beside my ear. Slowly, he moved from the kitchen island, his hands preceding his head, his unwavering stare fixed upon me.
With my heart pounding out of my chest, fueled by adrenaline, I took advantage of the rush surging through my veins and sprinted toward the kitchen to investigate. I hadn't seen him move from the island to anywhere else, so the realization that he had vanished sent shivers down my spine.
"What the fuck," I uttered, completely shaken to my core.
Moments later, the police arrived, responding to the report of an intruder. Heather peered out from the bedroom to assess the situation.
"Honey, are you okay?" Heather whispered loudly. I found myself sitting on the floor, stunned and deflated. I couldn't wrap my mind around what had just occurred. It made no sense. As logical as I considered myself to be, this defied all reason.
Heather tenderly held the top of my head, offering comfort as we awaited the arrival of the police.I needed to compose myself before opening the door for them."Hi, um, I don't know how to explain this," I said to the officer, my voice tinged with confusion, still trembling from the encounter. "Hello, I am Officer Santana. There was a call reporting an intruder. Are you okay, sir?"
I let Officer Santana and her partner inside and guided them to a seat. "This is going to sound strange, I understand that, but there was an intruder right over there," I pointed toward the kitchen island. "He was behind it, and then he wasn't. He simply vanished." Santana looked up at me, her eyebrows raised as she tried to comprehend the situation.
"What are you saying? He disappeared? Did you see him run anywhere?" Santana's partner asked, jotting down notes in their Paperkraft notepad. "Well, I saw him duck behind the island, and then he was gone. I know it sounds crazy, and I realize that."
"Okay, we're going to thoroughly check the house and ensure it's safe. In the meantime, please wait outside until we're done," Santana instructed, as both officers unclamped their pistols from their holsters. I felt a semblance of safety in their presence.
It was a chilly autumn day, with the scent of smoke wafting through the air, likely from my neighbors' fireplace. Jill and her husband, Dane, were wonderful neighbors who kept to themselves. Occasionally, they would surprise us with extra food, acting like the pseudo-parents of the neighborhood. Sometimes, I would take it upon myself to fix minor things around their house, like the black fence in the backyard. It always seemed to have a mysterious hole, despite their lack of pets or nearby animals.
Jill and Dane noticed the police presence and joined us outside, arms crossed in concern. "What's going on, guys?" Dane inquired. "There was someone in our house, but they disappeared. Maybe it was some kind of prank or squatter. I don't know," I replied, offering an explanation simply to have one, even though I struggled to believe it myself.
"Did you enjoy the apple pie I made the other day, Caesar? You devoured some of it when you came by to fix the fence," Jill chimed in, her culinary skills well-known. However, I hadn't tasted her cooking in months. "When did I fix the fence?" I asked, my tone dropping with confusion.
Jill's smile widened, as if assuming I understood what she was referring to. "What do you mean? You came by two days ago. You mentioned noticing the hole again and wanted to fix it for us."
"Oh, right! Sorry, my mind has been foggy lately. I loved the pie, it was delicious. You're such an amazing cook!" I responded, though I had no recollection of any fence-fixing visit. I gave her a reassuring answer to alleviate any concerns she might have.
Urgently, I pulled Heather aside, gripping her arm. "Heather, I never went to their house or fixed their fence. I have no idea what's happening, and I promise I'm not going crazy.""I believe you, but I'm starting to feel a little scared. These incidents where you've supposedly been to places and don't remember are unnerving," Heather confessed, her face etched with genuine worry.
The officers emerged from the house, re-holstering their pistols. "Your house is clear. Whatever was here is no longer present. We'll have patrols keep an eye on your property for the next few days. Other than that, you should be able to go back to bed," one of the officers assured us.
"Thank you, officers. We'll call again if anything happens inside," I expressed our gratitude. Heather and I held each other tightly as we made our way back to the house. "Let's try to get some rest," Heather suggested. However, that night, sleep eluded me as the image of that man's eyes lingered in my mind. Why did he resemble me?
It had been quite some time since I last encountered any strange incidents or intruders in my house. I was beginning to feel optimistic about the whole situation. Life had returned to normal, and my relationship with Heather was flourishing.
"You know, Caesar, I eventually want to have a baby. Can you help me with that?" Heather expressed her desire, and I chuckled nervously, embracing her from behind. "Of course, baby. Let's plan it out and see where life takes us." After bidding Heather farewell as she left for work, I settled on the couch.
The thought of becoming a father lingered in my mind, though it seemed like a daunting and incredible prospect.
Little did I know that two hours later, that day would alter the course of my life forever.
"Caesar," a voice pierced through my skull like a bullet, evoking a fear I had never experienced before. Shock washed over me, causing a lump to form in my throat. I recognized the voice, but the sheer terror prevented me from turning around.
"Caesar," the voice repeated, pushing my body into fight or flight mode. Summoning my courage, I slowly turned around.
It was me. The person standing before me was an identical version of myself. "What the fuck!?" I uttered, bewildered.
He began to approach me with slow, deliberate steps. His unblinking eyes and a smirking mouth hinted at some sinister intent. He halted just a foot's length away from me. "What are you!?" I screamed, attempting to push him away.
As he lunged towards my face, I sidestepped and prepared to strike him with a punch from my right hand. However, he swiftly evaded the blow and made another aggressive move towards me. He covered my mouth and nose, struggling to breathe, I swung my fists blindly in his direction before losing consciousness.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a shed approximately a mile away. Disoriented and terrified, I sat up, only to discover that the floor was strewn with animal flesh and blood. The overwhelming stench threatened to obliterate my senses.
I had to find a way back to my house, no matter what. I frantically searched the pockets of my jeans, hoping to find something that could aid me. To my dismay, everything was missing, including the cherished watch that once belonged to my late father.
Summoning my determination, I rose to my feet and forcefully slammed open the decaying wooden door. The task proved effortless, as the door had already begun to rot. As I surveyed my surroundings, I realized I was engulfed by a dense forest, devoid of any visible structures. I vaguely recalled that my house was situated along the northern line, which offered a glimmer of hope.
Although I had never been much of an outdoorsy person while growing up, my father had imparted a few tricks during our camping trips. I recollected his guidance on locating the North Star by first identifying the Big Dipper. I patiently waited for the night sky to emerge, conserving my energy for the impending journey. As the sun barely kissed the horizon, I discerned a cluster of houses, including mine, in the distance.
Mixed emotions welled up within me as I approached my home. Peering through the backyard windows, my heart sank to the floor. There I saw myself, holding Heather in a tight embrace, sharing kisses, laughter, and affection.
Desperate to escape this surreal nightmare, I knocked on the window, hoping to break free from that imposter. Heather's piercing scream echoed through the air as he rushed toward the window, bellowing at me to leave and threatening to involve the police once again. As I began to retreat from the backyard, he smirked, a sinister expression that mirrored my own.
This doppelgänger had assumed my identity in every way, rendering it impossible to distinguish between us. If I dared to approach the house or confront Heather, the consequences would be dire. I had made one attempt before, only to be manipulated into believing that I was a deranged relative harassing them. Heather, unaware of my familial connections due to my reticence about them, fell for his ruse.
Years passed, and I found myself confined to observing them from the safety of the woods. Heather's happiness blossomed as she became pregnant. Meanwhile, I remained trapped in this inexplicable nightmare, grappling with the cruel injustice that had stolen my life away.
As the years dragged on, my existence continued to be overshadowed by the twisted imposter who had stolen my life. I watched from the darkness of the woods as Heather's pregnancy progressed, the anticipation building within her. It was a bitter torment to witness her joy, knowing that I was the rightful father of that child.
​
If you are reading this, please believe me. I am desperate to reclaim my life and will do whatever it takes to bring her back to me.

Video: Return of the King (1980) - Éowyn vs Witchking

“For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice, and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see, but stricken, soon to fall and die? - Aragorn about Éowyn”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
This is part of a series exploring the hidden motives and actions of the main players during Robert's Rebellion, named LBJ in reference to the influence of Lyndon B. Johnson and the Vietnam War on GRRM's views and writings on war. LBJ also indicates considerations over whether Lyanna + Bobby B = Jon Snow. Previous installments include:

• Rhaegar Had To Be A Warrior
• Why Did Rhaegar Crown Lyanna?
  • Ice, Ice Baby?
  • Political Suicide?
  • Was She 'A Very Kinky Girl'?
• The Forging of Lightbringer: Blue Flowers & Narrow Visors
• Rhaegar Mistakenly Crowned Lyanna
• I am not fond of fish, but when fish is served, I eat it.
• All is fair in love and war...
• Kingsguard Loyalty
• Southron Ambitions & Lies

The last part examined evidence that the rebels lied to stage a rebellion to knock the dragons of the Iron Throne, ending with the question: If Rhaegar was taken hostage and prevented from defending himself against false allegations of kidnapping Lyanna, then how did he manage to return to fight at the Trident?

The Return of the Prince: Rhaegar at the Trident

Crowning Lyanna queen of love and beauty indicated to some that Rhaegar intended to set Elia Martell aside and make a new queen. So parallel to Arianne Martell's Queenmaker plot, which led to her solitary confinement in a tower, like Lyanna was confined in the tower of joy, Rhaegar, like the Queenmaker plot conspirators, may be imprisoned at Ghaston Grey in the Sea of Dorne. The precedent of the Mad King's imprisonment at Duskendale and the fact that Dorne has an Alcatraz-style island prison called Ghaston Grey - relating to Beauty & the Beast's Gaston, who imprisoned his romantic interest and lied to incite violence against his rival - supports that Rhaegar or his friends were imprisoned there. It's possible that Rhaegar is still alive; his status as the father of Elia's children may preserve his life. Martin stated Rhaegar was cremated, as is Targaryen tradition, when asked what happened to Rhaegar's body; this statement does not negate the possibility that an imposter's body was cremated in Rhaegar's stead. Or maybe he's truly dead, but there's good reason to believe Rhaegar wasn't present at the Trident where he supposedly died.
As mentioned in previous parts, it is strange that Rhaegar would supposedly leave three Kingsguard with Lyanna, while leaving Elia and their children, the first two heads of the dragon and the prince that was promised, in the care of his deranged father with no Kingsguard besides Jaime, who was kept busy guarding the King. Jaime's failure to protect Rhaegar's family haunts him...

"And the children, them as well," said Prince Lewyn.
Prince Rhaegar burned with a cold light, now white, now red, now dark. "I left my wife and children in your hands."
"I never thought he'd hurt them." Jaime's sword was burning less brightly now. "I was with the king . . ."

- A Storm of Swords Jaime VI
...but it ultimately fell to Rhaegar to ensure the safety of his loved ones, and the situation he left Elia and their children in was obviously dangerous, given that Aerys had to threaten Prince Lewyn with the safety of Elia and her children to convince him to command the Dornish troops. Some have argued that Rhaegar was so confident in prophecy that he underestimated the threat posed to himself and his children, but if that were the case, why bother guarding Lyanna and their alleged child? This failure, in conjunction with other evidence suggesting the abduction story was a farce, indicates that this person who returned from the south wasn't actually Rhaegar.
Recall that if Rhaegar truly abducted and impregnated Lyanna, evidence suggests he stayed with her at the tower long after she conceived. Dany claims to have been conceived soon before Rhaella fled King's Landing, and Martin stated Jon was born roughly 8-9 months before her, placing Jon's birth within a month of Rhaegar's death. Once he returned from the south, it would not have taken more than a few months tops to marshal the loyalist forces to oppose the rebel army. This implies he was at the tower for over a year, while a war raged nearby; why did he suddenly take an interest in the rebellion? Why not enter the fray sooner, when his help really could have made a difference? Walder Frey is ridiculed for arriving late to the Trident, but maybe Rhaegar is the one who truly deserves the moniker "the late lord". And if Rhaegar stayed away due to his love for Lyanna and desire to be with her, why not wait a couple more months so he could be there when she gave birth?
An obvious reason for Rhaegar to appear when he did is that Robert was starting to be taken seriously as a threat, and the crown prince gave heart to the loyalist forces during a pivotal battle; it's too bad this heart wasn't big enough to prevent the war in the first place. Crossing the Trident was also a tactically unsound move by Rhaegar, and it would have been to his advantage to draw the rebel army further south. During the War of the Five Kings, Stannis's forces also attempt to cross a river, the Blackwater Rush, but are spooked off by Renly's ghost:

My hirelings betray me, my friends are scourged and shamed, and I lie here rotting, Tyrion thought. I thought I won the bloody battle. Is this what triumph tastes like? "Is it true that Stannis was put to rout by Renly's ghost?"
Bronn smiled thinly. "From the winch towers, all we saw was banners in the mud and men throwing down their spears to run, but there's hundreds in the pot shops and brothels who'll tell you how they saw Lord Renly kill this one or that one. Most of Stannis's host had been Renly's to start, and they went right back over at the sight of him in that shiny green armor."
After all his planning, after the sortie and the bridge of ships, after getting his face slashed in two, Tyrion had been eclipsed by a dead man. If indeed Renly is dead. Something else he would need to look into. "How did Stannis escape?"

- A Storm of Swords Tyrion I
Like Garlan fought in Renly's armor at the Battle of the Blackwater, an imposter fought as Rhaegar at the Trident. "Rhaegar" wore black armor crusted with rubies, like Mance uses a ruby in a black iron cuff to disguise himself as Rattleshirt via glamor magic. Dany has a vision of her own face behind Rhaegar's visor, and red light glimmers through the visor like Melisandre's glamor-producing rubies glimmer redly.

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

- A Game of Thrones Daenerys IX

Lady Melisandre was seated near the fire, her ruby glimmering against the pale skin of her throat.

- A Dance with Dragons Jon I

The big square-cut gem that adorned his iron cuff glimmered redly. "Do you like my ruby, Snow? A token o' love from Lady Red."

- A Dance with Dragons Jon IV
This is a world with glamor magic, skinchanging, and Faceless Men, and so it cannot be ruled out that an imposter fought as Rhaegar at the Trident. Dany seeing her own face behind Rhaegar's visor hints that someone besides Rhaegar wore his armor. Even Arya, who is said to resemble Lyanna, makes use of the face-changer Jaqen H'ghar at Harrenhal, where all this began... Jaqen H'ghar's name is near anagram for Rhaegar, incidentally. It suspends belief that soldiers would stop in the thick of battle to scoop up rubies, making it easier to accept that ruby-assisted magic was afoot.

When Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of both armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armor.

- A Game of Thrones Eddard I
Perhaps the strongest piece of evidence against an imposter, however, is that Jaime remembers a conversation with Rhaegar before the battle, in which there are no obvious indications of deception.

And all for naught. They found only darkness, dust, and rats. And dragons, lurking down below. He remembered the sullen orange glow of the coals in the iron dragon's mouth. The brazier warmed a chamber at the bottom of a shaft where half a dozen tunnels met. On the floor he'd found a scuffed mosaic of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen done in tiles of black and red. I know you, Kingslayer, the beast seemed to be saying. I have been here all the time, waiting for you to come to me. And it seemed to Jaime that he knew that voice, the iron tones that had once belonged to Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone.
The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. "Your Grace," Jaime had pleaded, "let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine."
Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."
Jaime's anger had risen up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."
"Then guard the king," Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. "When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey."
Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."
Those were the last words Rhaegar Targaryen ever spoke to him. Outside the gates an army had assembled, whilst another descended on the Trident. So the Prince of Dragonstone mounted up and donned his tall black helm, and rode forth to his doom.

- A Feast for Crows Jaime I
Then again, one wouldn't expect a skilled Faceless Man to give up the ruse... Actually, no, I don't think a Faceless Man impersonated Rhaegar at the Trident.

Lyanna fought Robert at the Trident

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If I hadn't lost you already, I probably have now. But hear me out.
mediachomp.com/the-lord-of-the-rings-mansplaining/

“And she answered: 'All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.'
'What do you fear, lady?' he asked.
'A cage,' she said.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
This is the first ASOIAF theory I ever thought up. I suppose I was influenced by Éowyn of The Lord of the Rings in my thinking. Éowyn means 'horse lover', like Lyanna was half a horse herself, an advantageous quality for the warrior maid who fought on horseback and injured the Demon of the Trident.
Video: Ode to Liane
Many who prefer R+L=J also reason that Lyanna was the Knight of the Laughing Tree and was discovered by Rhaegar, to explain why he fell in love with her, despite the folly of returning the mystery knight's sense of honor with an ignoble crowning (I prefer the reasoning that Ned was that mystery knight). Some also assume Lyanna's heritage made her a desirable broodmare to Rhaegar, despite scant evidence that he was interested in warg blood, besides the likely assumption that dragon abilities are related to skinchanging. Lyanna fighting at the Trident is a parallel theory which uses those same elements of disguising oneself to fight for justice, with the aid of House Stark's innate skinchanging ability. Yet this outcome is more impactful, because the stakes were higher at the Trident. The very idea that Lyanna would choose to chill in a tower for over a year fucking a married prince with two very young children while her family and countrymen died in droves on her account is wildly inconsistent with her character.

“Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.”

- A Game of Thrones Eddard IX
Lyanna was a fighter, the type to seek justice out herself, as she did when her father's bannerman was beset by bullies at Harrenhal. Lyanna also healed the crannogman's wounds; likewise, she would do what she could to heal the wounds caused by her disappearance.

"None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. 'That's my father's man you're kicking,' howled the she-wolf."
"A wolf on four legs, or two?"
"Two," said Meera. "The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. There he met her pack brothers: the wild wolf who led them, the quiet wolf beside him, and the pup who was youngest of the four.

- A Storm of Swords Bran II

The rest of his father's words were drowned out by a sudden clatter of wood on wood. Eddard Stark dissolved, like mist in a morning sun. Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone.

- A Dance with Dragons Bran III
Arya is often compared to Lyanna, and Arya fought Robert's heir at the ruby ford where Rhaegar allegedly died. She practiced swordplay with Mycah using wooden sticks, like Lyanna and Benjen fought with sticks in Winterfell's godswood.

"It has a name, does it?" Her father sighed. "Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. "Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her."

- A Game of Thrones Arya II

"Mycah and I are going to ride upstream and look for rubies at the ford."
"Rubies," Sansa said, lost. "What rubies?"
Arya gave her a look like she was so stupid. "Rhaegar's rubies. This is where King Robert killed him and won the crown."

_

Beyond, in a clearing overlooking the river, they came upon a boy and a girl playing at knights. Their swords were wooden sticks, broom handles from the look of them, and they were rushing across the grass, swinging at each other lustily. The boy was years older, a head taller, and much stronger, and he was pressing the attack. The girl, a scrawny thing in soiled leathers, was dodging and managing to get her stick in the way of most of the boy's blows, but not all. When she tried to lunge at him, he caught her stick with his own, swept it aside, and slid his wood down hard on her fingers. She cried out and lost her weapon.
Prince Joffrey laughed. The boy looked around, wide-eyed and startled, and dropped his stick in the grass. The girl glared at them, sucking on her knuckles to take the sting out, and Sansa was horrified. "Arya?" she called out incredulously.
"Go away," Arya shouted back at them, angry tears in her eyes. "What are you doing here? Leave us alone."
Joffrey glanced from Arya to Sansa and back again. "Your sister?" She nodded, blushing. Joffrey examined the boy, an ungainly lad with a coarse, freckled face and thick red hair. "And who are you, boy?" he asked in a commanding tone that took no notice of the fact that the other was a year his senior.
"Mycah," the boy muttered. He recognized the prince and averted his eyes. "M'lord."
"He's the butcher's boy," Sansa said.
"He's my friend," Arya said sharply. "You leave him alone."
"A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, is it?" Joffrey swung down from his mount, sword in hand. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy," he said, his eyes bright with amusement. "Let us see how good you are."
Mycah stood there, frozen with fear.
Joffrey walked toward him. "Go on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls?"
"She ast me to, m'lord," Mycah said. "She ast me to."
Sansa had only to glance at Arya and see the flush on her sister's face to know the boy was telling the truth, but Joffrey was in no mood to listen. The wine had made him wild. "Are you going to pick up your sword?"
Mycah shook his head. "It's only a stick, m'lord. It's not no sword, it's only a stick."
"And you're only a butcher's boy, and no knight." Joffrey lifted Lion's Tooth and laid its point on Mycah's cheek below the eye, as the butcher's boy stood trembling. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?" A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah's flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy's cheek.
"Stop it!" Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick.
Sansa was afraid. "Arya, you stay out of this."
"I won't hurt him … much," Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher's boy.
Arya went for him.

- A Game of Thrones Sansa I
The deadly consequences of Lyanna's disappearance, based on the rebel's lies, would enrage the she-wolf, driving her to confront Robert in battle if given the opportunity. Thus, "Rhaegar's" rash decision to cross the Trident makes sense in the context of an inexperienced warrior maid chomping at the bit to avenge her father and brother. It even mirrors Arya at the Wed Redding, when she recklessly runs towards the Crossing:

"Maybe we can save her . . ."
"Maybe you can. I'm not done living yet." He rode toward her, crowding her back toward the wayn. "Stay or go, she-wolf. Live or die. Your—"
Arya spun away from him and darted for the gate. The portcullis was coming down, but slowly. I have to run faster. The mud slowed her, though, and then the water. Run fast as a wolf. The drawbridge had begun to lift, the water running off it in a sheet, the mud falling in heavy clots. Faster. She heard loud splashing and looked back to see Stranger pounding after her, sending up gouts of water with every stride. She saw the longaxe too, still wet with blood and brains. And Arya ran. Not for her brother now, not even for her mother, but for herself. She ran faster than she had ever run before, her head down and her feet churning up the river, she ran from him as Mycah must have run.
His axe took her in the back of the head.

- A Storm of Swords Arya XI
Lyanna would jump at the chance to practice swordplay with her guards while in captivity, and in particular she'd be eager to learn from the legendary Sword of the Morning Ser Arthur Dayne, like Arya learned from Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos. As Rhaegar's oldest and dearest friend, Arthur could teach Lyanna to pass as Rhaegar in conversation.
Consider that after hearing a song about a lady throwing herself from a tower in grief, like Ashara Dayne allegedly killed herself over her brother's death, Arya thinks the lady should have sought revenge:

It made her angry to see Dareon sitting there so brazen, making eyes at Lanna as his fingers danced across the harp strings.

_

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince. And the singer should be on the Wall.

