Michael.

“Maybe Ghilya’s meditation techniques might work on bringing him peace or coming to terms with everything?” Clarke spoke softly.

Michael frowned at the comment. He hid around the corner from the breakroom where the lights from the kitchen didn’t reach him. He listened intently on what was being said with no regard for the invasion of privacy.

But if they were talking about him, then privacy shouldn’t matter if the subject of discussion was about him, right? Surely that can disqualify any notion of privacy from conversations? If they were talking about him then he was already a part of the conversation whether the others knew it or not. From an early age Michael had learned that people had a fascinating relationship with their sense of privacy and when it was okay to invade it or not. When he was thirteen years old and in his eighth year of schooling he had been accosted by a group of bullies who picked on him solely for reasons known only to them and that he didn’t have a lot of friends that would back him up whenever they targeted him. During his lunch break he had anticipated the arrival of the group and had set his personal device’s camera on to capture footage of him being picked on. After they left, despite sporting a few new bruises on his arm and torso and learning of new creative insults about his character and interests, he wore the biggest smile on his face thinking that now he had irrefutable evidence to prove the bullying he underwent weekly, and he could see to it that justice would be served and the bullies would be expelled.

At least that was how his prepubescent brain perceived justice.

Had he slammed his device on the Principal’s desk any harder he might have broken it from the overwhelming enthusiasm of hand delivering the evidence needed to end his torment like a journalist submitting a folder full of evidence condemning someone in a position of power. Michael explained what he did to the Principal, a man he only knew as Mr. Massey who had ropey, weathered skin with the self assured cockiness that he finally had won by outwitting his foes and justice would prevail. The Principal nodded, his beet red skin jiggling with the gesture and told Michael that he would review the evidence and to come back later to collect his device.

When he returned to retrieve his device from the Principal, any sense of excitement and joy to hear what punishment was to be delivered upon his tormentors was utterly swept away when the Principal interlaced his fingers together on his desk and looked at Michael with a serious expression.

The man Michael had trusted to rule in his favour and end his torment looked at him with stern but caring eyes and explained that he had deleted the footage and that he did not watch it. Michael’s heart sank and he was sure the colour drained from his face. Mr. Massey, the Principal would go to further explain how what Michael did was wrong and that recording others without their knowledge or consent was considered illegal thus why he would not do act upon the ‘evidence’ he had brought before him.

In that moment it was the first time that Michael had felt the sense of betrayal and irritation for the law and the contradictory nature of this one particular rule stating you could not obtain footage without consent. How could that be the case, surely there must be hundreds of examples where what he did was right. Anytime he walked into a shop and spotted the security cameras he was certain he did not give consent to those. Anytime he passed by a camera on the street he was certain he did not consent to the footage those recorded. So why was what he did any different to those cameras? Why was the footage he obtained considered illicit and not worth considering? Surely it was not as though the