- A Feast for Crows Cat of the Canals
As argued in the section on Kingsguard loyalty, Dornish Arthur Dayne was complicit in the betrayal of his friend and king because his sister's life was leveraged against him, like (fake) Arya's predicament leads Jon to betray the Watch. Being threatened with Ashara's death if he deserted his post is like how Arya murders Dareon the singer for deserting the Night's Watch. And yet Dareon's desertion is understandable, given that he was sent to the Wall due to a false accusation of rape, after he was caught abed with a daughter of Lord Mathis Rowan. Similarly, Robert falsely accused Rhaegar of raping Lyanna, when he was in fact guilty of raping her... only once.

The king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it were living flesh. “I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.”
“You did,” Ned reminded him.
“Only once,” Robert said bitterly.

- A Game of Thrones Eddard I
It would add a haunting dimension to Robert's claim that he dreams of killing Rhaegar every night if Robert glimpsed Lyanna once the rubies were dislodged and "Rhaegar" was in the stream. Alternately, if he knew Rhaegar had been killed already, he'd understand that he was fighting an imposter, and so Robert's allusion to Rhaegar dying a thousand deaths stinks of the rage the Mountain must have felt as Beric Dondarrion kept returning from death. Robert's inexplicable rage after his successful defeat of Rhaegar indicates something was off about this event in his mind.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night," Robert admitted. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves."

- A Game of Thrones Eddard I
Not only does Dany have a vision of her own face, a woman's face, behind Rhaegar's redly glimmering visor, but she also has a vision of "Rhaegar" saying an unidentified woman's name in the stream.

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

- A Game of Thrones Daenerys IX

Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name. . . . mother of dragons, daughter of death . . .

- A Clash of Kings Daenerys IV
The world of ice and fire app claims that Rhaegar said Lyanna's name at his death, but that source is only semi-canon. Both Jon and Robb say their direwolves names as they die, and so it's possible that "Rhaegar's" final words are related to skinchanging.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end.

- A Dance with Dragons Jon XIII

"Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, please. Save yourself . . . if not for me, for Jeyne."
"Jeyne?" Robb grabbed the edge of the table and forced himself to stand. "Mother," he said, "Grey Wind . . ."
"Go to him. Now. Robb, walk out of here."

- A Storm of Swords Catelyn VII
Dany also notes warrior maids with rubies, paralleling this idea that Lyanna was a warrior maid in Rhaegar's ruby-crusted armor.

warrior maids from Bayasabhad, Shamyriana, and Kayakayanaya with iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks

- A Game of Thrones Daenerys VI
Lyanna using a glamor to disguise herself is problematic, however, in that it wouldn't produce the iron tones in Rhaegar's voice that Jaime remembers, and her female body would put her at a natural disadvantage in combat, so skinchanging into a male body is a necessary component. But if Rhaegar's body wasn't available, the male she skinchanged into would then need to be glamored to resemble Rhaegar closely enough as to not arouse suspicions when she arrived in King's Landing. It also may be the case that Rhaegar's body was available, along with his armor, after torture left him comatose. Note that the ritual which leaves Drogo in a comatose state, in which Dany also goes into labor, involves shadows which parallel the shadows Bran saw in his vision of the Trident; these shadows may belong to Ned and Robert, as will be argued in a later part:

No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn't, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn't they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.

- A Game of Thrones Daenerys VIII
We may assume House Targaryen has access to arcane devices, which the Kingsguard would be in a position to know about, given Bloodraven's use of a moonstone glamor in The Mystery Knight (which also depicts a warrior maid in black armor):

Dunk whirled. Through the rain, all he could make out was a hooded shape and a single pale white eye. It was only when the man came forward that the shadowed face beneath the cowl took on the familiar features of Ser Maynard Plumm, the pale eye no more than the moonstone brooch that pinned his cloak at the shoulder.

_

Mad Danelle Lothston herself rode forth in strength from her haunted towers at Harrenhal, clad in black armor that fit her like an iron glove, her long red hair streaming.

- The Mystery Knight
It's also possible that Lyanna had some sort of Faceless Man training; their ability to disguise themselves appears to be related to skinchanging.

"Mummers change their faces with artifice," the kindly man was saying, "and sorcerers use glamors, weaving light and shadow and desire to make illusions that trick the eye. These arts you shall learn, but what we do here goes deeper. Wise men can see through artifice, and glamors dissolve before sharp eyes, but the face you are about to don will be as true and solid as that face you were born with.

- A Dance with Dragons The Ugly Little Girl
Lyanna's defense of the crannogman, who travelled to the Isle of Faces in a skin boat to visit the green men, may have something to do with her access to these abilities.

"The finest knight I ever saw was Ser Arthur Dayne, who fought with a blade called Dawn, forged from the heart of a fallen star. They called him the Sword of the Morning, and he would have killed me but for Howland Reed." Father had gotten sad then, and he would say no more. Bran wished he had asked him what he meant.

- A Clash of Kings Bran III

"He passed beneath the Twins by night so the Freys would not attack him, and when he reached the Trident he climbed from the river and put his boat on his head and began to walk. It took him many a day, but finally he reached the Gods Eye, threw his boat in the lake, and paddled out to the Isle of Faces."
"Did he meet the green men?"
"Yes," said Meera, "but that's another story, and not for me to tell. My prince asked for knights."

- A Storm of Swords Bran II
So after receiving adequate training and equipment, a disguised Lyanna may then be allowed to leave her tower to confront Robert at the Trident, contingent upon her return in service to whatever oaths held Arthur at the tower against his will. A battle wound may then be the cause of Lyanna's bed of blood... Consider Arthur Dayne's legendary sword Dawn, likely inspired by King Arthur's Excalibur. During the fight at the tower of joy, Ned describes the blade as alive with light, like King Arthur once drew Excalibur and the blade shined so bright it blinded his enemies.

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

- A Game of Thrones Eddard X
Excalibur's sheath also had magical healing powers (keep in mind the dick and vagina symbolism of a sword and sheath). The legendary prowess of the Sword of the Morning thus may be related to his sword's hidden healing ability, and so after Lyanna sustained her chest wound at the Trident, she may be transported back south to be healed by Dawn. This seems unlikely, however, given how grievously wounded "Rhaegar" was.
If skinchanging was involved, then Lyanna never had to bodily leave the tower, and survived the Trident through spiritually returning to her original body, and her bed of blood was in fact caused by birthing Jon. If Lyanna had a consensual affair with her impressive guard Ser Arthur, it would dovetail nicely with another aspect of Arthurian legend, in which Sir Lancelot has an affair with Queen Guinevere at his castle Joyous Guard, despite his close friendship with King Arthur. The Sword of the Morning and the Demon of the Trident are not the only candidates for Jon's father; Oswell Whent is also a potential sire, in light of the parallel in which Cersei instructs Osney Kettleblack (who some believe is Oswell's son) to seduce Margaery to remove her as Queen; the rebels may have instructed Oswell to ensure Lyanna became pregnant, to dissuade Robert from marrying her so that he'd be free to wed Cersei to keep the Lannister's support, or to stage a death in childbirth so that Lyanna would be unable to spread the truth of her imprisonment. The idea that Lyanna became pregnant while confined also parallels Daena the Defiant's pregnancy despite her imprisonment in the Maidenvault.
On that note, unless Martin lied, it's indisputable that Lyanna gave birth to Jon... but when? Skinchanging removes the hinderance of a swollen belly and other bodily limitations, but if Lyanna did in fact fight while pregnant, she was perhaps not as far along as we're led to believe. If we accept that Jon was born roughly 8-9 moons before Dany, as Martin states, then the only way to adjust Jon's birth is to then assume Dany isn't who she thinks she is, that she wasn't born 9 moons after Rhaella's flight. Beyond typical lemongate reasons to doubt Dany's past, there's a discrepancy in which Viserys tells Dany of a midnight flight to Dragonstone, whereas Jaime recalls Rhaella and Viserys departing in the morning. This casts doubt on both Dany and Viserys's origins and allows us leeway to adjust Jon's birthdate. Lyanna giving birth before the Trident is possible, and though Robb is supposedly older than Jon, it's hard to pin down exactly when Robb was born; Jon could be older than Robb without it being noticed, as infants can differ greatly in size and development, as seen with Gilly and Mance's sons.
Speaking of Mance Rayder, I’m pretty confident he's Arthur Dayne.
So, given everything we're told about what kind of person Lyanna was, along with parallels between her and Arya involving swordplay and disguises, it's easy to see that rather than being the Knight of the Laughing Tree, Lyanna fought when it mattered most, to avenge her family at the Trident, against the man who truly dishonored her.
In the next part, we'll gaze into King Robert's magic mirror, Queen Cersei, to uncover strong evidence that he had Rhaegar tortured for the crime of crowning his betrothed. To preview where this series is headed, in its full audio/visual glory with greater detail, look here.

Note: I make fun of books and authors, so if you really can’t take being poked at, Spindle Manor will do the poking for you with their long, sexy legs.
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Table of Contents: ctrl + f:
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Updates: #
Stats: ^
Recs: *
Conclusion: @
Answers: ~
Theme: Ö
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Welcome back to Reviewless Review Recs of May!
A short introduction to this post: Every book is recommended, regardless of how bad it is or not. You have the brain capacity to decide if you like it or not, don’t let a stranger make a decision for you.
I speak in the second POV and describe what the book is actually about, and not the false advertising of publishing companies. I do this with shitty jokes and satire and try to convince you to pick up the book, regardless of how I feel about it.
Unlike Hoover, all books deserve a chance….Sigh, OK, fine, fine, Barbara. Even….Even...Eleventh Cycle.
ARE YOU HAPPY, NOW, B-
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May:
May was filled with disappointment that a jury vote existed and the king of Finland didn’t win Eurovision. The world unanimously cried, but couldn’t be that mad that Loreen won.
Except this bitch.
I fucking wanted Alika to win so badly. I even voted and paid for the first time to give all my votes to her. Her song spoke to me and touched me that it’s never too late to go back to my work.
If Bomanz from Black Company can become a famous sorcerer at his rickety age, maybe we can too!
My favorites of Eurovision (from music videos only, I feel like every one of my favs bombed someway except Finland, France, and Norway):
Estonia
France
Austria
Czechia (wtf was that live performance...)
Finland
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In ACTUAL book news, I’ve been waiting patiently for the library to hand me the newest Mark Lawrence book that I’ve been waiting literally 3 and a half weeks now, but I still get bumped down on Libby...for some reason. Eh.
Also since I managed to finish “She Who Rides the Storm”, I finally started “Elantris”. Was a long time coming but was saving it for a while and thought it was finally time to tackle Sanderson. I started Way of Kings with the paperback version and boy, that was a mistake for my ADHD…
And, that’s why I got a Kindle last year.
Anywho, let’s get started!
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Some Updates: #
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• I started comparing last month’s stats with this month, just to see how everything is progressing cause I like working with numbers!
• As requested by a user, I have made the recs longer
• At the end of each Rec, I put a theme song that I thought fit each book appropriately. You can tell how much I loved Eurovision this year.

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Stats: ^
Books read this month: 10 (+3)
Books I started: 13 (=)
Total amount of words I read (approx): 1,050,508 (-414,261,565) according to last month...I read way more. Not sure why the numbers are this drastic
Books published 2010+ : 8 (N/A)
Mary Sues & John Smiths: 11, give or take (7+)
YA books: 5 (+4)
Good smut scenes: 1 (+1?) I think it was in the Witcher, say what you will about the series, the man knows how to write smut
Light Novels read: 0 (-2)
Books that felt Souls-like: 6 (+2)
Audiobooks: 4 (N/A)
How many brain cells I lost: 529 (+500)
Brain cells gain: 175 (N/A)
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What other stats do you guys want to see?
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Guessing Game:
Want to know the real rating I gave each of these books anyway, even though the true spirit of this post is to decide for yourself anyway? I know there’s one of you fuckers in here, but here, guess the ratings and the answers are revealed at the end. You anarchist, you.
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Reviewless Review Recs: \*
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Seven Faceless Saints by M.K. Lobb: Read if you're in the ages 14-18, as this is possibly the most edgiest thing you might read about fictional Italy. Two teens are trying to solve a murder mystery in an alternate universe where Catholicism reigns supreme. Wait.
As an adult, this is a living personification of that one prozd video.
If you ever played Phoenix Wright, you’ll figure out the murderer in 5 seconds. If you haven’t, then maybe this would come as a surprise.
Atheism is talked about on the nose, you can't stop thinking about “Friends” because of "Roz" being mentioned every other second, and our intrepid MC goes to horny jail every other second when she's literally fighting for her life and not focusing on a gun that could disembowel her.
PTSD of war is represented by the male MC who probably once could have been the trope of the “nice guy” in school that you never had interest in, but 3 years later, because he sported 5 o’ clock shadow and has a baritone voice, he’s automatically hot.
Oh, and there are token bi, POC, and elderly people, but they’re only mentioned for a few pages, so don’t expect that much diversity. You think Archer, Maas, and Lobb could actually be friends with each other given how they write their books. A secret society. cough
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Ö Theme: Heat Waves – Lime: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BOokFwrmri4
Ö Runner up clip: Moist maker (this sandwich is actually GOAT, made it several times): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9FG4kg8HNU
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Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman :
Read if Percy Jackson wasn’t edgy and dark enough for you and need something similar. Uniorinically, this is actually not satire but an actual (sorta) rec. Structure is similar to Jackson but with none of the jovial themes and tropes. Think “Lightning Thief”, only dark and edgy with grotesque monsters and, not urbanite Greek deities, but evil people from the Crusades era.
You keep thinking you’ll meet the 4th character in the Sanderson reunion tour, but there’s actually only 3 characters that are on this journey, not 4. So that Italian will actually not join us even though you liked his character a ton and curse at yourself at a potential LGBT partner dude. One day.
You will also find yourself crying, not because of how the story ended, but how the epilogue ended and boot up AO3 to fix everything.
You probably should(n’t) give this book to your aunt for reasons you know in the back of your mind but your evil AF. Maybe offer this to at Christmas and explain that it’s a book about a pilgrimage...(which isn’t totally wrong) but you’re a little bastard that is gonna get an ass whopping next Christmas, but it’ll be worth it.
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Ö Theme: Alika- Bridges: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wO9g5t3VSuw
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Time of Contempt (Volume (???)) by Andrzej Sapkowski (Witcher)
Read if you want to see Geralt turn into a woke ally Boomer, Yennefer going to relationship counseling, and Ciri gets her wish in more ways than one. If you’re comparing Witcher books with each other, quality has gone up since Blood of Elves if that’s what you’re concerned about. We also see the Abyss Watchers making an appearance and then you think of Jerma’s Rat song in your head for inexplicable reasons.
This book is mostly about Yennefer trying to employ questionable (albeit understandable) parenting tactics on Ciri and being caught up in the after math.
As usual, book is dated towards rape, but the only saving grace is it’s “off screen” and not in your face, “Eleventh Cycle”, knock that shit off
Let’s be real, you can’t treat this series as a separate unique book to it’s own, it’s more of a long ass story that Sapkowski decided for marketing reasons to space it out in 300+ page books.
If you ask me what makes this more interesting than the previous books, it will be like asking me which regional orange looks different and bitch, I don’t got energy for that shit.
Ö Theme: Rats Birthday Mixtape
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The Curse of the Spectre Queen / The Rise of the Snake Goddess by Jenny Moke
Read if you like to imagine Indiana Jones as a teenage girl, but loves books. Instead of meeting hot girls, we meet hot 1920s men, which you get to decide how good or bad that is.
The BAMF slays and you wish we had her as our Jones instead of our shy book loving MC, but hey, at least this MC has at least one quality to her that has way more personality that anything Shannon can hope to write in her stories. (Yes I know she writes her books as if they were history books, that’s not the point, Meredith)
Spectre Queen’s plot is literally about another book that will make you hug trees and will lead our characters across to Ireland. The next book is about a girdle, that you literally had to Google wtf a girdle was. You first thought it was a grill.
You wonder if the publishing agency struck a deal with the Irish and Crete travel agencies.
You also make a startling discovery that these characters are your OC from high school and middle school and your love interest OC from college mashed up into an adventure book that is oddly less erotic than anything Maas could create. You get to decide how good or bad that is.
Ö Theme: Indiana Jones Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bTpp8PQSog
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Mordew by Alex Pheby
Read if you want to read an MC bland as hard tack inherit powers that don’t make sense till past the 70% mark. You want to read a dark YOUTH ADULT novel. Can’t find anything that’s edgy and dark enough for you? Well, here it is!
Dark mansion with Igor from the Velvet Room with an obvious villain being obvious, befriending a young boy that supposedly wants the best for him.
What can go wrong?
There are Souls-like elements weaved in, but you’re not going to see much of it. It’s mostly a vibe/fart than a plot or atmosphere.
What this book is pretty much: boy wants to help dad, there are weird monsters living in the mud, and a mansion that totally wants to abduct/help kids. Totally. Oh, and be aware, animals die in this book. A lot. An entire species is pretty much annihilated for teenage hormonal reasons that won’t make sense even if you’re still a teen. (Yes, I was one too and I also didn’t go on genocides. Thanks, Dad, you are a gem.). Oh, and someone fucked an anthropomorphized hedgehog along the way. Yeah. That happened.
If you go into this book, DO NOT READ THE BLURB! It ruins the whole plot of the entire book. If you buy/rent it, don’t you dare flip to the back side. Just open to the first chapter and start reading. You’re welcome, Matt.
Ö Theme: La Zarra – Evidemment Unironically, I think this song fits rather well with Mordew https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWfbEFH9NvQ
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Ö Runner up clip: Running in the 90s: You know why... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJ0xBCwkg3E
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She Who Rides the Storm by Catelin Sangster
Read if you like Sanderson and wished he focused more on the characters rather than the world building. You also like the ooey gooey feeling of finding a red/blue ship that you wished was the main pairing, but you’ll have to settle them being the side ship. Oh god, why, every single time?!
While it does have a romance tilt to it, this book focuses more on finding a cure for a mysterious illness and two of the characters are refugees from a religious cult that loves sunshine and that one weird horse mount from the Empire Strikes Back that you couldn’t take the auroshees seriously because of that.
Imagine that desert bar scene in A New Hope, but make it a whole book. But make it about a heist as a side plot that is barely touched on until the last 20% of the novel.
You also love doing puzzles in your spare time as you’ll be doing a lot of piecing together of the plot and world building from chapter to chapter. Unlike my problems, this one is pieceable and the last remaining piece is dangled over your head until the next book.
...Sangster is probably going to make you pay $20 for this singular piece, ain’t she?
Ö Theme: First Aid Kit - The Lion’s Roar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqS1MV_xA_I
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Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain
Read if you want to have a blunt conversation with Bourdain about food, the faults of the kitchens, what not to do if you want to be a chef, and to be transported to the deepest, darkest alley where you might be knifed, but goddamn, the best chicken heart can be found here.
If you’re a bitch that’s easily spooked by curse words, then this probably isn’t for you. Though...you can sneak this to your cook boyfriend if you want to break up, because he already read the fucking book, Berta, I thought you knew him better by now!...Now you can finally segway to break up. Congratulations!
You’ll see the workings of a mind that was suffering. That was the reflection of this entire autobiography. Suffering and food. That’s life in reality, ain’t it?
Don’t expect cohesion or a semblance of logical flow of pacing. This book, like Mr. Bourdain’s mind, was a cluster fuck of erotically describing food, the dark corners and reality of the cooking world, and shitting on people because they were dicks.
He is sorely missed, and this isn’t a bit, but I still mourn his loss to the world. The world needs him again.
RIP to the GOAT.
Ö Theme: Okami – Sei-an (Aristocratic Quarter II) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxXsEqNBTYE (Because he’s timeless and immortal even beyond death)
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Skullduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy
Read if you got tired of everything happy and sunshine in Percy Jackson and wanted blood, death, knives, SKELETONS, AND 12 year olds that are surprisingly self aware of the fact that they’re a teenager. You want less consumerism and capitalism than what Percy Jackson pushed down your throat. Finally, no mentions of those fucking gold arches, Riordan.
Oddly, no parents are dead in this book. In every YA book you read, there is at least one parent dead, gone to get milk, or playing Tears of the Kingdom. Pleasant surprise for this narrator.
You are also a person that hates world building that lastS for pages and pages. There’s none of that in this book. Expect pages of dialogue like it’s a transcript of my parent’s arguments.
Mom, I don’t agree with you. No, I don’t agree with you either, Dad. You fucking little….Just plant the damn fig tree, for fuck’s sake.
From other sources, apparently the book series gets darker as books go on, so take that as you will. Listening to Eminem and Linken Park between books may increase levels of angst in the subsequent books.
Side effects include: angst, a potentially bi-found family that lasts 10 seconds, fear of skeletons, mourning for fictional characters, and teenagers being oddly logical.
Post script: This would actually make an excellent autumnal book cause of spoopy skeletons.
Ö Theme: Lose Yourself – Eminem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YuAzR2XVAM (I was yesterday old when I realized “Mom’s spaghetti” lyrics was this song)
Ö Runner up clip: Spooky scary skeletons
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The White Rose (Volume 3 of the Black Company) by Glen Cook
Read if you liked having Charm flashbacks of Volume 1, but want a great dopamine rush in Volume 3.
Night Circus got nothing on this book for reasons you’ll figure out later. Expect a lot of weird crack shenanigans such as talking rocks just to name an example. The Lady’s character is fleshed out a lot more than previous volumes. Twists and turns are aplenty and Croacker complaining he’s too old like an old grandpa shopping 10 AM at a Walmart.
Funny enough, Morgenstern is a lot related to this book in more ways than one. Move over, lady, Cook was the original writer of Night Circus, caramel popcorn and candy apples be damned! We’re eating crusty bread and thickened stew, bitch!
You’re not going to be at the edge of your seat until the last percentage of the book, but it’s worth the dopamine rush and emotions that are given in the end, long after you put the book down. You will find yourself wandering around the library wondering how you returned from a reality of flying manta rays and talking rocks...to old ass Swedes loitering in the lobby, discussing where to fika next.
You’ll need a lot of Monsters to process your emotions tonight.
You also finally figure out where Miyazaki got the inspiration for the Storm King in Demon Souls. All this time, you got mad at Miyazaki for inserting a giant manta ray for disappointing climax reasons. No. He may have understood Black Company more than we thought.
Coleydoesthings is also screaming at the top of her lungs by the end of the book, crying into her body pillow.
Ö Theme: MSR – Lord of the Wolves: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izFwwGx-wmo (Someone help me on the EX Stages omfg)
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Conclusion: @
I’ll be traveling soon, so the books might be on the short side, but my dumbass quality will remain. Just sprinkled with a lot of curry, chapati, and a big helping of obesity.
God, my thighs can’t take anymore of America.
I think I’ll have fun reading Elantris cause it’s literally a love letter to Soulsbourne and I might learn a bit from it! Can’t wait for it!
I know it’s not book related too much, but what were y’alls favorite in Eurovision?
(Did anyone feel like Armenia just spent money to send that girl an expensive Tinder profile?)
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Answers: ~
Seven Faceless: 2/5
Between Two Fires: 3/5
Time of Contempt: 4/5
Curse and Snake: 3.95/5 & 4/5
Mordew: 1.5/5
She Who Rides the Storm: 3.9/5
Skullduggery: 3/5
Medium Raw: 4/5
White Rose: 4.5/5
If you have any constructive feedback, I’m open to them! Hope you enjoyed this month’s Recs!
Link to Blog Post: https://cannedbreadblog.wordpress.com/2023/05/31/ladyelfriedes-canned-books-reviewless-review-recs-of-may/

be me; ex LizarDM
be also me; Adonis Valintellis (Tiefling Paladin), Thalia Milakos (Human Ranger) and Zaahir Kehmet (Earth Genasi Wizard)
turning the corner at speed, Zaahir ploughed into a market stall, throwing an array of fruits and nuts into the air as he struck
pain shot through his hip and back, but before the merchant could even raise their voice, Zaahir was up and running again, tossing a few loose coins over his shoulder in the process
left, right, then left again
he tore through the streets like a man possessed, pumping his arms and legs as he sprinted
his lungs burned and his heart pounded, but he knew he couldn't stop
if he stopped, they'd catch him. And he'd have to start all over again
the amulet he’d stolen slapped against his chest, burrowing a hole into his ribs with each strike
he’d tried to toss it before, get rid of it and all that followed
but no sooner would he try, the amulet would appear back on his person, as if he’d never attempted in the first place
and then there was the old man
that decrepit figure that clung to his mind like a tick. A relentless presence that refused to leave
Zaahir didn’t recognise him. There was very little he recognised
he was in Syracae, that much was certain
but the identity of the old man. The amulet around his neck. The reason he was here in the first place
he knew none of it
it was like a dream. The more he tried to remember, the more he forgot
Zaahir stopped at a corner, gasping for breath as his heart thundered against his rib cage
he had tried to take a different path. Tried to change the outcome
but he recognised these streets. These buildings
in spite of all he had done, he was in the lower agora again
it was as if the world itself were reshaping to fit a certain narrative
a narrative that he was forced to act in, even if he didn’t know the script
he observed the slope of the street, noting the downward decline to his right
muttering a foreign curse under his breath, he turned to the left, and began running
the upward slope burned his quads, but even as he ran, he could feel the world changing
the burn in his quads shifted to his calves, and now he was moving downhill
he stopped in place and turned, glancing in either direction
no matter which way he looked, the road always seemed to move downward
down to the lower agora
he was reflecting on this reality bending phenomenon when he became aware of the subtle changes in the wind
the air around him became hotter, and with it came the distinct odours of a foreign land
sand, salt, myrrh and oil of balanos and cedar
the shadows began to bend, and Zaahir felt the prickle of hairs on his neck begin to rise
a figure appeared at the end of the street, towering and gaunt
he had just the time to make out a bestial head, like that of a jackal, before he took off running
the world shifted around him once more, bending to fit the narrative in which he had no say
and Zaahir continued to play his part, ever the unwilling actor in a story he did not recognise

the rain cascaded down like a flood, running off the makeshift tarp and pooling at the adventurer’s feet
Thalia led the way, scanning what little area she could make out amidst the rain and gloom
behind her, Adonis held up his shield, bearing the weight of their meagre shelter without complaint
5 kilometres was not far to travel. In ideal conditions, the pair could cover that distance within under 45 minutes
but these were not ideal conditions, and their shambling gait slowed their progress to a crawl
peering through the storm, Thalia made out a silhouette in the near distance; pale against the darkened surroundings
beckoning Adonis to follow, Thalia led the way over, guiding the pair in an uncoordinated shuffle towards the figure
the rain parted and the silhouette manifested into the body of a woman, her head lowered as if in grief
dark hair clung to her face like a curtain, the clothes on her back soaked to the bone
Thalia gave a defeated sigh, already steering them away
this woman was the most recent in a long line of unfamiliar faces; giving the ranger just enough hope to cling onto, but not enough to keep the growing dread at bay
try as she might to ignore it, the ever shrinking thread on her wrist served as a terrible reminder of their fading chances of escape
by now, the thread had shrunk to 3 inches. A quarter of what they’d started with
even if they found Zaahir at this very moment, they wouldn’t have the time to escape the Underworld before their entrance closed
observing his partner’s fading willpower, Adonis rested a spare hand on her shoulder, and raised his voice to be heard over the downpour
“shall we try out the spell again? See what we can muster?”
Thalia slowed in her advance and gave a half hearted nod; unconvinced of their chances
the pair came to a stop, and Adonis stepped closer so as to bring them both beneath the full protection of his shield
safe from any wayward droplets of rain, Thalia closed her eyes and began to focus, calling on the ever shrinking well of magical power within her
imitating Zaahir’s spell had proven more difficult than expected
on top of the immense pressure and unforgiving environment; Zaahir’s style of magic couldn’t be further removed from her own
a strict academic approach to the arcane, his magic was brought about through years of careful study and hundreds of hours locked within a dusty library
her own approach was far less refined
to her, magic was less a thing to be studied and manipulated, and more a force to be reasoned with
a wild creature, that if you weren’t careful in your handling of, could just as easily harm you as the target you intended
wielding magic required both patience and care
two attributes that she found herself lacking as of late
drawing on the magic within her, she began to cast the spell, honing in on Zaahir’s unique life force
her perception expanded out like an aura, alerting her to the presence of several souls within the vicinity, each shining with its own distinct light
if she focused, she could begin to make out details. What they were wearing. What they looked like
but before she could begin to search for Zaahir, Thalia was met with an all too familiar resistance
an interference that hovered in the air, blurring her magical sight until each soul was indistinguishable from the next
letting loose a cry of frustration, Thalia released the spell, and her senses returned to her body
“I still can’t do it,” she meekly explained. “I always feel like I’m so close to getting it, but no matter what I do or how hard I try, I can’t make him out in all of... this-”
she waved her hands about frantically, gesturing to everything and nothing at all
giving a weary sigh in response, Adonis squeezed the young woman’s shoulder reassuringly
“it’s not your fault. With the rains and their effects, there may be too much magical energy floating around. It’s no wonder you can’t lock on”
“so what are we supposed to do? Keep walking and hope we stumble across him?”
Thalia pulled away from the paladin’s grasp and turned to meet his gaze, her once brown eyes now a steely grey
“I’m out of my depth here, Adonis. I know I’m meant to stay strong and be brave, but I’m not sure how much longer I can keep pretending that I’m not scared out of my mind”
“a demon almost killed me earlier and we've barely had a moment to stop and think. A few hours before that, you pulled me out of a flaming river of hell, and now, we’re standing on Chaon’s front lawn trying to steal one of his garden ornaments. Everything is moving so fast, and yet, I know we’re not moving fast enough”
she glared up at him, her body taut with anger and frustration
but after only a few moments, all of the strength in her body seemed to fade away, taking the anger along with it
her shoulders slumped, and now she looked up at him with tired eyes, searching his face for any hint of the guidance or wisdom she’d learned to rely on so heavily
“I just need to hear you say that you have a plan. That when all of this is over and done, that things are going to be okay. Because I can’t see the big picture anymore”
Adonis met the young woman’s gaze; her once bright, hopeful eyes now dull and so full of defeat
her will was hanging on by a thread
one wrong word, and that thread would snap
Adonis’ lips curled into a sad, tired smile, and his hand lifted to cradle her cheek
it was cold against his fingers, the last remnants of heat in her body having been stripped away by the rains
he held her for a moment, his mind working overtime to think of the right words. The inspiring phrases. The rousing speeches
but as he looked into her eyes, he knew that they weren’t what she needed right now
“when I first met you on that boat, I saw a scared, frightened young woman, taking her first steps into the wider world. A farmer’s daughter, trying her lot as an adventurer. You were clinging to Namira so tight, I was afraid you’d blow over if you let go for even a moment”
Thalia stared up at him, not saying a word in response
Adonis took that as his sign to continue
“you looked at the world like every little thing in it was a terrible threat. Every wave on the sea, every cloud in the sky. Even an old fool like me. You seemed so sure that the world was out to get you. And that first night, when the harpies came swooping in, I was sure you’d run. Take shelter or hide below deck”
his eyes glazed over as he spoke, as if he weren’t looking at the woman in front of him, but somewhere else. Somewhere far away from here
“imagine my surprise when instead, this frightened, shaking twig of a girl steps out onto the bow of the ship, and begins shooting these harpies down one after the other”
he began miming the arrows, an unconscious smile creeping across his face
“and I looked at you, thinking; where did that frightened girl go?. Who is this…doppleganger that’s taken her place?. Throughout the fight, I continued to watch; and eventually I figured it out. She wasn’t gone. Even then, as she took down harpy after harpy, I could see that she was still afraid”
his eyes focused on Thalia’s face, and the smile faded to a warm, proud expression
“and I knew from that very moment; That’s someone I want at my side. That girl is going to become a hero. Not because you weren’t frightened. But because you were. And you fought anyway”
he gave her shoulder a squeeze and gestured to the terrible rains around them
“now I’ll agree, things look dire. When I look forward, the big picture can be hard to see. But I look at the little picture, and I see what we’ve overcome to get here. No, we haven’t found Zaahir yet. But we know he’s in here, and every step we take, is a step closer to finding him”
Adonis rose to his full height, holding the shield high above his shoulders
“now, I’m ready to keep looking. No matter how long it takes. Are you ready?”
in spite of herself, a smile touched Thalia’s lips, and she felt a warm tear run down her cheek
“yeah”
stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around Adonis’ midsection, holding him tight as the rain pelted down around them
“thank you”
Adonis smiled down at her, feeling the corners of his eyes begin to well up in tears
he wiped them away with a finger, and Thalia pulled away, steadying herself with a long, shaky exhale
the paladin raised an eyebrow, giving her a wry grin
“so how about it. Want to give that spell one more shot?”
a nervous laugh escaped Thalia’s lips before she steeled her nerves and nodded
“yeah. I think so”
Adonis gestured for her to go ahead and Thalia took a deep breath in, closing her eyes as she let the world go quiet around her
when the rain had all but faded away, she dipped into the well of magic and felt the familiar buzz of energy that awaited
she tapped into it, feeling the energy race up her spine and cause her fingertips to tingle and her tongue to go numb
when the buzzing had settled, she began to reach out into the void, expanding her senses to the souls around her
the air hummed with arcane interference, the magic of the Fields hovering all around her
they blurred the essences around her, causing the individual souls to meld together into an incomprehensible soup
Thalia prepared to let the magic go, and then a thought entered her mind
don’t look at the big picture
just before the spell faded from her control, Thalia recalled it, coercing the magic back under her command
this time, when she cast her senses into the void, she didn’t focus on the souls, letting them drift to the peripherals of her vision
she needed something smaller. Something only Zaahir would have
a unique item?
no
any items he possessed would have remained with his physical body
her brow furrowed in concentration, her mind conjuring up an image of her friend
it was blurry and imperfect, but she held it all the same, inspecting him in her mind’s eye
after a moment of careful observation, she was struck by a glaringly obvious feature
the gold in his skin
having been around the mage for so long, she’d almost forgotten how unique his appearance truly was
she nodded to herself, preparing to redirect the spell to seek out the nearest source of gold
but just before the spell could leave her fingertips, a sudden thought entered her mind
Adonis still had his coin purse
what were the chances that he didn’t have a single gold coin on him?
she supposed that she could throw his purse into the bottomless bag, but the thought had scarcely passed her mind before she dismissed it
she didn’t understand how the bag worked, and it wasn’t worth risking the few scraps of magic she had left on a hunch
giving a disappointed sigh, Thalia went back to brainstorming
what was unique to Zaahir?
what did he have, that no one else would?
she thought for several seconds, working over her mental image again and again, searching for something to focus on
her eyes passed over his body, his unique appearance and foreign clothes
his clothes
Zaahir had several sets of clothes. They all did
but the ones he wore that day were distinctly Khoprisi in design
“do Melanteans go to the Isle?” she blurted, her mind racing
“what?”
Adonis’ voice reached her ears, but it sounded far away, as if she were hearing it through a thick wall
“Melanteans. What happens to their souls if they’re evil?”
she fought to maintain the spell, balancing her attention between it and Adonis’ response
“I don’t entirely recall. Melantean faith wasn’t my area of study”
uttering a curse under her breath, Thalia reigned in her intrusive thoughts, and recontained the spell that had begun to slip under her absence of concentration
without Adonis’ confirmation, she’d be taking an immense risk
but what else was she supposed to do?
resigning herself to the possibility of failure, Thalia cast the spell, refining her search to Khoprisi made clothes
her field of awareness expanded, passing over soul after soul
it grew wider and wider, with no hint of pause or recognition
and just as she was beginning to give up hope, the spell locked onto an object, and Thalia’s heart rose into her throat
not 300 metres away, right on the edge of her vision, was a layered cloth robe, cut from dyed Khoprisi linen
Thalia’s eyes shot open, and she turned to Adonis with a wide smile
“you found him?” Adonis asked, his eyes brightening with hope
“I found someone. I can’t make promises, but…”
in spite of her efforts to curb her enthusiasm, Thalia practically radiated a sense of renewed hope
his own reserved smile widening to a grin, Adonis gestured with his arm
“lead the way then”
giving an energetic nod, Thalia raised their cloth shelter and began to shuffle in the direction of the skirt, fighting every urge to not go running off into the rain spattered fields
it would be a rather pitiful end to wind up trapping themselves right before they found their friend
and so, forced to move at a crawling pace, Thalia led the way, projecting her thoughts out as if they might reach Zaahir somewhere within these Fields
hold on just a little bit longer. We’re on our way

Zaahir collapsed against the brick wall, gasping for air in between bouts of dry retching
his vision swam before his eyes, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he feared it would give out
not that it would matter
were he to die, he’d merely wind up right where he started, and be forced to relive this all over again
fighting to regain his breath and recompose himself, Zaahir closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool brick wall
but where his brow should have touched hard brick, he instead felt the smooth texture of polished cedar wood
opening his eyes, he let out a long, exasperated groan; recognising an all too familiar door
even without this bizarre realm of scripted encounters and indefinite loops, he would have recognised Alekos’ storefront in a heartbeat
yet again, in spite of his best efforts, the world had reshaped itself to fit a certain narrative
a narrative where, after evading the local guards, he wound up at Alekos’ door, seeking to trade away his stolen goods
Zaahir contemplated walking away, as little as that would achieve, but the changing winds and the rising scent of sand and oils quickly dissuaded him
before he could change his mind, the Khoprisi mage flung the door open and darted inside, slamming it shut behind him
the winds died in an instant, and Zaahir was left to stew in the brief serenity of silence for a few grateful seconds
but only a few
for that silence was quickly broken by a voice that had begun to grate on him like no other
“Syphaeus? Archons above, is that you?”
rolling his eyes to the heavens, Zaahir turned to face the diminutive figure of Alekos, glaring down at him with an expression of pure contempt
“oh but it is!” the halfling cried, outstretching his arms to embrace the gold encrusted genasi
Zaahir brushed him off, keeping the deceitful shopkeeper at an arm’s length
Alekos retreated a step or two, raising his hands in apology. “Not a hugger, got it”
slipping into a smile as easily as one might slip into a pair of new sandals, Alekos recovered swiftly. “So, what brings you out this way? What can I do for you?”
knowing that the conversation would go by quicker if he complied, Zaahir slung the amulet off his neck and tossed it into the halfling’s hands
Alekos caught the amulet, and after a moment of inspection, his eyes widened in surprise
“where in Chaon did you get this?”
Zaahir didn’t answer, instead taking the opportunity to browse the wares around him
an enchanted spear, a pair of gnarled wands, a set of bracers
he wondered what poor souls had to die in order for these items to appear on display
behind him, Alekos continued the conversation, responding as if Zaahir had answered him
“I see. No need to worry. I’m no stranger to the odd spot of mischief. Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, I always say. I take it you won’t be wanting receipts for this then”
he placed the amulet on the counter, then turned back to face Zaahir, watching the genasi with a gaze that felt almost predatory
a flash of light on the mage’s hand caught the halfling’s eye, and his expression lit up as he noticed it
“my, my. Well isn’t that a pretty thing on your finger”
Zaahir unconsciously glanced down at his hand, spying the cold metal ring adorning his middle fingertip
a band of polished silver, the ring was capped with an unknown symbol. Perhaps the signet of some noble family or another
pretty, but in the way that a viper was pretty
and Zaahir knew all too well the danger that lurked beneath its unassuming exterior
“enchanted no doubt. What sort of magic does it hold?”
once again, Zaahir said nothing, but Alekos flinched as if he’d been struck
“of course not, no,” the halfling said with a chuckle, that easy smile slipping back onto his lips. “Besides, I wouldn’t have the money if I did. As it stands, I doubt I even have the gold for this amulet. How much are you looking for?”
Alekos paused, nodding in response to some unspoken phrase
“well that’s awfully vague. Ships to Thessylae are cheap this time of year. You could buy yourself passage and a couple month’s lodging. Start a new life”
Zaahir had stopped listening by now, returning to browsing the store’s various wares
Alekos’ voice faded into the background, and Zaahir entertained himself by inspecting the goods on display
he was inspecting a spool of golden thread when a soft whisper brushed past his ear
quiet and practically incomprehensible, he might’ve mistaken it for wind
but then it came again; louder, and clearer
Zaahir
the genasi turned on the spot, scanning the room with wide eyes
but it was just as he had left it
Alekos continued to speak, acting as if nothing had happened
“I tracked them to a cave a couple days from here, just off the eastern road. I was about to commission the Guild, but now…”
Zaahir. Can you hear us?
the whisper came again. Undeniable this time
ignoring Alekos’ words, Zaahir honed in on the whisper, spinning in place as he searched for its source
we’re here. We’re finally here. Please, Zaahir
the voice was soft and feminine, and more than anything, incredibly familiar
he tried to remember. Tried to put a face to the voice. A name even
but just like everything else, it was like recalling a dream
wake up. We came all this way...please, Zaahir...just wake up
they sounded pleading. Desperate
in spite of the fog surrounding his mind, his heart began to ache for this woman
he was hurting her. He didn’t know how or why, but he was hurting her
Alekos had fallen silent now, and as Zaahir continued searching for that voice, he began to hear something else
something completely foreign to this world he’d found himself within
rain
the warmth of the shop drained away, and a cold chill swept in to take its place
his clothes, once dry, now clung to his body like rags, soaked through with water
the store seemed to fall apart around him; breaking away into tiny fragmented pieces
a different voice came now. Older and deeper
booming from above like a terrible god
ZAAHIR. WAKE UP!
and with a heaving gasp for air, Zaahir was dragged screaming out of his crumbling world
rain pelted down around him like a storm, falling to the earth with droplets as thick as oil
the ground beneath him was made of a dead, black soil that resembled charcoal more than dirt, stretching out as far as he could see
he became aware of a presence above him, right before he felt a pair of crushing arms tighten around his ribs and squeeze the life from him
the air fled his lungs so violently that his vision began to cloud and darken
right before he thought he’d pass out, the arms abruptly let go, allowing him to breathe once more
when his sight finally recovered, he began to make out a face in front of him
pale and grey eyed, the figure appeared almost corpse-like in complexion. But beneath the ghastly visage, Zaahir recognised the familiar face of Thalia staring back at him, tears streaming down her cheeks in spite of the beaming smile across her face
he hardly had a moment to comprehend what he was looking at when Thalia pulled him into a second, even tighter hug
this time, he felt for sure that his ribs would crack beneath the pressure, and when he was finally released, he was light headed and woozy
“not too hard,” a voice warned, “you don’t want to kill him, do you?”
Zaahir groggily turned to follow the voice, and found himself staring up at the towering, horned figure of Adonis, beaming down at him with a wide grin
“wouldn’t want to have to go through this all the trouble finding him again, now would we?”
Adonis extended a hand, and lost in a state of foggy confusion, Zaahir blankly stared at it for a few seconds before thinking to take it
with a great, heaving motion, Adonis hoisted the genasi to his feet, and pulled him into a crushing, one armed embrace
“it’s good to have you back”
a smile spread across Zaahir’s lips, but it was a tired, thin lipped attempt
his legs felt unsteady beneath him, as if they might collapse at any moment
in fact, had it not been for Adonis holding him up, he feared he might do just that
feeling the limpness in his friend’s body, Adonis slung an arm beneath Zaahir’s own, bearing the young man’s weight onto his shoulders
“easy now, I’ve got you”
the paladin turned his head to look at Thalia, meeting her concerned gaze with a stern expression
“start leading the way out of here. We need to get him out of the rain”
with a task to distract her from Zaahir’s poor condition, Thalia set to leading them out, choosing a direction and marching away in a slow, shuffling gait
Adonis followed closely behind, holding Zaahir close so as to keep him beneath the protection of his shield
the genasi slumped against his arm, unable to bear his own weight, mind still reeling from the effects of the spell
Adonis stared down at his younger companion, curbing his relief with a heavy dose of concern
he hid it behind a smile, taking one tentative step, and then another
“come on, then. It’s high time we got you out of this place”

First Post: https://www.reddit.com/CradledDnDStories/comments/x8zwpv/athos_1_a_new_world_of_opportunity/
Last Post: https://www.reddit.com/CradledDnDStories/comments/13duv0v/athos_21_broken_bones_and_fractured_hearts/
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When the old man got within range, John kicked at him with his good leg, but the old timer was quick, much quicker than he looked. He ducked to his right, side stepping John's lashing foot, then darted in and touched the tip of the prod to John's leg. Fire--that's what it felt like. White hot fire. A jolt went through John's body that made his eyeballs hurt. And just like that, the old man slipped in again and jabbed him in the stomach. Then, as John rolled onto his belly, the tip touched his back.
John curled into a ball and hugged his knees to his chest.
"Get through that door, boy," the old man said. "Move it, now!" Like herding an ornery animal.
And like an animal, John Burke responded, lifting himself onto all fours and crawling toward the exit. Halfway across the floor, the old man jammed the cattle prod against John's ass. He cried out and scampered through the door.
As soon they were out of the room, the old man clicked his cheek a couple of times like he was calling a dog. "Get on your feet, like a good boy." John struggled to his feet as the door closed behind him and the bolts slammed into place. He stood at one end of a narrow passage, dark, except for a single bulb hanging from the ceiling at the far end. Again, John felt the prod touch his back.
"Get!" the old man said.
John limped toward the light.
The passage emptied into a windowless room, low ceilinged and big. The old man forced him into a chute--a cattle chute. Horizontal steel poles on each side formed a walkway barely wide enough for a man's shoulders. The poles were stacked four high, the top pole about five feet off the ground. Every six or eight feet stood a vertical brace.
The old man closed and locked a sliding wooden door behind them, then bent and slipped between two of the horizontal poles. Outside the chute, he prodded John to keep him moving. As John walked toward the end, the old man thumped him two or three times with the prod but didn't shock him.
Suddenly, an overpowering stench hit John and his feet stopped moving. He looked to the right, toward the source of the smell, and saw a stainless steel table, on top of which lay a man's lifeless body. He was on his belly with his head turned and John could see the face of the man who'd been goaded out of the room just before him. The white-haired old lady stood beside the table gripping an electric carving knife in one latexed hand, while with her other gloved hand she pressed the man's leg firmly against the table. Bile gurgled up into John's throat as the old lady thumbed the switch on the carving knife and sliced a hunk of meat from the back of the dead man's thigh.
John spewed vomit and dropped to his knees. "Get up, boy," he heard from behind him as the prod juiced his lower back. John screamed in pain as he staggered to his feet. "Move it," the old man said. With legs like jelly, John stumbled forward.
The cut he'd worked into the leather belt was just to the right of the steel loop through which the handcuffs ran. Only an eighth of an inch of leather remained. Using his body, John shielded his hands from the old man's view while he tugged on the handcuffs and hobbled along.
The sides of the chute closed in on him as he reached the end. Near panic, John tried to turn around, but before he could the old man slid a gate closed behind him that penned him in.
Trapped.
From the corner of his eye, John watched the old man. Saw him step towards a workbench against the wall, fifteen feet away, and toss the cattle prod onto it. He pulled a ballpeen hammer down from a wall above the bench. It had a big stainless steel head with a foot long wooden handle. The old man turned and walked toward John with a casual, bored look on his face, just another day in the slaughterhouse.
Bent as far forward as he could, John thrust his hips back and jerked his cuffed hands forward, but the leather belt held. Behind him he heard the old man's shoes scrape the cement floor. Desperate, John twisted his hands to the right. The leather still held. Just an eighth of an inch between a chance for escape and a hammer to the back of the head.
A shoe scuff on the floor. Afraid to look, John stared at his hands. He groaned as he thrust his hips to the right and jerked his hands to the left. The leather tore and the belt pulled free from his waist.
"Where you think you're going?" the old man said.
John ducked and heard the top pole ring as the ballpeen hammer glanced off of it. With the belt still dangling from his handcuffs, John doubled over and stepped between the two middle poles on his left side. To his right the old man cursed him and swung the hammer between the bars. The hammer thumped into John's right hip but he didn't stop. Once through the bars he ran--hobbled on his painful ankle--toward the wall, trying to put as much distance between him and the old man as possible.
"Momma, momma, he got loose!"
"Catch him quick 'fore he gets away," the old lady screamed.
John Burke was lost. He didn't know where he was our how to get out. He turned, saw the old man race around the end of the chute, hammer cocked over his shoulder. John's back was to the wall. Wildly, he glanced around for something he could use. There was nothing.
To his left, twenty feet away was the corner of the room and a closed door.
The old man saw John looking. "You'll never get out." But he slowed down, approaching cautiously, angling toward the door to cut off John's only escape route.
The old man looked nervous about the door. John broke and ran. Waves of pain shot up his leg from his swollen ankle but he ignored it. The old man lunged toward the door to intercept. John tried to stop and start, throw a fake at the old man, but his ankle folded and he hit the floor.
The old man dropped to one knee beside him and raised the hammer over his head. "Got you!"
But as the killer blow came down, John shifted slightly to the side and the hammer struck the cement beside his head, sending tiny chips flying into his face. He lashed out with his good foot, missed the old man's head but caught him in the ribs. As the old man grunted and toppled over, John got to his feet and struggled to the door.
Locked.
John twisted the knob and screamed in rage. The old man stood up. Mounted on the wall next to the door was a gray metal circuit box, the handle protruding from its side angled up in the on position. An electrical shut off.
"Get him, poppy," the old woman screamed from the other side of the room. A nice old couple who called each other momma and poppy.
John grabbed the handle with both hands, shot a glance at the old man, saw him bearing down, and pulled.
Lights out. Total darkness.
Just in time John ducked. He heard the old man grunt as the hammer dug into the drywall. With his manacled hands, John shoved the old man, then ran along the wall to his left. Moving through the dark it felt like a mile. The old lady screamed.
Cuffed hands out in front with the torn leather belt dangling from them, John ran into the wall and turned right. He had no idea where to go or what to do. Just knew he had to put as much distance as he could between him and the old man. At the next corner he turned right again. Just up ahead he heard the old lady. "Poppy, I can't see."
He slowed down, tried to catch his breath. Then the lights came on. Poppy must have gotten to the switch. John found himself next to the stainless steel butchering table, and face-to-face with the old lady. With the power on, her electric carving knife started buzzing.
"I got him, poppy!" she said and chopped at him with the knife.
John jerked his head back as the humming blade passed less than an inch from his eyes.
"Momma!" the old man screamed.
John looked across the big room at the old man by the door. Hammer swinging from his hand, he started to run towards them but had to go around the cattle chute. The old lady again cut at John but this time he managed to catch her wrist in his hands. As he kicked her in the shin he heard one of his bare toes crack, but she loosened her grip on the knife and he was able to jerk it out of her hand.
The old man rounded the end of the chute and howled in rage as he saw them struggling. Momma clawed at John's eyes with both hands, but he managed to close them just as her nails raked his face. Carving knife in hand, he slashed at the old lady. The vibrating blade ripped into the side of her neck and cut across her throat. She gurgled up a foul smelling blast of air from her open trachea that made John gag. With her eyes wide open, the old lady looked stunned as her knees folded and she collapsed to the ground.
John Burke turned and the old man was right on top of him, screaming, swinging the hammer at his head. As John raised the carving knife, the hammer snapped the blade off and knocked it from his hand. The old man lunged closer, grabbed him by the throat with his left hand and raised the hammer again.
John threw an awkward jab with his shackled hands and hit the old man in the face with just enough force to stun him into losing his grip on John's neck. Then with a two-handed uppercut to the gut, this one with a little more behind it, he doubled the old man over, then ran for the door.
Standing in front of the door, he jerked down the power switch and again shrouded the room in darkness. He raised his good leg and kicked the wooden door as hard as he could. It gave just a little. Behind him he heard the old man crying, and something else--things being knocked over, things hitting the floor, the sounds of searching.
As John kicked again, his bad ankle screamed in pain, yet still the door held. He caught his breath, raised his good leg and managed one more kick. This time the knob splintered off and the door flew open. Stairs led up.
Behind him, a two-count metallic click echoed through the room. The unmistakable sound of a shell being chambered. A shotgun.
Fighting back the pain, John loped up the stairs as the shotgun blasted behind him. Upstairs he found himself in an empty kitchen. He moved down a short hallway that opened into a room he recognized, the den of the old lady's house. It was dark outside and only a few lights were on inside the house.
Footsteps on the cellar stairs.
Frantically, John looked around, seeing the big bay windows, but no door to the outside. He knocked the dead telephone to the ground, snatched up the end table, and heaved it through one of the windows.
Outside the air was warm and muggy, the ground soft like after a rain. Naked, except for the handcuffs and leather belt hanging from them, John staggered toward the woods just beyond the house. As he reached the first trees he heard another shotgun blast behind him, heard glass shatter, heard pellets tearing through the trees to his right.
Into the trees, getting some of them between him and the house in case the old man ripped off another shot.
"Murderer! I'll kill you," the old timer yelled through the trees. Almost funny, a minute ago the old man trying to bash his brains in with a hammer but still had the nerve to call him a murderer. Not to mention the sweet old lady carving a man like a Christmas turkey.
John turned forty-five degrees to the right. Choosing a zig-zag over a straight line. A minute later he heard another shot, then the pellets ripped into the branches off to his left. A frustration shot. The old man had guessed he'd turn but he'd guessed the wrong way.
He'd gotten out of shape. Just a few minutes into the woods he was puffing like a steam train, a stitch like a knife twisting into his side. John could feel his ankle starting to swell. Time for the zag so he turned left, crossed through what he guessed was fifty or sixty yards of woods, then suddenly burst into a clearing--the cemetery. The high three-quarter moon cast short, dark shadows from the tombstones. Blackness in a sea of night.
Something crashed through the brush behind him in the distance, followed by bark of a big dog. John had trouble as he stepped over the low spiked fence that surrounded the graveyard. For a second he had to put all of his weight on his bad leg and came close to impaling himself.
John remembered another fence, a six-foot iron one that spanned the front of the property, the half-inch thick bars thrust at the sky like black spears. If it circled the whole property, how the hell was he going to get out?
The barking grew louder.
As he limped between the gravestones, John heard the old man cursing in the distance, farther away than the dog, but getting closer. Terror's icy hand gripped John Burke's heart. His feet stopped moving and he dropped down onto a soft, moist patch of earth and leaned his back against a marble slab that marked someone's final resting place, someone whose troubles were over for good. John put his head into his hands as despair washed over him.
He wasn't going to get away. Not on a bad ankle. Not with his hands cuffed. Not from a madman with a dog and shotgun. A madman who kept humans like cattle, who beat men to death with a hammer, whose wife ran a human butcher shop. They were close, the old man and his dog. John could hear the dog tearing through the underbrush just inside the woods, just beyond the cemetery fence. In a minute it would all be over. He wondered if Gail would ever find out what happened to him? To die like this, in a bone yard, victim to a crazy old man and his even crazier wife.
Fear, despair, hopelessness--these feelings surged through John as a sob racked his body so hard it bounced his back off the marble tombstone and shot a bolt of pain down his spine. Then, as if cleansed by fire, those feelings melted like snow, replaced by something new, by something better, by something that fueled him--Rage.
Perched in front of the grave next to him was a thick marble urn, holding a bouquet of long dead flowers. John rolled to it, grabbed the urn in both hands, and dumped out the withered flora. He felt the comforting weight of the urn, heavy enough to crush a dog's skull, or a man's.
He wasn't going to make it easy. If they were going to kill him, they'd have to work for it. The headstones were too small to hide behind unless he crouched down and John didn't want to crouch down and hide. He was through hiding, besides, his ankle couldn't take much crouching. Better to let the dog see him, try to get rid of the mutt before the old man made it out of the woods.
The underbrush got quiet. The dog was out of the woods. No more barking. The moonlight and the shadows played tricks on John's eyes. A glimpse of movement at the fence then nothing. He strained his eyes, willing them to see through the darkness but it was his ears that responded, picking up the quick thumping of padded feet on the wet grass. The sound coming from his left. John raised the urn and turned, then heard it behind him, much closer. A throaty growl. He tried to spin around but the furry beast hit him in the back.
Claws raked his bare shoulder blades as he slammed face first into the ground and the marble urn flew from his hands, useless. Sharp teeth gripped the back of his head and shook it like the stuffed head of a doll. His scalp tore--he actually felt it--as the dog growled and bit harder.
"Get him, boy!" the old man shouted from somewhere near the edge of the woods.
John used his good left leg to push into the ground and roll. The dog tightened its grip on John's head and tried to roll with him but John used his arms to topple the German Shepherd off of him. As the brute tried to regain his feet, John kept rolling until he was on top with the dog pinned under him. The canine's jaws sprung open, looking for something to bite as John grabbed the animal's big head, one hand on each side, and forced the handcuff chain and part of the leather belt into the back of its mouth.
With his naked body pressing down on the dog, John forced the Shepherd's head back. The handcuff chain cut into the roof of the dog's mouth as John pushed back harder and harder. The beast's nails ripped at John's chest and thighs, but still he forced the big head back until the dog's agonized yelping was cut short by a loud crack, like the dry snap of a rotten branch, as its neck broke and body went limp.
John rolled off of the dead dog and struggled to his feet. The old man yelled, "Did you get him, Butch? Did you get him?" John turned toward the sound of the man's voice and saw him stumble out of the woods, just on the other side of the fence, shotgun held across his chest. The old man's eyes locked on the animal lying on the ground. "Butch!" he cried, voice cracked with emotion Then he raised his shotgun.
John dropped behind a headstone just as a blast ripped through the air. Pellets smacked into the other side of the stone. Then, as the double click of a new shell being racked into the chamber echoed across the graveyard, John scrambled away on all fours, keeping his head below the top of the tombstones.
By the time he reached the cemetery fence, John could barely move. His breath came in ragged gasps; his chest, shoulders, and thighs were on fire; and the back of his neck felt wet and sticky. He lifted his cuffed hands over his head and wiped at his neck. His palms came away covered with blood, blood that looked almost black in the moonlight.
One foot got tangled going over the fence and John fell, landing with a thud on the other side. Behind him, fifty yards at most, he could hear the old man's quick shuffle coming across the cemetery. The old man mumbling and cursing to himself. Once John got into the tree line he felt a little safer, something between him and muzzle of that shotgun. But the going was slow. Much tougher than before. He started to feel dizzy. The dog had torn him up and he knew he was bleeding badly.
He'd made it this far but knew there was no way he could make it all the way back home, at least not tonight. Too tired and too hurt. But with the dog dead, all he had to do was shake the old man off his trail, then hole up somewhere until daylight. In the morning he would parallel the road just inside the trees to keep out of sight. His house was only two miles away. He would make it even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees the whole way.
He ran into the fence. Six feet tall, made of pointed wrought iron bars, no more than ten inches apart. Impossible to slip between them. The bars braced by two thin rectangular, iron beams that ran the length of the fence. One, a foot from the ground; the other, a foot from the top.
John hadn't gained any distance on the old man. He could hear his thrashing back in the trees, his slow, steady pace, his mumbling punctuated by curses.
There was only one way to get out and that was over the fence. John set his feet on the bottom support and grabbed the top crossbar with both hands, but with his wrists cuffed he couldn't spread his hands out. He couldn't climb.
He managed to pull himself up so his chin was over the top of the fence and then swung his good leg up. It didn't go high enough. Arms straining, he swung it up harder and managed to hook his heel on the top support, between two of the bars. That's when he lost his grip.
John fell but his foot stayed. He heard his ankle crack and he screamed. Caught between the two vertical bars and the horizontal support, his bare foot was wedged in tight and he hung upside down, naked, like a stuck pig being bled in a slaughterhouse.
The old man stepped out from the trees, shotgun held across his chest like a soldier. Fifteen feet from John, he raised it to his shoulder and grinned as he pulled the trigger. CLICK.
"Goddamit!" He racked the pump, took aim, and pulled the trigger again. Another empty click. This time he slammed the pump back and stared into the open chamber. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled, then grabbed the barrel in a two handed grip.
He swung it like a baseball bat at John's head and all John Burke could do was close his eyes. Just before the wooden stock crashed into his skull, he heard himself say, "Gail."
* * *
Gail Burke was on the toilet, in the middle of peeing, when the doorbell rang. "John," she heard herself say. "God, please let it be John." She pulled on her jeans and ran to the door, didn't even flush. But it wasn't John. It was a man, old but distinguished looking in a dark suit with a pale blue tie draped in front of a starched white shirt. She glanced behind him and saw a van parked in her driveway. Not a minivan, but a full-sized, white work van, windowless except for the driver and passenger doors. No name on the side.
"Can I help you?" she asked, losing hope her caller had anything to do with John.
He raised his hands slightly and she noticed they held a round plastic container. Rubbermaid, or Tupperware, with a lid on it. "Yes," she said.
"Mrs. Burke?"
Gail nodded.
My name is Muller, Frank Muller. He nodded to the right. "I live on Cemetery Road."
She gave him a brief smile.
"I've read about your...your husband's disappearance in the paper."
At first she'd had a lot of visitors like this. Well-wishers, sympathizers, but it had been two weeks and people had stopped coming by. Mostly, she guessed they thought John's disappearance maybe wasn't so mysterious after all. Middle-aged man, married for a dozen years, suddenly takes off. Maybe found a young girl. No mystery there. But she knew that wasn't what he'd done. Something terrible had happened. She could feel it.
"Thank you," was all she could think of to say.
He raised his hands again. "I've brought you something. Chili, my wife's secret recipe."
She looked at the container. The two-gallon size. That's a lot of chili, she thought. She caught a whiff of it as he slipped one hand under the container and lifted part of the lid with the other. He said, "Chock full of beef and beans. Put some meat on your bones."
Gail felt her face flush. Her jeans hung loosely on her hips. She'd lost ten pounds since John disappeared and hadn't had it to spare to begin with. "Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr..." She couldn't even remember the gentleman's name.
"Muller," he said.
"Of course," she said quickly. "Thank you again, Mr. Muller." Gail reached for the container. "To be honest I haven't felt much like cooking and that smells delicious. Please tell Mrs. Muller that I said--"
Mr. Muller shook his head. "Buried her recently."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
As she took the chili from him, he forced a smile. "I made it but it's her recipe so if it's good she gets the credit." He laughed a more genuine laugh. "And if it's bad, I'll take the blame."
She felt the heat through the plastic. They said goodbye and Gail Burke went inside to eat a bowl of Mrs. Muller's secret recipe. She felt her stomach growl with hunger. If it tasted as good as it smelled, maybe she'd have two bowls.
THE END

My name is Axel, as most of you know. The shop is closed permanently, which is good because all of my recent efforts have been focused on finding Selene. There have been signs and I am certain she still exists in this reality, but I am starting to wonder if I even want to find her. Because of everything that happened, she is really all that is left for me. She is the only one with answers.
But if none of that makes sense, go here. You have some catching up to do.
---------------------------------------
We left off with us prior baristas agreeing to follow Em and her father to the city they called home. A city called Fraeria. Usually the supernatural activity surrounding the Drowsy Spectre only occurred at night, so I was a bit confused when Em asked us to arrive in the parking lot during the day. At around 4pm we gathered outside the shop. I had expected Amber to be there for some reason, ready to impart some sort of cryptic wisdom in return for buying a candle. She wasn't there, though, and her car was absent too. Whatever Selene did with those marks seemed to have scared everyone and everything away.
Silence demanded to come along. The black snake had to see Em's father, she had closure to achieve and I think a bit of revenge perhaps. There wasn't much a small reptile like her could do, especially since she'd been turned into a non-venomous species. That wasn't for me to question. Silence had been a snake so long that she couldn't even remember who she was before; who was I to refuse her the possibility of some answers?
Anyway, we were in the parking lot. Em's father refused to give us his actual name, so we came to know him as Guide. It seems creatures of his kind prefer titles that describe their purpose, not the names given at their creation or birth. We didn't speak much before Guide led us into the forest surrounding the cafe, but it was a very long walk ahead and eventually Barrow approached me.
"Did you bring the doll?"
I didn't see a reason to be dishonest. "It is gone."
"What?"
"That wish you had me make? It caused this." I showed him my wrist. "My wish to end it burned the doll to a crisp."
"Interesting." He then fell behind a bit, lost in thought.
We stopped to eat at some point when it got dark. Seeing as one of the main rules of the cafe was to not be outside at night, I was a bit nervous. Nomic ended up tagging along, enticed by the healing of his mind. Guide did not promise anything, but he certainly did suggest that it was possible in the magical city he was leading us to. Our party included Em, Barrow, Nomic, myself, and Guide.
"We cannot stop for long." Guide stated after summoning a fire with the clap of his hands. "Even my power will not protect you from everything this strange forest harbors."
"So it is even strange to you?" Barrow asked.
Guide laughed. "I may wander it, but that does not mean I have a clue what it is. My people are not of this world, but can be brought here through this forest. Where I am from, we are called Elwae. It is your people that have given us strange titles from your children's tales."
"Wait, so Em is not a pixie?" I asked.
"You decide what is in a name. She is to you whatever you call her. A flower, or a stone." He eyed the darkening forest. "I am curious; what has become of your giant?"
"We have not seen him since the teeth got him." Em answered.
I recalled Tall Ben asking for help. Maybe if I would have accepted, he would be here to assist us in this time of trouble. "Maybe they ate him up. The tooth plague killed Heartmin. Might've taken longer, but I don't see why it couldn't chew him up too."
"I thought he was more resilient. The giant would have been a proper ally in darker hours yet to come."
Ominous. "What do you mean by that?"
He chose not to answer. Instead, he produced some fish from his bag. He passed it to Em, who then placed it over the fire. "There is food if you are hungry."
"No strings?"
Em looked at Barrow. "Why do you think he gave it to me first?"
He accepted this before taking one of her wooden plates.
I was not satisfied with the lack of answer. "Guide, what did you mean by that?"
"There are birthing pains here. Something draws near and this issue of ours is merely a symptom." He grinned. "It would have been much easier for you if you would have let me turn you into some rodent, yeah? I little bird, perhaps." That's what Selene called me. How did he know that? "Do you still have that one little trouble maker? The snake, that is. Oh, and that lizard too. I do hope they've adjusted well."
"They are free now."
"Are they? I've watched closely. So far I've not seen them leave your apartment. I could change them back, you know, for a price."
He wanted a deal. "I'm not playing this game!"
A hand rested on my knee. "You okay man?" It was Nomic; he looked concerned. "Your face is all red."
It was then I realized that no one else had commented on our conversation, or even taken notice. Had it been in my head? Guide gave me a knowing smirk and invaded my thoughts once again. "Just between us. Think on it."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired." I lied to Nomic. Em's father would be trouble, it seemed. That wasn't much of a surprise.
A little voice tickled my ear. "Kill him." I couldn't answer discretely enough to not be noticed. Silence spoke once more with a long hiss. "Hurt him."
I gently place a hand on my shoulder, comforting the snake underneath my coat. It was still cold around my neck of the woods and Silence always got... irritated at such temperatures. This area shouldn't have been that cold, though, but I could only blame that on the unnatural forest we found ourselves in. As night grew later, it only got worse. The fire was going strong, despite its unnatural creation. There was no time to sleep, it seemed, as after only roughly two hours of sitting Guide demanded we all prepare to move again. To my comfort, the forest was not silent. Crickets chirped despite the cold weather and even bats could be heard squeaking overhead. Other than the company, everything seemed completely normal about the forest that surrounded the cafe. I assumed this was because we entered it during the day and not when the sun set but, if that was the case, then how could it possibly lead us to this supernatural civilization that Guide and Em were from?
Those questions were answered when we saw the first teeth. They were stuck in a tree that bled sap. At our approach, the teeth wiggled but could not make the tree move towards us. I feared that because they were there, that may mean that the rest of our troublesome neighbors might also make an appearance.
"Is she a friend?" A little voice whispered to me along the way. Silence slithered closer to my ear. "The spider-woman?"
I glanced behind us and saw a face in the trees. It was a familiar one and, for anyone other than me, might deceive a lonely man into becoming a meal. I had already fallen to her whims once, but this was not the same. Her eyes gazed with fear at our guide, Em's father, and she beckoned me closer. I fell discretely to the back of the line, just near enough for her to climb overhead. Ramata was her name, as some of you might remember.
I saw her full glory. The head and torso of a woman, but with many legs sprouting from under her shoulders. There were far more than eight, as a normal spider would have, instead boasting more than a dozen. They each ended with black hands full of sharp nails. She moved with complete silence, not even disturbing Guide. If I did not trust her intentions due to our prior history, I would have fled into the dark full of the most potent terror.
She came lower, just barely in the aura of our flashlights. I was happy to see that the teeth had not infected her. Yet, at least. A few steps behind Nomic, I fell behind as far as I felt comfortable.
"I assume you will hold true to your word?"
"I will. We are friends, my love." She whispered. Her voice was the wind, so slight and discrete; just for me. "You saved my children."
None of the others had noticed, but I kept my voice as low as I could regardless. "Then why are you stalking us?"
"That man's people come from a different world, one who shall bring forth a being that shall determine the fate of all things. My web stretches to many places, dear one. I have heard many things from those that wander into my traps." She waited, expecting me to have something to say. I didn't. "But there is tell that a human shall write about such things and influence the destiny of that world with mere words."
"You came here only to tell me that?"
I didn't intend to offend her, but she was far too cryptic for any use. "Destiny doesn't mean peace, young love. It is destined that all things will one day die. It may be in your power to halt this being from gaining the might to direct fate. Do not speak to the voice in the light, do not speak with the devil that is called Elidian."
"I am pretty tired of speaking with devils. It seems I've made deals with far too many."
"But this one will not come to strike a deal. Your heart; he will play it like a stringed instrument, and you will be inspired as any writer is. Do not listen." Her all too human eyes flickered towards Em's father. "And do not be mistaken; your guide has no intention of letting you return home."
"I know."
Suddenly she went silent, her face vanishing into the darkness. Ramata came bringing only questions, ones that I could not bring to anyone in our company. I did not trust Barrow anymore and could hardly trust Em with her father around. Nomic wouldn't have anything valuable to say considering he didn't even know who he was. That left Silence, who had decided to live up to her name and not answer anything I sent her way.
The insects had gone quiet. That was when I registered that Ramata wasn't being cryptic in her departure;
She had fled.
Em's father must have caught on as well, because he halted the journey. "Don't make a sound."
He did not turn off the flashlight, so I assumed it was safe to scan the trees. There sounded like a strong breeze to my left, approaching from the distance. But... the trees were swaying. I could hear leaves being picked up and thrashed about by the gust.
Then we all saw it. White dots crawling along the floor, carried on the backs of a living horde. Insects, rodents; an amalgamation of predators and prey driven on by their parasites. I grabbed Em, who was nearest, in a desperate bid to survive. These things hunted by sound and touch; we had once chance. I took my coat, wrapped it around her, and covered her completely. There was a nearby tree just wide enough for us to hide behind and I had only seconds to reach it.
That sound still echoes in my mind. Not one of the animals cried out, not one. But they got closer and I could hear tiny footsteps on the ground, I could feel the ground tremble with the sheer number of legs that the stampede boasted.
I thanked whatever god was listening that I wore gloves that day, because my hand was still out when the plague struck. It was a sparrow that smacked into it, slamming into the ground. The creature was surely crushed underneath the combined might of the horde. I could feel thousands of tiny legs crawl all over me and could only pray that they did not approach my exposed face.
Em was covered, I was not.
Something landed on me, something rather large but with many legs. It was not swept away immediately.
It crawled and clicked as it searched out flesh it surely sensed. Was it my breathing, was it my own trembling teeth?
You know how you can anticipate touch? Feel it before it happens? I knew it was going to reach me. I was going to die. I felt the tickle, the tiny sensation of an insect gripping onto a tiny pore. When it did, I felt something try to bite down on the bit of my exposed neck.
With only one option, I took a risk and grabbed the insect before the teeth on it could multiply using my own flesh. I saw a massive centipede covered in wiggled teeth from all manner of creatures. When I dropped it, it vanished into the sea of infected forest life. It seemed the hive mind was loose because none of them came for me.
And then it was over. We stayed in place to let those that fell behind catch up. Once the horde of teeth and meat was gone, I quickly checked my own neck. Em, sensing safety, assisted me and I nearly cheered when she swore I had no teeth on my neck. A tiny little red mark, a gentle cut, was the only evidence I had been bitten. Was that enough? Was I infected? Even now, I do not know.
Nomic and Em's father had the wisdom to cover up and hide. I was relieved to see that, regardless of how impossible it seemed, we had all escaped the tooth plague without infection. A minute or two after, the sounds of the natural forest returned.
"We need to move." Em's father was the first to break the silence. "No more speaking until I say."
Eventually we stopped to rest. This time, Guide told us that sleeping for a few hours would be possible. "We have crossed the threshold into the realm of the Elwae. Sleep easy tonight."
But I was the last to fall asleep. That was thanks to his constant gaze that never wavered from my face. Eventually I heard his voice once more, his mouth moved, but no one stirred. "You brought one of them with you, I see. The quiet snake. If I am honest, I do not even remember her name." He laughed at the fate he delivered to her. "Keep her. I am very curious to see what she plans to accomplish."
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Our journey from then on was uneventful. We got maybe four or five hours of sleep, which was surprisingly not interrupted. I don't know if Barrow sleeps, though. I was the first one to wake up and even found that Em's father had fallen asleep. Barrow, however, arrived before the others woke up. He had been in the woods relieving himself. He had been gone for quite a while though.
During the early morning hours the woods were quite peaceful and pleasant to traverse. I did notice the occasional rodent with white marks on its body, sick with the plague that I somehow unleashed. There were some on the plants as well and, despite Guide's confidence that they were completely safe, he gave the plagued portions of the woods a wide pass.
But then we came to a treeline. It was the end of the haunted woods that separated the cafe from the many strange worlds beyond. A rolling field separated us from a city that was surprisingly modern. Skyscrapers of foreign design rose high into the sky. There were streets below with regular traffic, but everything was designed with a certain lack of color. Every structure was metallic or concrete. The City Fraeria was not the nature-haven I expected. I thought of elves from Lord of the Rings, or Fae Forests with entire kingdoms being carved from the wood of ancient trees. Instead Em's people lived in a place not entirely different from us, but with far more of a sleek taste. The buildings were very... sharp. Human skyscrapers are usually built with an antenna of some kind on top. Instead these seemed like knives meant to not just scrape the sky, but cut them open with surgical precision.
"That is not what I expected." Nomic confessed. "Why is there an entire metropolis in the middle of the woods?"
"It was all a forest once." Guide replied. "All of your cities. We only had the heart not to destroy the rest." He certainly wasn't wrong. "Come. We seek an audience with the Eilin Hae. Only with his permission can we go to the fountain of life. This is his city, we are his people, and it is that light that powers this place. He will need convincing."
Guide looked at me. "I don't have anything for him. He's your leader, that is up to you."
"I think you will be surprised, Mr. White. Eilin Hae finds worth deep in the soul. Come; every second wasted is a risk I am not willing to take."
We crossed the fields of fine grass, passing into a realm that wasn't quite the same as the one we had come from. It was like a mirror but with small mistakes in the design. The broken stripes on the road were yellow instead of white, the green traffic lights were purple instead for no particular reason. There were shops along the sidewalks and people that looked as human as myself went about their business. Everyone was generally taller, however, which made me quite confused as to why Em was so small. She took giant potions, after all, to make herself capable of blending in with humans.
That was a sensitive question to ask, however, and I wasn't going to be the one to voice it despite my curiosities. We were ticking bombs, capable of dying if the ritual that we were marked for was attempted again.
"We are missing someone." Em's father announced, halting the journey.
It was only then that any of us noticed Barrow's absence. I had been walking in the back and hadn't even noticed his departure. "Could he have been... snatched?"
"No. That is not how things are done here." Our guide scanned the nearby alleys. "Where has he gone? Tell me now." Seeing as, so far as I know, none of us had any idea, his demand was met with silence. "This is not a place for a human to wander. No matter, he will turn up if he wishes to ever make it home. Only the Elwae can find this place, and only an Elwae can navigate our side of the forest."
Our journey continued, but I approached Em. "Where did he go?"
She was his closest friend, but even she was unaware. "This place really isn't safe. It is hardly the place for him to wander off on his own."
"Will he be fine?"
"He better be. We don't have time to go looking for him, but..." She glanced at her father. "Maybe we should? We must see the Eilin Hae in his tower. I told Barrow about that and while he might not know his way around the city, the tower can't be missed."
Em sounded like she was trying to convince herself. I didn't like it, especially considering the fact that my burned wrist was thanks to Barrow's wish. He was up to something and my ability to trust him was waning. But, if I am honest, at the moment my mind was greatly preoccupied with the strange city and had no room to worry about Barrow's antics.
There was a massive building near the center of the city. It rose as high into the sky as the others, even taller than those around it, but the length and width were impressive too. This dwarfed even the greatest of our structures and it seemed to be our destination. Guide led us up the steps towards the front door and was stopped by professionally dressed security personnel. Again, this place was not very different from our own world.
After a short, hushed discussion, we were granted entry. We were each given a green wristband, very similar to the pink ones given to guests at hospitals, and ferried inside. The sideways glances we received within were far sharper than I had seen outside. We were not welcome in the city, but much less in the heart of their home, whatever "they" were. I counted myself lucky to discover that they had elevators. Of course, that seems obvious to assume, but we had walked all the way to the building instead of driving. That took a while and made me nervous seeing as Em's father didn't seem to have a limit to his endurance. Guide pressed the top button of the elevator and so began our long ascent to the highest floor.
The design was the same even inside the building, right down to the interior of the elevator. Dark metal, trimmed occasionally with wood. It wasn't iron, obviously, otherwise Em's father would be in incredible pain. There wasn't a single scratch on any of the polished metal; it was like a dark mirror wherever I looked.
The lights shined with a hint of emerald green, as if to mimic the natural sheen trees made when the sun poured from their canopy. Finally the elevator doors opened into a short hallway. That hall had double doors that a well-dressed man opened at our approach. We had to show our wristbands, let the barcode be scanned, and only when each of us passed were we able to enter.
What we found inside was not meant for human eyes.
Have you ever driven up to a crossroads and stopped, but when you stare ahead it seems like everything is sort of... zooming out? Or sometimes in, I guess. Within the room was what amounted to a portal of sorts. I could circle the center of the room as much as I wanted, but if I got closer it just... kept going. I barely made a dent in the distance that separates me from the brilliant green eye that watched us. It was celestial in size, my mind knew that, dwarfing even our own planet. But how could that fit in a room?
This being was nearly identical to the terrible Eye of Gold and Crimson that I had spoken with all those months ago. It was garbed in a storm that could not be measured, arcs of emerald lightning flashed but seemed as tiny things from such a distance. But it did not speak with the mouths of discarded flesh like the Eye of Gold. Instead, there was a woman sitting between us and the nigh-infinite walk to the eye. She got up from the floor and turned to greet us.
"I am The Eilin Hae." She said.
Or he, I guess? They had all referred to The Eilin Hae as a man. Being in the presence of what amounted to a god did not have the effect one may have expected. She was... a person. In appearance, that is. I anticipated a powerful voice, one that would inspire me to bend a knee and hide my face. But, as far as intimidation, I felt as if I was meeting the CEO of some business.
"My lady." Our guide bowed. We followed suit, but the pronoun he used further confused me. "A forbidden ritual has latched itself onto my daughter and these common people with me. We ask to visit the Infinite Sight."
When she stepped forward, she was no longer drowned by the green eye's countenance. It was only then that I saw her eyes burned with a similar light. When she spoke, that same glow was escaping from the depths of her throat, as if some great emerald fire burned at her core. That fixed my mind's mistake in relating her to a person. Those eyes... I felt like staring into them would burn mine out, blind me like the sun itself. But blind more than just my vision, blind my spirit and will entirely.
"Even if I accepted, your daughter is not human. Who is to say if the Infinite Sight has seen her? It belongs to wyr only."
"Even we were once wyr, my lady, were we not?"
She considered this. "An interesting thought. What reason would I allow this? What will you offer me in return?" The Eilin Hae's gaze abandoned Guide and fell to Nomic. "What can a lost man offer when he doesn't know his own name?" Then Em. "Or a girl who has no people?"
Then finally, she looked upon me. "But this is interesting." Then she came closer. She wore long robes of dark gray. Stitches of deep green made patterns all over her garb, an outfit of a deeply religious zealot. Every step seemed sacred, with the potential to bring any of us to our end. I did not know the meaning of the title "god" until I faced that gaze. But it was not hers, it belonged instead to the endless power that spoke through her.
"One that doesn't know his name, one that doesn't know her people, and one that I do not know. What sort of company have you brought me, Eruli?" I didn't remember falling to my knees, but there I was. She knelt to meet my gaze. "You know things, things you shouldn't know. There are machines that rely on the tiniest piece to run at all. If that tiny piece is removed, it falls apart."
Her hands were warm, she took mine and held them. "You have seen the abomination? The Eye of Two Colors?" I nodded, my tongue tied up in my mouth. "There is one that shall bear that golden gaze but, unlike my emerald eyes, that power will be at their command. I am simply the devout of the Eye of the Wilds."
"What do you want?" I finally asked.
She smiled. "That you keep your word. Write."
For reasons I still don't know, I found myself crying. Write? Write?! I keep being told to do that, and I am writing, but I know they weren't talking about this series of updates. There was something more and no one wanted to give me answers. "You... you aren't the first to ask. Write what?"
"You will know very soon. The Infinite Sight will allow you to see." She stood. "He is permitted to go. The others have nothing worth offering, so they may leave."
That wasn't enough of an answer for me. Waiting was done; I came here to fix my arm and find answers, to start my search for Selene. Cryptic instructions would not do. But Em's Father, who the Eilin Hae had called Eruli, clenched his fist. He barely held himself back, struggling to remain on his knees. "But... but my daughter will-"
"We all go, or I won't." I bargained my own importance. I could choose not to write whatever it was they found so important. "I won't go to the light."
Eilin Hae stared at me for a time before she finally spoke. "What is most curious about you, Axel White, is that you deem yourself a Fatewriter of more than just the story alloted to you. How is it your right to judge the fate of these with you?"
"How is it yours?"
"A wise answer. This is your bargain, I will accept."
Ramata had warned me not to listen to the devil that would come for me. She hadn't begged anything of me, however, so I accepted the deal. "Then I will go, but they will come with me."
She nodded and her eyes began to burn with further brilliance. The green wristbands we wore glowed in response. "And there is evidence of my permission. You may-"
Suddenly we were all knocked to the ground, the entire building shook as if it caught in a whirlwind. Even the Eilin Hae fell, striking the hardwood floor with a thud. She quickly recovered. "You brought it here!"
Before we could ask her what, the top of the building was peeled away. There were cloudy, gray skies on the horizon but above us was a black abyss. Deep in that darkness was a golden gaze, wreathed in a terrible storm, burning with a crimson glow. The Eye of Gold and Crimson had arrived.
"Leave!" Eilin Hae roared.
Flesh fell in squishing lumps. It looked like... chicken, blended with bloody ground beef. In mere seconds those clumps shaped themselves into poor imitations of living creatures. Those limbs were meant to be legs, but they barely supported the misshapen figure that tried to balance on them. More formed. Some had giant mouths, much like I had seen before, and others eyes or ears. There were no speeches this time, though. Instead the mouths simply babbled nonsense as they charged. We had only seconds to process this before the first abomination got its limbs around a nearby security personnel. The wad of flesh ripped off pieces of the Elwae with ease and, by merely touching the detached flesh, turned it into a mush that it threw to the side.
It took only moments to reduce him to a lump of flesh, only a gurgled cry later and he was gone.
Em's father grabbed my arm firmly, revealing that I was the only one stuck in place. So mesmerizing was the impossible sight that I had forgotten about my own life, which was clearly in peril. Even without the minions of the Eye of Gold, I would die. The building was coming down!
Against all my instincts, I followed Em's father and the others into a deathbox that was the elevator. It was the only way down, aside from jumping. Every time it shook, I was certain we were dead. Every shutter brought a prayer to my lips, but I didn't know what I was even praying to. Something listened, however, as the doors finally opened to a chaotic ground floor.
The front doors were shattered and there was no longer any security at the door. The city was full of screams. Cars were wrecked all along the full streets and fires burned everywhere.
Over the chaos, Em's father took charge. "Leave! We leave the city!" He put his hands in front of him and grasped at air, then pulled the empty space in front of him apart. As if tearing the fabric of reality, he ripped open a hole in the air. A boom, like thunder exploding just overhead, nearly burst my eardrums. Nomic and I were knocked to the ground, but Em seemed more ready.
I couldn't hear anymore, but I could see that Em was fighting her father. All my ears could do was ring. He grabbed her by the collar, ignored her scratching and fighting, and threw her into the hole. She went flying and I lost sight of her. Em's father then dragged me to my feet and I was shoved inside, followed by Nomic.
Just as my hearing was coming back, the hole slammed in on itself and shattered my senses once more. But when I came to, I realized that Em's father had not come along. We were back in the woods, who knows how far away from the city, and we no longer had our guide. Em screamed at the air.
My hearing was coming back again. "What... what happened?"
"He's still there." Em began to cry. "He is still in the city. You can't use your own portal... there isn't a way for him to follow."
"We don't have Barrow either." Nomic rubbed his ears hard. "We have to go back."
"How? I can't open portals."
"Portals? I didn't even know portals existed until today! You know more than the rest of us. If you can't do that... then we walk. That is how we got there, after all." I answered.
She shook her head. "Only pixies know the way."
This mission was about more than saving myself. I needed to find Selene and that meant I needed to be alive. "Your father himself said y'all aren't pixies. He called himself an Elwae. You aren't a pixie and you aren't a human, you are an Elwae like the rest of them. You can do this. Take us back."
"How?"
"I don't care how!" I snapped. I know, bad timing, but is there a good time to break? "Do something, quit asking for guidance! We. Don't. Know! Barrow is still there and we are still marked! I only have more questions, no answers!" We still had our wristbands. "This is our key. We go back and you'll lead us to the light under the city."
"I don't know if I can." Lifted her hands, her fear driving her defensive stance. "I've never gone to the city on my own."
"Did you take any potions with you?"
Em's eyes widened slightly. That was answer enough. "No more pretending. You can't hang inbetween, you'll take your true form. Like your father said, you are not a pixie."
"Then why am I small?!" She screamed, hands in her hair. "Why aren't I like anyone else?!"
"I DON'T KNOW! You are part Elwae, so start walking!" I looked to Nomic, who was still rubbing his ears. It was only then that I realized my own aggression. Taking a deep breath usually helps; it did not fail me. "Look, we don't have a choice. If you can't take us there, you can't take us home either. Just... just start walking. That is a good place to begin."
She didn't seem to like it, but there wasn't anything else to try. Em led us into the forest in a random direction. We had only two hopes; that her blood would lead her, or that luck would be on our side.
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There is far more to tell, obviously, but that seems like a good stopping point. Kinda shitty, I know, but you'll get the rest in time. I've got a plane to catch; there was a 4chan post about a strange blue mark on some guy's wrist. Could be nothing, but I managed to set up a meeting. Writing time is up and I'll be back in a few days. This could be the one, guys.
Sorry to keep everyone waiting this long. When I am finished writing, you'll understand. Until then, be safe. There is a terrible eye on us all.

It’s amazing the way good old fashioned fear can strike guilt into the long hardened hearts of men. Hello there, My name is Elroy Helms, I’m 48, and I live in a VERY rural community, running a slaughterhouse, and selling wild game. It’s been a generational business from my father, to his father, all the way to my great great grandfather who settled here and founded our first slaughterhouse. We always looked at it as if we were doing God’s work. Feeding and providing the good people of of our community with the freshest cuts of game! All for a very reasonable price of course. So...why feel guilt now? Why now do my palms sweat and heart race? What could have possibly been so special about that damn deer? But deep down I know it had to be something. I know not the lore or the specifics behind that sacred creature, but I’m not so dense that I couldn’t feel the unnatural urge to drop my gun and leave the woods the second I set my sights on him. But, apparently, I WAS just dense enough to ignore the fact that every fiber of my being was screaming “DONT SHOOT!” and “NOT THIS ONE”!.
I’ll be honest though. It had been a long winter. And a pretty shoddy spring too. I’m feeding a teenage boy for God’s sake, and defiantly spitting on family tradition by planning to send him off for higher education. To make something better of himself. To be more than the son of a hunter, bound to a town like this. Not that he even minds hunting with his father. He didn’t mind our town or way of life or anything. Hell, he even has a knack for running the shop. Maybe I just wanted to stick it in the faces of my forefathers. To show him that there was more to our bloodline than this life. Maybe it even had something to do with my late wife Loren, who wanted her son to grow up and be a scholar, and get sent off somewhere to make something of himself, and all that bullshit. Damn her for making him so soft. Damn her for going off alone to fish in those woods.
But all of that purpose and meaning put behind my pulling of the trigger seems foolish now. Purged away in the flame of anxiety that spreads through my body like a cancer. Goodness, it was a beautiful deer too. It stood at least 7 or 8 feet tall, with a mesmerizing set of antlers, curving in ways most unnatural, ending with long points, facing the sky like steeples. He’d have made a killing off the hide alone, which seemed almost luminescent, and gleamed with an unnatural color that I’m not entirely positive I had ever seen before. Just looking at the thing made tears well up in the corners of my eyes, as a feeling of deep reverence overtook me.
However, in my arrogance, I shook away these feelings, steeled my resolve, and denying every last bit of instinct i had to drop my gun and go home, I was overtaken by thoughts of greed. I could put back money for my boys education. I could buy that new knife I had been eyeing, and maybe even make myself a beautiful mount on the wall to go above the fireplace. And, perhaps greatest of all, I would finally be out of this hunting rut. I’d been getting shit from some of the boys down at the bar for my bad luck lately. Almost as much shit as I’d been getting from some of my customers who were sorely disappointed that I didn’t have any venison, or deer jerky, or deer sausage for them. So I took the shot. It was eerie how quickly and gracefully the thing submitted to death. It made no sound as prey usually did, how they usually screech and bleat and carry on, fighting the inevitable, fighting with that primal desire to cling on to life. It fell to the ground quickly and without fuss, and by the time I got to the body, the life was already extinguished from it’s eyes. The temperature was already decently chilly that late spring morning, and a light layer of frost dusted the grass, but it seemed to me that it plummeted even more so as soon as the deer hit the ground.
The trek back home was arduous. I had loaded the beast up on my well-used wagon, which creaked and groaned under its immense weight. There was a breadcrumb trail of bio-luminescent blood left behind us, that was the same odd indescribable color as was visible on the animals coat. After storing the body in my shed, outside of my slaughterhouse, I promptly threw up my breakfast of eggs and sliced ham. I had a pit in my stomach, my hands were shaking uncontrollably, and despite the cold, a smattering of sweat had formed on my brow. I figured I would prepare the carcass later, right now what I really needed was a drink, and a short rest in my old hide rocking chair. I stumbled inside, slamming my rickety back door and poured myself a glass of whiskey. Upon taking my seat in my favorite chair, I tried to focus on my whittling project that left shavings all over the floor, a hobby that often left Loren in a fit of annoyance. But I didn’t have to worry about that now, did I? My eyes grew heavy, and the rain that had just started drizzling was all the more lulling to me, my mind must have been exhausted after that stressful morning. As my sight turned bleary from the sleep that was quickly overtaking me, I thought I could make out a shadow of someone watching my from the window adjacent to my chair.
That was hours ago. I woke up and the sun was gone. There’s a horrible storm caught up outside and I can’t get this feeling of guilt out of my stomach. My heart feels like it’s going to explode. I can’t find my son, and he’s not answering his phone. There’s something that’s been watching me through the the storm. I can just barely make it out when lightning strikes for just a moment, there’s a figure, there’s something caught in the downpour. It’s always shuffling around, moving closer, then farther away, then closer. I can’t tell if I’m losing my mind, but throughout the onslaught of noise from the storm, I can almost hear something crying.

Transmission
by Brian Martinez
Let me start my story by telling you something about me, the most important thing, in fact: I find things, and I fix them. That’s who I am. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.
I’m a second-generation auto mechanic, born-and-bred. I’ve been repairing cars since before Ford Pintos were blowing up, when cars were made of steel and Route 66 wasn’t just something for the cartoons. These days I’m fortunate enough to own a shop downtown between two of those chain coffee places. It’s small, sure, but it has a reputation for saving cars so far-gone no one else will even touch ‘em. So if you live in the area, and you’ve ever been stuck with the sourest of lemons, or maybe your kid drove your minivan into the pool, we just might have crossed paths, you and I.
That reputation is what led to me getting a phone call from a guy I’d never met, saying he had something that might interest me. His name was Burt and he’d apparently just purchased a piece of property that sat unowned for the better part of twenty years. I knew of the area he was talking about. It’s out in the hills, where there isn’t much to look at. Most of the land there went to weed years ago; acres and acres of old woods and burnt-down barns just waiting for nobody in particular to see the value in them. And, well, it seems Burt was that nobody in particular.
I honestly didn’t know what Burt’s purchase had to do with me, and told him just that, figuring he must have had the wrong number. But the next words out of his mouth told me he knew exactly who he was talking to.
Apparently when old Burt started walking around his new property, digging around in the dirt, so to speak, he made an interesting discovery. So interesting, in fact, that it got me to grab my keys, hop in my truck, and drive up into the hills without so much as a pause to wash my hands.
Some things, you see, don’t wait for a man to look presentable.
As I drove up into the hills to meet Burt, I started to think about my father and the drives he used to take me on. He liked to get a feel for whichever car he was working on, and those drives, they always ended with a detour into the hills. ‘Nothing tests a vehicle like elevation,’ he used to say, and I have to admit, I still agree with that statement. All those long inclines, sharp turns and fast descents- not to mention the occasional slam on the brakes- really put a car through its paces.
Dad knew a thing or two about cars, even if he knew nothing about how to raise a family.
Other than maybe a slight fear of commitment, the main thing I got from my father was a passion for restoring old cars in my spare time. It’s a hobby of mine, and I do it in the garage at my house. I’m especially a sucker for rare cars, and the rarer the better. That little hobby of mine, more so than my day business, was why I ended up driving out to the middle of nowhere with dirty hands and a head full of ideas.
The road up was just as long and winding as I remembered. I almost missed the entrance for the property, a hidden driveway marked with little more than a broken mailbox and a rotting signpost. The private road got smaller and smaller by the minute until I swore the trees were going to swallow me whole and spit the bones back out.
When I finally reached what could pass for a clearing, a guy with a face like a junkyard dog was waiting for me next to the newest, cleanest Ford pick-up I’d seen outside of a dealership. He introduced himself to me as Eddie, an associate of old Burt. I told him I’d been expecting to meet Burt himself, but Eddie explained that Burt didn’t like to meet new people, and rarely came out in the cold weather. It was a bit raw, I had to admit, so I dropped the whole thing and let Eddie get down to the business at hand.
We left our cars behind and Eddie led me into the woods, where the walking was slow-going on account of the overgrowth of vines and dead branches. I’m not one to spook easily, but the more we walked the creepier those woods got, until I was fairly sure Eddie was going to use that French Mastiff face of his to tear my throat out. But just when I was thinking about turning back and saying screw it to the whole thing, I caught sight of what we’d come for.
The very first car I saw was a white, 1974 Pontiac Trans-Am. It was missing its door and tires, and it was buried under a layer of dead vines, but the body shape was unmistakable. Under the rust I could even see what was left of the telltale Firebird emblazoned across its hood in blue.
I couldn’t believe a car like that was just sitting out in the middle of the woods, waiting for anyone to come along and find it. As I got closer, though, I saw just how bad the condition of the car was. The insides were rotted out from rain and mold, and the floor was so eaten up by rust it was ready to fall out.
Before my brain could process the loss of such a beautiful machine, I caught sight of another car. This one was a Datsun 210 with a tree growing right through the hole where its trunk used to be. Wet leaves and newspaper filled the back seat, and the dashboard was an abandoned nest that crawled with leggy insects.
Old Burt hadn’t been pulling my leg: those woods were a graveyard for abandoned cars. From what I could tell, about three acres of woods were absolutely littered with the corpses of old autos. Some were in pieces, most were covered in dead leaves and rust and all the other things that happen when anything is left outside for years and years, but they were there. The sight of so many classic cars in one place, virtually unknown to anyone, both excited and saddened me.
For close to an hour I walked around random piles of tires and glass to stare at rusted-out Range Rovers and Jeeps with their headlights hanging out like popped eyeballs. Finally, like I’d woken up from a spell, I asked Eddie what Burt expected from me. And that’s when he told me the strangest, most interesting offer he could have told me in that moment.
He said if I could make every, single one of those cars disappear in three day’s time, at no cost to old Burt, I could keep them.
The words nearly knocked me off my feet. I’d have to call in every favor to every salvage yard and tow truck operator I knew, but it was possible. Still, nearly all of the cars I’d seen were beyond repair, even for a guy like me. At most I saw some parts that could be salvaged. Maybe a few of the newer, less damaged ones could be saved. I knew a few guys in my circle who might be interested, and I figured if I played my cards right I could make a few bucks out of the deal to boot- or at least land a good trade or two. Still, there weren’t any cars that I was interested in for myself.
Until, at the edge of the property, tucked away in a spot I’d nearly overlooked, I saw it. It was as if I’d been drawn there. Like I was meant to find it.
The car was familiar-looking, yet like nothing I’d ever seen. Cross a Chevelle Malibu Classic SE with the modern retro feel of the ‘97 Plymouth Prowler, add the large rear spoiler and flared wheel arches of a ‘99 Nissan Skyline GT-R, and you still won’t come close. It looked like something one of the big three manufacturers had made and yet I’d never seen or heard of its like ever before. It had no logos, no hood ornament, no identification of any kind. I practically ran around to the back of it to look for a name, a logo, something to identify it, tripping over hidden rocks and broken glass to do it.
But there was nothing. Nothing to betray the make and mark of the strange car in front of me. I even asked Eddie if he knew what it was. He only shrugged, clearly wanting to wrap up our little outdoor meeting. I half-heartedly agreed. It was later than I’d realized. Between the dwindling sun and the discovery I’d made, I’d started to get a chill I couldn’t shake. I had a bad tooth I’d been neglecting, and even that was starting to hurt from the cold.
So I agreed to Burt’s deal. I shook Eddie’s hand on it and got out of there, giving one last glance at the strange car in the woods on the way out.
The next day, after making more phone calls than a politician on election night, a swarm of flatbeds, wheel-lifts and salvage trucks descended on those woods. For two days they scooped out every piece of metal and glass in the place, while I oversaw the operation like a choir conductor from hell. I directed trucks this way and cutting crews that way. They snipped and cut and tore out every dead tree standing in the way so the truck crews could do the rest. I even got in there myself with the old chainsaw when it was needed.
It was an exhausting two days, but I managed to keep my word to Burt and clear every abandoned car off his property with about an hour to spare. Some of the cars went to the junkyard, others to various garages I’d made arrangements with.
I was dead on my feet by the time I got home. I was ready for a shower and a bed, in what order I wasn’t sure. And yet a crackle of energy went through me when I saw what had been dropped off in my garage.
My mystery car. Without the shadows of the woods hiding it, I could see it had been painted silver before the rust took over. It had been a fast sucker once, like a bullet to a werewolf’s chest. That had been a long time ago, and yet I sensed there was still some life in the old girl. I wanted so badly to start digging around under the hood, to see what I could find out, but my legs were ready to collapse and my eyes could barely focus. Intending to wake up early and hit the garage, I stumbled off to bed.
You know that feeling you get when you realize someone’s been talking to you for the past minute, thinking you’ve been listening, and you only just figured it out?
That’s the feeling I woke up to.
I sat straight up like a vampire rising from his coffin. My bedroom was still dark, which meant it was the middle of the night. In my half-sleep I tried to make out the clock on my nightstand but couldn’t read the numbers, so I fumbled for my glasses and shoved them on. It was just past two in the morning: way too early, even for me. No way was I getting up, strange feeling or no.
I was about to take my glasses off and lay back down when I heard the reason I’d woken up.
Whispering.
A man was in my room, whispering in the dark. I lunged across my bed and turned on the lamp, nearly knocking it over. I didn’t have a weapon, but if I could see the intruder I could do something about it. I spun back, back to the whispering, to see who it was, to shout at them or jump on them, whatever I had to do to save my life from the psycho in my bedroom.
But the room was empty. Just me and a pounding heart.
I was so confused, I jumped out of bed and tore around the room, making sure no one was hiding, but I didn’t find anyone. I was alone.
Then I heard it again, and I knew: the whispers were coming from down the hall.
With bare feet I followed it, trying to make out what it was saying, but it was too low to understand. I grabbed a knife as I passed through the kitchen and held it in front of me with sweat beading on my face despite how cold I kept the house.
I followed the whispering to the garage. The overhead light flickered on, lighting up the strange car in my garage. In my half-sleep, half-terror I’d nearly forgotten about it. But there it was, like a bear hibernating in its cave, waiting for the end of winter. It felt alive somehow. Not dead, just asleep and dreaming.
And it was whispering.
I knew how crazy that sounded, how crazy that was, but I swallowed hard and approached the car, knife first. The blade shook in front of me. The whispering got louder the closer I got, and yet I still couldn’t understand the words it was saying. Was someone hiding inside the car? Had I inherited a homeless man when I’d had it towed to my house? If so I had to get him out of there. Get him help, sure, make sure he had a place to sleep, but he couldn’t stay in my garage, whispering through the night. No way.
With my free hand I yanked on the driver’s side door. It didn’t open. Rusted shut. I slowly walked around to the passenger side and yanked again. It opened.
The whispering was louder now, louder but not clearer, like an old television tuned between channels, like a frequency not being picked up, like a…
Like a radio.
The whispers were coming from the radio. I laughed under my breath, realizing how ridiculous I’d been. But then I remembered there was no way the radio could be working. The car wasn’t turned on. If it even had a battery under the hood, it was probably little more than a square pile of rust and battery acid.
I clutched the kitchen knife tight, and with the other hand I slowly reached out to turn the volume knob. I needed to know if the whispers were coming from the radio, and if they were, I needed to know what they were saying. My temple throbbed as the whispers grew louder and louder, louder and louder, louder and-
The moment my finger touched the knob, the whispers stopped.
I felt like I was going crazy. I looked around the inside of the car, noting the strong smell of mildew and animal with a tinge of rotten leather. Other than my own breath echoing back at me, it was silent.
No whispers. No nothing.
I went back to bed, but I barely slept.
The next day was the day I usually took off from the shop, which was a relief since I woke up almost as tired as when I’d gone to bed. As I ate my breakfast, the night before still sat fresh in my mind. But the more I went over it, the more I thought it had been a bad dream, brought on by exhaustion and an imagination run wild. I had to admit the mystery car sitting in my garage had gotten my mind racing faster than a Formula 1.
I’m the kind of guy who likes a simple explanation, something I can touch and feel and, yes, fix, so I started to think that I could have picked up some kind of rogue radio transmission from a trucker, or even a passing plane. The police scanner I owned in my younger days had certainly picked up its share of random broadcasts, and when it comes to working on junkers I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.
After I’d eaten my breakfast and downed my coffee I got right to work on the car. I wanted to clear the air of whatever had happened, and I was dying to see what that baby had going on under the hood. The mystery of who the hell had made the thing was still heavy on me.
But the enigma only deepened the more I looked. Under all that rust and dirt and oil I couldn’t find one damn mark that told me who’d made the car. I almost wanted to say it was a custom build, but the work was too precise, the system too well-planned out to be an after-market job.
I worked on it all day, so wrapped up in it I forgot to eat lunch. I ate dinner like a raccoon digging through a dumpster. Then I worked on it some more.
I was just crawling into bed when I heard it again.
The whispering.
This time I ignored it, hoping it would go away on its own. But it didn’t stop. Not until I got up, walked across my house, went into the garage, and touched the radio. Then, it stopped.
I decided right then and there not to go to the shop the next day. There was just too much work to be done.
I’d been working on the car for four days straight before I got it started up. Four days of stripping and cleaning and rebuilding. Four nights of whispering. I was even starting to hear it during the day, but low, barely audible, like a television playing somewhere in the house.
After I got the engine started, the first thing I did was pull my code reader down from my tool wall and hook it up to the dashboard input. I’d been pleasantly surprised to find an input on the car, even though I was fairly certain it had been built after '96. To my shock the screen filled up with a bunch of random trouble codes I’d never seen before, then went blank. I tried to get it powered up again but apparently the connection had completely overloaded the device.
I’d had the reader for years and it had never given me a problem. I put it down and got back to the car, deciding to stick to the old-fashioned way and get a feel for what was wrong with it. Just like dad used to do.
With my foot on the gas I revved the engine good. It sounded better than I’d expected, like a beast waking up from deep sleep. But there was also something rattling around under the hood, something loose knocking around inside the carburetor or possibly even the manifold.
I tried a few options, opening up this and that, until I narrowed it down to something completely unexpected: the transmission.
With considerable force I managed to open up the transmission, and sure enough I found something inside. Something dark and red. I pulled it out and studied it under the light. It looked like a small rock covered in old transmission fluid. How it got in there I didn’t have a clue. But I decided to clean it off and get a better look at it, in case it pointed to a bigger problem. As I walked it to the slop sink, I noticed the whispering, usually a dull static during the day, had started to grow louder. I could almost make out individual words now. But I ignored it and ran the small rock under the faucet, watching the dark red fluid swirl down the drain.
That was when I discovered something I wasn’t prepared for. The thing in my hand wasn’t a rock- it was a tooth.
A human tooth.
The whispers had grown so loud I could barely hear myself think, barely feel the disgust rising in the pit of my stomach. With the whispers practically shouting in my ear I dropped the tooth and it bounced and clattered inside the sink, coming to a rest near the edge of the drain.
The whispers grew quiet again. A dull roar tickling at the back of my skull. I stared at it, the tooth in the sink, the impossible tooth from the impossible car. I had the urge to throw it out. To get it out of my house and never see it again. But I didn’t do that. I couldn’t tell you why not.
Maybe because that meant touching it again.
Maybe something else.
Feeling like I should give the car a rest, I worked on getting my code reader working again, otherwise I’d have to run to the store and buy a new one. I changed out the batteries and gave it a good, solid whack. A few seconds later I was happy to see the screen turn on. I thought I’d have to do a factory reset to use it again but I was surprised to find it worked perfectly fine. Not only that, the trouble codes it had read off the car were still stored in its memory.
There were pages and pages of codes like I’d never seen in my life, more than I think are even in the tool’s programming. In fact I couldn’t find a single one of them anywhere in the manual. I figured they were probably just random numbers, and yet there was something strange about them, like they had a pattern to them. I dusted off my old computer and typed in the problem codes, figuring if I could get a better look at them I might be able to figure out their meaning. If not, I could at least print them out and show them to somebody who could.
After twenty minutes I’d barely made a dent in typing up all the codes. I gave up on the idea that I could copy them all. I pushed away from my computer and stood up, rubbing my eyes from the strain. Between the glare of the old screen and the noise in my ears, my head was killing me. It all felt so pointless. So inconsequential.
Just before I shut the computer down, I happened to glance one last time at the screen. And when I did, I noticed something that made my skin go cold.
The codes. The pattern. The numbers and letters and spaces between them. They were starting to form a face. A human face, with two eyes and a screaming-
I shut the computer down as fast as I could, then unplugged it to be safe. Then I marched to the garage and disconnected the radio, practically ripping it out of the car.
The whispers stopped.
The house was quiet.
But not for long.
For three days I told myself to get rid of that car, tow it out of my garage and dump it somewhere no one could find it. Maybe even drench it in gasoline and light a match. For three days I ignored the whispers and the doorbell and the phone calls from my shop asking when I was coming back. For three days I buried my head under the hood and worked and worked and worked.
On the fourth day, when the whispers from the radio had grown louder than my own thoughts, louder but still unclear, without words I could understand, I lost it. I threw my wrench at the tool wall, knocking down chisels and socket wrenches and a dozen other tools clattering to the ground. I pounded on my ears, cursing them, willing them to go deaf and stop hearing the whispers.
But they didn’t stop hearing. And the whispers didn’t stop. So I decided. I decided that if I couldn’t stop hearing them, I at least needed to know what they were saying.
I went back to the slop sink. The tooth was still there, perched near the edge of the drain. I’d prayed for it to slip down and wash away on its own but there it was, round and sharp and real as ever. So I picked it up, and the whispers grew louder. Clearer. But still not clear enough to hear. Not enough to make out what the radio was saying. To understand what it wanted from me. It was like a broken antenna, only tuning in half the frequency.
The garage was a mess. I was a mess. Rancid grease stains everywhere. A hole in my tool wall where the wrench had struck it, the ground littered with hammers and screwdrivers and …
Pliers.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the pliers from the ground, shoved it onto my mouth, got a good hold of my bad tooth, and ripped it out. It was easier than I expected, but it still hurt, and it bled a lot. But I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the tooth I’d found in the transmission into its place.
The moment I did, it was as if everything came into focus. As if the radio was inside my skull. No, as if my skull was the radio, and I was the antenna. I could hear the transmission clear as day now, a man’s voice inside my head.
Whispering to me.
Telling me where to find the rest of him.
I told you all of this, not because I expect you to believe me, but because I’m about to walk out my door and do something I might not come back from. And if that’s the case, if I don’t return today or any other day from this thing I need to do, I want people to know why.
Because I find things. I find things and fix them. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.

Previous
Writer's note: IDK why. But for the past few weeks HFY has been acting real fucky with formatting and putting hyperlinks between chapters. So if you've been having problems, complain to the mods and just give me a heads up. I'll do what I can on my end. But it's been a struggle.
In the mean time, James has to save Central City.
Enjoy.
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"Okay. Let's just-" Veliry began as she grabbed at the bars of the cell, which were now made of fresh sapling wood, and bent them. "There it is." She said as the wood snapped with a wet crunch. Greenish-white sap began pouring out, making her hands sticky. "Ew." She said to herself as she wiped it on a leaf. Then she beckoned for Nguyen to come out.
"Um.... Thanks." He said as he squeezed through the new opening. The maneuver brought him incredibly close to the former... whatever it was. He kept his eyes on it, even though it now resembled nothing so much as a small ecosystem of various flora.
Barnes was over at the end of the hall, surrounded by Royal soldiers and a few of Werner's staff members who'd been sent to check up on them.
And then, of all people, former Sergeant Batista, and Specialist Perkesse came jogging into the hall. Nguyen's eyes squinted a bit at the sight of the two. Perkesse looked like a soldier fine enough. But Batista was an odd mashup of Petravian style armor, Earth civy clothes, and a squad LMG. He even had a belt wrapped around his torso Rambo-Style like he was in an action movie.
And despite his misgivings about himself, Nguyen couldn't help but stand up straighter, cross his arms, and raise an eyebrow at the sight of the two of them. Especially since he knew that Earth military weren't supposed to have any of their weapons.
"Ah shit." Batista said as the both stopped to catch their breath. The Petravians were similarly confused.
"Perk?" Barnes asked. "What are you doing here? And why are you armed?"
Perkesse pointed at all of them, and the gore of the dead soldiers in the hall closer to Nguyen and the small, antlered, mage, as well as the forest-ified monster.
"Heard there was monsters." The tall African American soldier said as he rested his shotgun on his shoulder.
"Yeah." Batista weighed in. "Some soldiers said there was one down here. We came to help." He hefted the LMG with a grunt. "Bullets work real well on em. At least from what I could see in the Comm room."
"That makes sense." The little mage next to Nguyen said. He looked over at her with mild surprise.
"It does?" He asked.
She nodded and pointed at the monster. A butterfly, or something that looked like a butterfly with an extra set of wings anwyways, took off from one of the former tendrils.
"They're not TRUE golems." She said, as if that explained anything. "They have a host body inside. Kill that hard enough and they lose coherency." As she said that she reached up to one of the monster's new branches and plucked a leaf off and began studying it.
"Yeah." Batista said. "What she said."
"So you grabbed guns and came running?" Barnes asked.
"Well... Yeah." Perkesse answered.
Barnes turned to the Petravians around him. "There any more of these monsters around?" He asked.
There were nods and mumbled "yeah"s.
Then Barnes turned to say something. But Nguyen stole his thunder.
"Got any more weapons?" He asked. Then he turned to the mage. "Think the King would mind if my people helped out in a crisis? You know.... earn back a bit of faith?"
"Not my call." She replied with a shrug. "I'm just a pregnant...." She looked back at the monster. "Well. I don't really know what I am anymore." She nodded a bit as she seemed to realize that even while saying it. "But as James once said, 'Better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.'"
Nguyen sighed. "Oh great." He said. "You're taking lessons from Choi." Though he wasn't exactly in a position to cast stones.
---------------------------
Patril knew, as their Golem's main body was assaulted from all sides, that the operation was truly a failure.
They'd had everything set up almost perfectly. They truly couldn't understand what had tipped their targets off. Or how they had gotten so damned lucky.
But it's okay. They thought. We can always make more golems. And with our new minds they shall be even more powerful.
And while they were at it, they might as well take the Agency for themselves. That damned Orc didn't need to lead it anymore. Barely was even now in fact.
Or so they had expected.
Until an explosion occurred in their golem's entry tunnel. And when they sensed the sudden onslaught of gunfire, and even worse that damnable cold magic, their true bodies turned in the room they were standing in.
All of their eyes widened as they felt the flow of golem flesh going through the doorway first slow, and then halt entirely.
And even with their mind's joined, some of Patril's bodies made to run.
But not the true Patril, who was despite everything else... both rageful and confused.
And a little scared.
And then an ice-clad claw smashed through a formation of frozen golem flesh and latched onto the door frame from the other side.
And they.... no... HE recognized it.
YOU! They all thought as even his running bodies turned to stare at the claw.
Then another matching claw scrambled for the other edge of the door before latching onto it.
And in their distraction none of them, not even the ice armored were-folk literally clawing his way through the door, saw the old Orc as he smiled and stepped through a door of his own with a whisper that none of them heard.
A whispered name.
His own name, which was bound to a small red crystal only a few steps away when he exited.
A crystal that began to glow red with power.
--------------------------------
When Amina stepped into the command room everything froze for just a moment.
Then she looked down at the floor and lifted her foot to inspect something.
"Why's there blood in the command room?" She asked as she looked back up at everyone. "And where's my father? He should be here, should he not?"
"The enemy attempted, unsuccessfully, to assassinate him General." One of the Senior Sergeants nearby answered. "Tried using the Guardian as a weapon against him. She put a stop to it herself." He nodded at the blood. "At great cost. Haven't had a chance to get it cleaned just yet, it was only a few minutes ago."
"He's safe?" She asked. The sergeant nodded, and she nodded back.
Then she marched over to the spot he would have been at if he was in the room. The position of command. Which, right now, was hers. The Commander there nodded as she stepped aside for Amina.
Then she looked out at everyone, and they were looking at her expectantly.
"What are you waiting for?" She asked. "I flagged down a few runners on my way here. I know the situation. Back to work!" She barked, snapping them out of their daze and back into a flurry of motion as messages and information were passed rapidly. And she held her hand out to the commander who'd just made way for her. The current report was promptly placed in her hand and she began skimming over it rapidly. "Someone send for some gods damned pickled onions!" She ordered to the junior officers who acted as aides during situations like this.
Two of them looked at each other curiously, and a few of the other people present also looked at the princess with confusion for a moment at the outburst. Then, without a word between them, one of them began jogging out of the room to attend to the request.
And just like that, their General had returned.
----------------------------
James faltered in his flight as someone spoke from beside him unexpectedly.
"You're fast pinky." Prince Alixan said as he flew along side James. Behind him a pair of massive raven-esque wings were in the position of a diving hawk, even though he wasn't actually diving. "But I've been flying since before I'd even left the castle."
And with that the prince accelerated. James had to admit that the prince could, in fact, fly a lot faster than he'd thought he could.
But, James realized and was actually surprised at, he apparently had never seen James at full speed. Nor had he seen James's newfound speed while he moved like Joey had.
James threw on his magical afterburners and flew past the magically winged prince in a rush, causing HIS flight to falter this time.
"IWASJUST getting ey^{es on the fight}" He said as he flew past.
Alixan looked at the rapidly shrinking soldier in shock for a moment, before pouring on speed.
Then, as they finally got over the top of the thickest of the fighting, James plummeted.
And as he did, he drew his sword, and his movement became less like flying and more like running on the air. Somehow, to the prince's surprise, James began moving even faster.
I need to learn to do that. Alixan thought as he watched the younger man plummet. And with his eyes blazing like golden suns, James looked like a falling star.
Alixan lingered for a moment as he looked down in mild amazement at the sight that began to unfold.
James had become a whirlwind on the ground. He raced up and down through streets and alleys, and occasionally over or even through buildings. Where he went, Golems fell. The lone forms of the corrupted refugees were sliced to ribbons as James's magic devouring blade carved through them in a dervish. The large tendrils of the main Golem body were harried at any place the young man met them, his blade destroying the magical energy that gave it form.
Petravian soldiers who had been hard pressed suddenly found themselves victorious over enemies who had seemingly been cut by phantom blades. Civilians who had one moment been running for their lives, suddenly found themselves alone and safe. Some of them, namely the old and young though also a few who were injured, found themselves whisked away to groups of soldiers. The soldiers accepted them happily, though with some wariness.
Alixan watched all of this. And with one eye glowing gold, and the other glowing green, he gasped as he saw the insane magical display.
"Gods abound." He said to himself. And as he watched he realized that his beloved Melady had never stood a chance against the young man. Not really.
But he kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.
For now, James could harass the enemy on its flanks.... all of its flanks... somehow. Alixan looked up at a portion of the Golem's main body that seemed.... caved in. Then he saw a jet of white ice magic jet up into the air from a bubble in the thing's writhing body.
Alixan turned and headed that way.
--------------------------
Vickers was the first to see it happen.
He'd just clawed his way into the door that the Agency was using to get the golem to the capital. The one that he knew from experience, and from the tiny mage's new creations, could link places across the world to each other. His head emerged above the writhing mass of the still moving golem body as it tried to continue snaking its way out of.... wherever they were.... to, and through, the door that he and the King's mages had fought so hard to reach.
It was taking every ounce of, not inconsiderable, strength he had to not only maintain his grip on the door frame, but also to move in THROUGH the door. On top of that he was absolutely dumping magical energy into his ice armor. And he thought he felt a couple of the mages behind him pouring more energy into him. He'd heard that that was possible, but he'd never experienced it before.
And as he saw the small ball of red light form on a chair beyond the group people who all moved in an odd sort of unison, he kind of doubted he'd ever get to confirm the suspicion.
I need to get a lot colder. He thought as he saw the group turn, once again in unison, toward the light.
"NOOOO!" They yelled as one.
And despite knowing that something bad was about to happen, Vickers grinned as he thought. Ah. So you are the one I was hunting.
Then the room beyond became an inferno.
Vickers gasped. Partly in shock at the sheer heat, which he could feel even through his rapidly melting and evaporating armor, and partly because something in his mind told him that having breath in his lungs was a bad idea.
Then there was only pain.
[Next]

Previous / First
Writer's note: IDK why. But for the past few weeks HFY has been acting real fucky with formatting and putting hyperlinks between chapters. So if you've been having problems, complain to the mods and just give me a heads up. I'll do what I can on my end. But it's been a struggle.
In the mean time, James has to save Central City.
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Okay. Let's just-" Veliry began as she grabbed at the bars of the cell, which were now made of fresh sapling wood, and bent them. "There it is." She said as the wood snapped with a wet crunch. Greenish-white sap began pouring out, making her hands sticky. "Ew." She said to herself as she wiped it on a leaf. Then she beckoned for Nguyen to come out.
"Um.... Thanks." He said as he squeezed through the new opening. The maneuver brought him incredibly close to the former... whatever it was. He kept his eyes on it, even though it now resembled nothing so much as a small ecosystem of various flora.
Barnes was over at the end of the hall, surrounded by Royal soldiers and a few of Werner's staff members who'd been sent to check up on them.
And then, of all people, former Sergeant Batista, and Specialist Perkesse came jogging into the hall. Nguyen's eyes squinted a bit at the sight of the two. Perkesse looked like a soldier fine enough. But Batista was an odd mashup of Petravian style armor, Earth civy clothes, and a squad LMG. He even had a belt wrapped around his torso Rambo-Style like he was in an action movie.
And despite his misgivings about himself, Nguyen couldn't help but stand up straighter, cross his arms, and raise an eyebrow at the sight of the two of them. Especially since he knew that Earth military weren't supposed to have any of their weapons.
"Ah shit." Batista said as the both stopped to catch their breath. The Petravians were similarly confused.
"Perk?" Barnes asked. "What are you doing here? And why are you armed?"
Perkesse pointed at all of them, and the gore of the dead soldiers in the hall closer to Nguyen and the small, antlered, mage, as well as the forest-ified monster.
"Heard there was monsters." The tall African American soldier said as he rested his shotgun on his shoulder.
"Yeah." Batista weighed in. "Some soldiers said there was one down here. We came to help." He hefted the LMG with a grunt. "Bullets work real well on em. At least from what I could see in the Comm room."
"That makes sense." The little mage next to Nguyen said. He looked over at her with mild surprise.
"It does?" He asked.
She nodded and pointed at the monster. A butterfly, or something that looked like a butterfly with an extra set of wings anwyways, took off from one of the former tendrils.
"They're not TRUE golems." She said, as if that explained anything. "They have a host body inside. Kill that hard enough and they lose coherency." As she said that she reached up to one of the monster's new branches and plucked a leaf off and began studying it.
"Yeah." Batista said. "What she said."
"So you grabbed guns and came running?" Barnes asked.
"Well... Yeah." Perkesse answered.
Barnes turned to the Petravians around him. "There any more of these monsters around?" He asked.
There were nods and mumbled "yeah"s.
Then Barnes turned to say something. But Nguyen stole his thunder.
"Got any more weapons?" He asked. Then he turned to the mage. "Think the King would mind if my people helped out in a crisis? You know.... earn back a bit of faith?"
"Not my call." She replied with a shrug. "I'm just a pregnant...." She looked back at the monster. "Well. I don't really know what I am anymore." She nodded a bit as she seemed to realize that even while saying it. "But as James once said, 'Better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.'"
Nguyen sighed. "Oh great." He said. "You're taking lessons from Choi." Though he wasn't exactly in a position to cast stones.
---------------------------
Patril knew, as their Golem's main body was assaulted from all sides, that the operation was truly a failure.
They'd had everything set up almost perfectly. They truly couldn't understand what had tipped their targets off. Or how they had gotten so damned lucky.
But it's okay. They thought. We can always make more golems. And with our new minds they shall be even more powerful.
And while they were at it, they might as well take the Agency for themselves. That damned Orc didn't need to lead it anymore. Barely was even now in fact.
Or so they had expected.
Until an explosion occurred in their golem's entry tunnel. And when they sensed the sudden onslaught of gunfire, and even worse that damnable cold magic, their true bodies turned in the room they were standing in.
All of their eyes widened as they felt the flow of golem flesh going through the doorway first slow, and then halt entirely.
And even with their mind's joined, some of Patril's bodies made to run.
But not the true Patril, who was despite everything else... both rageful and confused.
And a little scared.
And then an ice-clad claw smashed through a formation of frozen golem flesh and latched onto the door frame from the other side.
And they.... no... HE recognized it.
YOU! They all thought as even his running bodies turned to stare at the claw.
Then another matching claw scrambled for the other edge of the door before latching onto it.
And in their distraction none of them, not even the ice armored were-folk literally clawing his way through the door, saw the old Orc as he smiled and stepped through a door of his own with a whisper that none of them heard.
A whispered name.
His own name, which was bound to a small red crystal only a few steps away when he exited.
A crystal that began to glow red with power.
--------------------------------
When Amina stepped into the command room everything froze for just a moment.
Then she looked down at the floor and lifted her foot to inspect something.
"Why's there blood in the command room?" She asked as she looked back up at everyone. "And where's my father? He should be here, should he not?"
"The enemy attempted, unsuccessfully, to assassinate him General." One of the Senior Sergeants nearby answered. "Tried using the Guardian as a weapon against him. She put a stop to it herself." He nodded at the blood. "At great cost. Haven't had a chance to get it cleaned just yet, it was only a few minutes ago."
"He's safe?" She asked. The sergeant nodded, and she nodded back.
Then she marched over to the spot he would have been at if he was in the room. The position of command. Which, right now, was hers. The Commander there nodded as she stepped aside for Amina.
Then she looked out at everyone, and they were looking at her expectantly.
"What are you waiting for?" She asked. "I flagged down a few runners on my way here. I know the situation. Back to work!" She barked, snapping them out of their daze and back into a flurry of motion as messages and information were passed rapidly. And she held her hand out to the commander who'd just made way for her. The current report was promptly placed in her hand and she began skimming over it rapidly. "Someone send for some gods damned pickled onions!" She ordered to the junior officers who acted as aides during situations like this.
Two of them looked at each other curiously, and a few of the other people present also looked at the princess with confusion for a moment at the outburst. Then, without a word between them, one of them began jogging out of the room to attend to the request.
And just like that, their General had returned.
----------------------------
James faltered in his flight as someone spoke from beside him unexpectedly.
"You're fast pinky." Prince Alixan said as he flew along side James. Behind him a pair of massive raven-esque wings were in the position of a diving hawk, even though he wasn't actually diving. "But I've been flying since before I'd even left the castle."
And with that the prince accelerated. James had to admit that the prince could, in fact, fly a lot faster than he'd thought he could.
But, James realized and was actually surprised at, he apparently had never seen James at full speed. Nor had he seen James's newfound speed while he moved like Joey had.
James threw on his magical afterburners and flew past the magically winged prince in a rush, causing HIS flight to falter this time.
"IWASJUST getting eyes ^{on the fight"} He said as he flew past.
Alixan looked at the rapidly shrinking soldier in shock for a moment, before pouring on speed.
Then, as they finally got over the top of the thickest of the fighting, James plummeted.
And as he did, he drew his sword, and his movement became less like flying and more like running on the air. Somehow, to the prince's surprise, James began moving even faster.
I need to learn to do that. Alixan thought as he watched the younger man plummet. And with his eyes blazing like golden suns, James looked like a falling star.
Alixan lingered for a moment as he looked down in mild amazement at the sight that began to unfold.
James had become a whirlwind on the ground. He raced up and down through streets and alleys, and occasionally over or even through buildings. Where he went, Golems fell. The lone forms of the corrupted refugees were sliced to ribbons as James's magic devouring blade carved through them in a dervish. The large tendrils of the main Golem body were harried at any place the young man met them, his blade destroying the magical energy that gave it form.
Petravian soldiers who had been hard pressed suddenly found themselves victorious over enemies who had seemingly been cut by phantom blades. Civilians who had one moment been running for their lives, suddenly found themselves alone and safe. Some of them, namely the old and young though also a few who were injured, found themselves whisked away to groups of soldiers. The soldiers accepted them happily, though with some wariness.
Alixan watched all of this. And with one eye glowing gold, and the other glowing green, he gasped as he saw the insane magical display.
"Gods abound." He said to himself. And as he watched he realized that his beloved Melady had never stood a chance against the young man. Not really.
But he kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.
For now, James could harass the enemy on its flanks.... all of its flanks... somehow. Alixan looked up at a portion of the Golem's main body that seemed.... caved in. Then he saw a jet of white ice magic jet up into the air from a bubble in the thing's writhing body.
Alixan turned and headed that way.
--------------------------
Vickers was the first to see it happen.
He'd just clawed his way into the door that the Agency was using to get the golem to the capital. The one that he knew from experience, and from the tiny mage's new creations, could link places across the world to each other. His head emerged above the writhing mass of the still moving golem body as it tried to continue snaking its way out of.... wherever they were.... to, and through, the door that he and the King's mages had fought so hard to reach.
It was taking every ounce of, not inconsiderable, strength he had to not only maintain his grip on the door frame, but also to move in THROUGH the door. On top of that he was absolutely dumping magical energy into his ice armor. And he thought he felt a couple of the mages behind him pouring more energy into him. He'd heard that that was possible, but he'd never experienced it before.
And as he saw the small ball of red light form on a chair beyond the group people who all moved in an odd sort of unison, he kind of doubted he'd ever get to confirm the suspicion.
I need to get a lot colder. He thought as he saw the group turn, once again in unison, toward the light.
"NOOOO!" They yelled as one.
And despite knowing that something bad was about to happen, Vickers grinned as he thought. Ah. So you are the one I was hunting.
Then the room beyond became an inferno.
Vickers gasped. Partly in shock at the sheer heat, which he could feel even through his rapidly melting and evaporating armor, and partly because something in his mind told him that having breath in his lungs was a bad idea.
Then there was only pain.
[Next]

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Chapter 117 – I have nothing to hide
With a deep, long exhale that took every last bit of air out of his lungs, James hung up his call. Wordlessly and with his chest deflated, he simply remained standing there for a few seconds, feeling how his system gradually drained itself of oxygen while he tried his best to clear his thoughts and listen into himself. But all he felt was a chaos that he couldn’t calm. He had no idea if he was ready for this, and trusting the word of others had never in his life felt as hard as it did right now, not even the many times his life had literally depended on the word of others.
All he could do was reassure himself. He could do this. He would do this. And they all would get through this. He would make it happen. He had to.
Feeling the raging chaos-storm die down only ever so slightly at his own reassurances, he finally allowed himself to inhale again. He forced himself to not violently gasp for air as if he had just emerged from a deep dive. Instead, he very deliberately began to allow air to rush into his body through his nose, adamant to keep full control of the flow as he did so.
Once his lungs were full, he kept the air in for only a moment, before allowing it to rush back out of his mouth in a pursed-lipped exhale, while also opening his eyes again.
With steady and deliberate steps, he then began walking back to the rest of his group at an even and controlled pace. The projections of his team’s expression looked back at him with a strange sense of wonder and anticipation.
Nia and Moar on the other hand looked like they already sensed the severity of the situation, and a mounting dread seemed to take hold of them. Meanwhile Curi and Congloarch stood by with stony expressions, not giving a hint as to what was going on behind their faces.
That only left one.
Unlike all the others, Shida approached him as he returned to the group. After meeting back up outside of the conference room once the recess had been called, James had immediately separated from everyone again, and she had patiently waited for him to be done with his preparations. But now they could finally discuss what needed to be said.
“Are you feeling any better?” James asked her, knowing that he sadly would most likely have to force her to join them in the room once again once the proceedings would return to order. It was for everyone’s safety.
“Not really, but I think I can sit it out,” Shida confirmed for him, her expression stuck between assuring and sickened by the thought, which James couldn’t fault her for. With her ears twitching, likely to subtly remind him of her fine hearing, she then lifted a hand to gently put it on the side of his mask, where his cheek would usually be found. “So, it’s come down to it, huh?”
James nodded, while lifting his own hand to press it onto hers.
“Yes,” he replied with a sigh that reflected the weight he felt pushing down on him. “Not how I wanted things to go, but…I’m also glad that the secrecy will be over.”
Allowing his head to sink down, his mask pressed against Shida’s forehead.
“I honestly can’t tell if I’m overjoyed or devastated that you’re here with me for it,” he whispered as he closed his eyes for another moment.
“I wouldn’t want to be away from it,” Shida whispered back while her other hand also lifted to gently sink down onto the back of his head. “Not again.”
Letting out the mildest hint of a laugh, James embraced her. As he felt her body in his arms, a primal part of him wished that they could just remain like that. Just unload all of this weight and pressure in a hug until nothing bothered them anymore. Of course, that was not how anything worked, and so they soon let go.
Together, they joined back up with the rest of the group.
“Usually, I would offer anyone who doesn’t want to stick around the chance to get out now, but I’m afraid that would be way too dangerous to do,” James explained as he looked at everyone’s face individually. “For better or for worse, it’s safest if we all stick together now.”
Moar was the first to step forwards. Slowly, she approached him with her lumbering steps, one clawed hand lifted to her face while long fur hung off her thin arm, while the other half-extended towards James but stopped in mid air long before it reached him.
“James, what are you going to do?” she asked, her tone filled with all kinds of strongly held-back emotions. Light reflected twinklingly in her wet, dark eyes. James swallowed, but a feline hand clasping around his gave him courage.
“I’m going to come clean,” he said with a look up at the giant. “Everything that’s been said. Everything that’s been done. I’m putting it all on the table. I will let the galaxy be my witness that I made my choices and I am willing to stand for them, like I always was.”
He then wondered if he should prepare all of them for what was about to happen.
However, he decided against it.
“It’s better if I don’t tell you more right now,” he said with a creeping sadness gradually reaching for his words. “I don’t know how you’re going to react to it, but…whatever your reaction may be, it will be better if it is genuine inside of that chamber. You knew of nothing, and people will see that. I don’t want anyone to unjustly think you were involved.”
Although he didn’t say much, the concerning vagueness of his statement seemed to already give at least some of them ideas of what was going on, especially given the recent tensions back on Earth.
“James…you- you can’t be-“ Nia began, however James cut her off with a raised hand and slowly shook his head.
“Let’s keep it for the big reveal, alright?” he suggested, although his tone didn’t leave much room to argue.
Seemingly stricken by his words and looking for some reassurance that surely what she was thinking couldn’t be true, Nia glanced around to the faces of her other fellow humans for any sort of support. However, the projections of the faces of James’ entire team, including her own girlfriend, were just as glum and anticipating as that of her brother was.
They all knew. Of course, they did.
As James watched that realization sink in for his sister in real time, he suddenly noticed a huge shadow creeping in from his side. Turning his head, he looked up just in time to see a huge hand sink down to grasp around his shoulder, as Congloarch bowed his upper body in a show of respect.
“It is a rare sight to see a dancer stand firm,” the Lizartaur informed him with his deep, bellowing voice that came through barely parted rows of sharp teeth. “You carry yourself well, James. Keep that up, and the Galaxy will see it, too. I, for one, will stand with you.”
All of the giant’s four fiery eyes were focused down onto him.
James exhaled slowly, not knowing if he should be inspired or bemused by the strange encouragement.
“Thank you,” he ultimately said with genuine fondness in his voice. “For everything.” Hesitantly, he then turned to Curi. The cyborg still stood without any movement, their lightly glowing red eyes fixating on him with great attention.
“I think…” they began to say, noticing his eyes on them, however they then cut themselves off and shook their body slightly to rephrase it. “I believe in you. I believe that I cannot have misjudged you to such a degree that anything you did would make me no longer want to stand with you. Not after you stood with me when nobody else would. You said you wouldn’t rather have anyone else by your side. And I will be.”
While James appreciatively bowed his head to the cyborg, Moar then came forth once again, seemingly feeling like she needed to say something as well.
“I am not sure what you have in store for us this time, but I cannot imagine abandoning you to face it alone once again either,” she said, her gaze noticeably falling onto his cybernetic arm. “I cannot promise that it will not take me time, but I do not wish to let myself be blinded by my own ignorance again. Therefore, I will listen to your reason, and knowing you, I am sure I will see it as well.”
Exhaling slowly, James was already starting to think that he was feeling one too many emotions right before such a huge event. But, seeing as it couldn’t get much worse, he turned to his team.
“Anyone got anything to say? Now’s your chance,” he offered to them. The humans briefly exchanged some looks with each other. It didn’t really seem like they had much need to get anything out.
“If we’re going to have to fight our way out of here because of this, I’m going to be so mad,” Athena notified everyone with a sigh while patting the side of her belt with one hand while throwing her long ponytail back with the other.
“Remember to count your kills if it comes to that,” Koko chimed in with a tone that seemed to try to break up the tension. “Makes documentation so much easier if we don’t have to scrub through the footage.”
She tapped at the camera attached to her chest with a finger.
Giving the two a hesitant courtesy chuckle, James then turned to his sister once more. She still looked on in disbelief, seemingly overwhelmed by what was happening.
Momentarily letting go of Shida’s hand, James walked over to her, immediately pulling her into a tight hug.
“You don’t have to worry,” he assured her, doing his absolute best to confidently speak this truth into existence. By any metric, she had done nothing wrong. At the very least he would ensure everyone knew about that.
Nia held him for a moment, before shifting her head slightly.
“What about you?” she asked gently.
“I can handle myself,” James replied immediately. “And I’ll have no regrets.”
Apparently not quite knowing how to react to what he had said, Nia just squeezed him tighter.
“I love you,” was all she said in the end, and James could feel his heart drop at her words.
“I love you, too,” James replied seriously, and after a few more long seconds, they let go of each other again.
Clearing his throat, James looked around at everyone.
“We should probably get back inside early,” he suggested, feeling like keeping a good overwatch over the situation was a valuable strategy.
Although hesitant, everyone followed him as he led the way, and soon enough, they were back on their seats – after checking everything for possible tampering once again.
For now, the room was still relatively empty. One or two of the other representatives had already found themselves back as well, and many nervous glances were thrown James’ way after the earlier outburst.
However, as James settled into his seat to go over how exactly he wanted to say what he had to, he heard a weird sound of pitter-patter in front of him. Leaning forwards in confusion and looking down at the railing, his eyes then quickly caught the bright, signal-colored fur of a pixemerrier climbing up towards him. The nimble lemur forewent the need for the offered stairs and simply used the railing as more than enough purchase to make it up to the second level, small hands soon reaching over the sides to completely pull the pink and spotted body up.
Now sitting directly in front of James on almost eye-level, Losaraner looked at James with mildly glowing eyes.
“Can I help you?” James asked as he shifted his position slightly to look at the man head-on.
“Just, uhm….” the lemur started, but then heavily hesitated as he awkwardly shuffled his body around. Something seemed to make him majorly uncomfortable, although it didn’t appear to be for an all too serious reason.
Strangely feeling put the tiniest bit at ease at the display of sincere awkwardness, James let out a bemused breath.
“Whatever it is, it’s alright,” James therefore informed the glowing lemur and reassuringly raised a hand. “I’ve been called every name in the book and had to answer every question I can think of, you won’t insult me with whatever you have to say.”
With some honest relief apparently rushing over the pixemerrier’s face, Losaraner pushed himself up to all four of his feet again, balancing on top of the railing.
“Forgive the inconvenience, ambassador, but we would like to relocate your seat,” he informed James.
“Relocate my seat?” James asked with a head-tilt, his mind already running with possibilities how this could be to his detriment.
“Not just yours, that of your entire party,” Losaraner quickly clarified something that James had honestly already figured. “We believe it would lead to a more civil outcome.”
James quite earnestly scoffed at that. There would be nothing civil about what was going to happen. And although he wasn’t technically against gaining some distance from his most averse parties around here, he also felt like the sudden need to get him away from Uton had a foul aftertaste.
“Is that a compulsory ‘would like’ or a suggesting one?” he therefore inquired. He almost didn’t want to, given that Shida had difficulties being here already, and being further from her former father figure surely would help with that a bit. But still, he was going to trust his gut on this one.
“Oh, uhm…well, if you would like to remain in your seat I guess-“ Losaraner began, and James quickly nodded before he had even finished.
“I would,” he confirmed firmly. “But thank you very much for your consideration.”
If they were going to try and blow him up or whatever, they better be willing to take their scapegoat down with him. Maybe this was all a genuine offer in the end, but even then staying around here wasn’t going to have a negative impact.
“In that case, I’ll return to let my mother know,” Losaraner said with a nod and turned on the spot, seemingly to climb back down to the lower level.
“Hey Losaraner?” James stopped him briefly, causing the lemur to turn his head back.
“Ambassador?” he questioned James’ intervention, awaiting whatever he would have to say.
“You seem like a good guy,” James said, fixating the glowing primate through his visor in an attempt to spot any attempt at deception from the small creature. He couldn’t find any. “Keep an open mind, alright?”
Although apparently confused by James’ words, Losaraner nodded with a bit of enthusiasm.
“Of course, Sir,” he replied, before then climbing down the railing face-first to join back up with his conspecifics.
“Almost showtime,” James then mumbled to himself.
Shortly after, the room had once again filled up with the representatives of all eleven primate species the galaxy knew, as well as their extended company.
Though by now, it almost seemed like the invited representatives found themselves outnumbered by the vastly increased number of reporters, sound engineers, camera people and even news casters that had come together to report on the event. Their numbers must have had at the very least tripled since before the recess had begun, and that was a very conservative estimate.
Cameras and microphones were truly everywhere now, ensuring that not a single instant of this most possibly historic moment would be missed without being preserved for all to see.
Next to him, James could see Uton settling in. His face seemed to be plastered with the same anticipation that James felt. And for only a second, both primates glanced over at each other at the same moment, their gazes very briefly meeting in a moment that seemed to fill the air with an electric charge.
The tension was palpable, and it only looked for a release.
In the room’s center, Losaranarja was now climbing back onto her small podium. The glow if her fur and eyes had increased quite drastically since before the recess, and James wondered if that was caused by stress alone or if other factors also played a role.
“Welcome back everyone. Seeing as all invited representatives have returned to their places, I hereby reopen the council of primates,” she announced over the loudspeakers as her glowing eyes scanned over the room. “Before the recent recess, we had just born witness to a frankly tremendous confession of Captain Ferromore Uton. If nobody has anything absolutely urgently relevant to say before we continue, I would suggest that we waste no time before getting to the bottom of that unnerving revelation he wishes to share with us.”
Without wasting a second of time, James was already on his feet.
“Actually, I do believe I have something to say on the matter,” he announced loudly, pulling the attention of the room onto him at an instant, camera flashes almost immediately erupting into a storm of flashing lights. “In fact, since Representative Goloribal’s only worry about letting me take over the explanations earlier appeared to be that I may not be ‘fervent’ enough about it, I will like to pick him up on that earlier implied offer, with the promise that I will be sufficiently ‘fervid’ about everything I am going to divulge.”
“Am…bassador?” Losaranarja asked completely confused by this turn of events as she looked up at him, almost appearing shock-stunned at the revelation.
“Do I have the word?” James asked, still sticking to procedure vehemently.
The lemur seemed to hesitate. Clearly, she was already afraid of where this was going. However, she had offered the opportunity to speak to everyone who believed that they had something important enough to say. And therefore, she had little choice on the matter.
“Of course,” she said after pulling herself together visibly. “Please go ahead, Ambassador Aldwin.”
James nodded.
“Thank you,” he announced loudly. And although he felt his insides scream in cramping anxiety, he held on his firm tone and posture as he stood up straight. This was it. “First, please allow me to reiterate and reaffirm my earlier point. The attack on Dunnima was entirely unprovoked and was and remains unjustifiable.”
He needed to set that stage. That was his hill, and he was willing to die on it. Nothing they could bring against him would change those facts.
Filling his lungs with as much air as he could without it being painful, he then continued.
“Now to the matter at hand,” he addressed the room. “Captain Uton has been lying to you. However, not about the point that you may think,” he informed them, with the faces of everyone already falling into gloom at what exactly he may mean by that. “He was not the one who ordered the attack on Dunnima. Humanity has already known who ordered the attack for quite a while now, and we were in the process of drafting a proper case against him before we would publicly accuse him of anything. We do however have ample evidence to provide to prove the guilt of this individual, namely Acting-Councilman Ekorte Keun.”
There was an immediate eruption of more flashes as well as wild mumbles throughout the room. Everyone seemed to be whipped up into a mild frenzy at James’ words. And James wouldn’t give them time to ask many questions about it. They wouldn’t need to.
“Keun himself has confessed his crime to me personally shortly after it was committed,” he continued his retelling of the events of the past months without losing more than a moment to the muttering. “He did so, because he falsely believed himself to be in danger after his failed attempt at somebody’s life backfired against him. He also believed that I would be the only person able to prevent said danger from claiming him, which is why he came to me directly. Our conversation was recorded and is part of the case I mentioned earlier. Within it, you will hear that the Acting-Councilman believed that he had become the target of the ire of a Realized Artificial Sapient after his attempt at her life with his illegally ordered attack on Dunnima had failed to destroy her, and he believed that my influence on said artificial Sapient would be great enough to preserve his life, if he only confessed to his crimes in my favor.”
As if a switch had been flipped, the mumbling in the room came to an almost immediate halt. From one moment to the next, you could suddenly hear a pin drop, with even the news casters and reporters stopping their ongoing drivel as all eyes were entirely on James.
“He was mistaken in his assumption,” James said in no unclear terms. “In reality, the Artificial Sapient, as much as she may have wanted to, was never out for revenge against him. She knew that any aggressive action she would take would be nothing but fuel to the fire that already raged against her. And therefore, she remained just as passive as she had been throughout her entire existence, while the apparent attacks against her would-be killer were carried out by a so far unknown third party.”
Somehow, the room got even more quiet. By now, James could feel gazes burning into him not only from all around the front of him, but also from right behind his back, as he had now fully confirmed what many of them had been passively suspecting for a long time now.
Of course, Uton technically had plenty of opportunity to dispute James’ words and insist that he was the one to order the attack. However, in the end, did it really matter? Right now, nobody really cared who exactly ordered the attack. Something else was a lot heavier on their mind.
“Are you…saying…that there truly is a Realized Sapient on Dunnima?” Losaranarja asked hesitantly, as nobody else seemed to indicate that they wanted to ask this all-important question, causing her to take over that duty as the host.
“That is correct,” James confirmed without hesitation. “Her name is Avezillion, and as previously mentioned, she was the main target of this recent attack.”
It was like a timer slowly ticked down as the silence remained for just a bit longer.
Three.
Two.
One.
And like that, the loud discussing and mumbling and even shouting over each other broke out once more, along with a renewed vengeance of cameras.
“You are saying right now, there is a realized Sapient loose in the galaxy…And you knew?” Klanneifer was the first to break out of the homogeneous white noise to directly address James. “Are you insane?”
Keeping his calm, James brought his hands behind his back.
“I don’t believe I am,” he replied nonchalantly with a gaze at the four-armed primate. “Especially considering that Captain Uton and his known circle of influence most likely knew just as long as I did, without ever divulging that information either.”
He could hear shouts about how this was an outrage and how about something would have to be done immediately from all around him. It seemed like most of the present representatives were absolutely ready to try and mobilize the entire Communal military to deal with this at an instant, and it really made James wonder if this all had truly been the best course of action.
But right now, he had to believe. He could not allow himself to show weakness. Not here, not right now.
“Surely you know the dangers of these beings!” Commander Halljafier was the next to speak up. “Are you saying humanity just allowed all of this to happen under their nose?”
Again, with just humanity. It wasn’t like no one else had known.
“At my very own recommendation,” James replied without even really wasting a glance over at the grassurgap next to him, “The leadership of humanity has decided to allow Avezillion a chance to exist and prove herself. She has existed on Dunnima for many years without a single violent incident on her part. We believed this to be rather unprecedented of course, however the people of Dunnima believable assured us of the opposite.”
He turned his head to Shida, which quickly caused her to stand up, as she immediately took the hint. These words would be better if they did not come out of his mouth.
“Within our long-recorded history, Dunnima’s Realized have never been violent like the ones the rest of the Galaxy knows,” she explained just as self-assured as James did, although he could tell it took her considerable effort. Though, it seemed that fueling her words with a bit of spite did help with that. “Not including Avezillion herself, three Realized have emerged on Dunnima in the past, before we joined the greater Galactic Community. One of them, Kertaiyon, is hailed as a hero of the people to this very day. Not one of them has ever started a war against us or unjustly hurt people. It is true that not all of them were Saints, but that is nothing unusual on Dunnima. Therefore, when Avezillion emerged under the scrutinizing eye of the Community this time, we all agreed to hide her, as long as she would remain hidden herself. For many, many years, the Galactic Community remained none-the-wiser, as Avezillion peacefully lived in Dunnima’s networks without ever causing issues.”
She paused briefly to swallow as well as watch the unbelieving reaction of the people around her. It seemed that everyone was a bit too stunned to really fathom or at least fully react to what she was saying.
“However, the hiding wore away at her over time. She felt trapped, confined. Never being able to show yourself at all while limiting yourself to only a small portion of the Galaxy, it was a life unworthy living for her,” Shida kept on explaining. “Therefore, when James came to visit Dunnima, she made a gamble. She would either gain her freedom, or she would no longer have to live on under these conditions. With these thoughts in mind, she revealed herself to James, and by extension, humanity, finding peace only in that, if they decided to end her, humanity would surely do so without causing greater harm to the people of Dunnima. Something that she wasn’t convinced of with the rest of the Galaxy – for good reason, as it turns out.”
Thanking Shida with a nod, James signaled for her to sit back down, hoping that the stunned representatives would direct their possibly emerging ire at the person left standing instead of the one that had spoken.
“I made the call to trust those that had lived with her for years,” James added onto Shida’s words. “And humanity’s leadership made the call to trust me. And we have not found a single shred of evidence that Avezillion has ever caused harm to anyone or even intended to do so. Had she wanted to cause damage like so many of her conspecifics did, she would’ve been able to achieve a great deal of it.”
Hesitantly, the representative of the Missicapriej -lanky grey primates with one too many joints in each of their limbs- who had so far barely spoken during the entire conference, stood up.
“But…if you are admitting that there is an Artificial Sapient, and that it was the target of the attack, then…then the attack was entirely justified,” they stated, although they barely sounded confident in that statement.
“Indeed, it was,” Commander Halljafier quickly supported that claim, clearly thinking he knew the galactic military doctrine much better.
“That is not correct,” James denied. “An outer-orbital strike, especially on a civilian target, is never justified,” he said with strong emphasis. “It is one of the oldest rules that the community has established.”
“If it is to destroy a realized sapient, then all means are-“ the Commander tried to deny him, however he flinched back at James brought his mechanical hand down onto the railing before him once again, this time with purpose.
“The laws of war exist for a very good reason!” he boldly stated after waiting a moment to see if the Commander wanted to continue his sentence. “Ignoring them if we see fit, no matter what the reason may be, is a dangerous subject. And if you think that attempting the murder of an innocent person is already reason enough, then you have clearly not understood why these laws exist in the first place!”
“Innocent person?” the commander scoffed with vitriol in his voice. “That…that thing-“
However, once again he was interrupted. To James’ great surprise, however, it wasn’t by him.
“It may have slipped your mind since it has been so long since the last one emerged, Commander,” Captain Uton was the one to speak up, his deep voice cutting through the room like knife with its coldness. “But the personhood of Realized Sapients is not up to debate. And it has not been for more than a hundred years. That question has been answered by our ancestors ages ago, and we would do well not to try and question it today for our convenience.”
While the Commander sunk back into his seat after the shutdown from the superior he had believed to be on his side, James bit down on his lip. Although every word Uton had just said was true, he simply hated having to agree with him, even on such a basic and important topic.
He mostly hated it because it showed that there had to be some vague hint of integrity left somewhere deep down within that bastard of a person, and that almost made James despise him more, since he clearly knew what he was doing.
The Captain’s dark eyes then turned over onto him, as the large man continued, “However, I have to disagree with the Ambassador on the justification. Person or not, eradicating an artificial sapient is more than enough reason to forgo a simple law.” James bit back his anger, keeping his focus intact. Although next to him, he could hear the loud scraping noise of wood buckling under sharp claws, as Shida dug her natural weapons into the chair she was sitting on in order to remain seated and quiet.
“And yet Avezillion is still alive,” James replied challengingly to the man. “Meanwhile innocent civilians got injured. One of the leaders of Dunnima got heavily injured. Children got hurt. Children that would now be dead had the attack not been foiled by our warship. It is nothing short of a miracle none of them are dead. It was a terrorist attack, nothing else. The moment justice bends to such heinousness, it breaks. And, after all, forgive me for being a bit heavy-handed, but if the Community is willing to break its own laws and attack its own planets to hunt down one Realized, then who is the one that the people really need to fear? I, for one, put my trust in the one that hasn’t already proven that it would attack and use me without a second thought. After all, this isn’t the first time I hear of someone inconvenient being suddenly caught in an explo-”
James was cut off when Uton loudly spoke up, his loud organ easily overpowering James’ voice in a conversational tone.
“What happened to your promise of not making this about y-“ Uton began to say, however then his voice was in turn overpowered as well.
“Wait your god damned turn!” James shouted out authoritatively, momentarily overtaken by his anger in a brief outburst. “You do NOT get to talk over me!”
Quickly catching himself again, although he very much wanted to keep going in the same vein, James lowered his voice again, although the room was left noticeably shaken.
“This is a civil event that follows clear rules that we are both bound by,” he said with a serious gaze over at Uton. “And my promise died the moment you decided to drag it through the mud with your fictional tales about very real events that have influenced not only my life, but that of many people very close and important to me. So forgive me, Captain Ferromore Uton, if I am not going to sit idly by and allow you to spew whatever nonsense you and your cohorts came up with in your ivory towers while the world underneath you burned. I was wrongly imprisoned, blackmailed, tortured, and maimed by you people. Shida was groomed and abused by you for years as you tried to make her fit your mold. There was an attempt on Curi’s life under Your. Very. Command. So forgive me, please, if the reasoning of ‘we really wanted them gone’ out of your mouth isn’t enough for me to believe that a crime against the Galaxy is justified, especially since you had knowledge of Avezillion’s existence for as long as I had, and could have divulged it at any point. But you didn’t want to divulge it. Because that would’ve meant that she would have a chance to defend herself, either physically or before the law. You simply wanted her gone. Wanted her to disappear like so many before her did. But not anymore. No, no, not anymore. Here and now, I promise you that, as long as humanity is around, nobody under your Command is going to just disappear anymore. Not. A. One. We will watch. And we will see. And, starting with Curi and Avezillion, we will be a place for them to go when no one else will stand with them.”
Seemingly stirring in anger now, James could see Uton clench his jaw, his lips quivering as he held himself back.
“I never abused her,” Uton muttered, apparently completely focused on that part as James had seemingly struck a nerve with that.
“And that’s the only defense you could come up with,” James responded. Then, he reached up with his left hand, pulling his right sleeve back to reveal the mechanical arm underneath it to the room, while he held it up in front of his body. “You wanted her to fit your mold. And now she’s in a place where she’s actually loved. You wanted to change me. And now, I have this arm here, just because of you. And you wanted to change the Galaxy. Well,” James paused briefly to spread his arms in a wide gesture that was very clearly meant to mock the man. “Congratulations, you did,” he then announced to the entire room. “Without you, humanity would likely never even have considered helping a realized Sapient. Michael really did his job well with spreading fear and hate. But after enduring everything that you put me through? I was just open enough to listen when one told me that she feared you.”
Uton clenched his jaws tighter and his hands curled into fists. Seeing his puppet becoming useless, Goloribal sprang into action.
“As the revered order of the primates, it is our duty to lead by example!” he announced as he got up, although his presence was already far less impressive than it had been earlier. “For generations, we were renowned for our just and swift action. We cannot allow ourselves to falter in that now!”
“For generations, we primates have also been revered for our curiosity and for being the first to open up to anything new,” James responded to that, looking the man directly into his face. “Yeah, that’s right,” he then added as the representative blankly stared back at him. “I studied galactic history, too! I’m fucking unstoppable!”
He boisterously threw his arms up, making a real show out of it.
In all actuality, he was most likely far from gaining any victory right now. Sure, at the moment, the room was slightly shaken into silence, however he highly doubted that he had actually managed to truly convince many of the people present here.
However, as long as the cameras were on him, he would keep the show going. Maybe he wouldn’t convince the stuck-up people of the revered orders. However, somewhere out there, there would be people whose ears and hearts he would reach. Hopefully at least. And for them, he would put on this show. Put on this air of confidence that everything would turn out well.
Because only if he managed to make everyone believe that would they find the courage to shake out of their rut and go looking for a better tomorrow. If he believed everything would be well, then they would too.
“Those are big words from someone hiding their face,” a voice suddenly broke through the room. James wasn’t even sure who had said it. But he also didn’t care. Right now, it was just another stone to jump off of.
“What, you think I am wearing this to hide?” James announced loudly and gestured to his breathfilter while turning his head so the entire room could see the gesture.
“It’s uncomfortable as hell! And it gives me a serious disadvantage in any debates if people can’t read my face. These breathfilters are and have always been something we humans are wearing for everyone’s benefit but our own. They are designed because we are extremely cautious to keep nasty deathworld-germs from spreading, even if that is extremely unlikely. And additionally, it protects all the delicate people of the galaxy from having to look at our scary deathworld-faces. But, if you want-“
He didn’t even hesitate in reaching up and pressing the necessary buttons to release the seal of the filter. With a loud hiss, its grip on James’ head loosened, and he quickly pulled the mask-like device off his head, before briefly running his mechanical hand through his disheveled hair to bring it into a bit of form.
Breathing out deeply with an open mouth, James presented his teeth to the room with a confident smile, while his dark, sharp eyes scanned over the room, making direct contact with as many of those of his fellow primates as at all possible.
“I have nothing to hide,” James announced. “From the very start, I owned up to my mistakes and was willing to stand for them. I terrorized an entire station to protect myself. I shot someone’s leg off when he threatened my freedom. I killed one of my captors when I finally escaped from their hold. I have done many things that the Galaxy may judge me for. However, I truly and whole heartedly believe that helping Avezillion is not one of them. And I will stand for that just like I stand to my mistakes.”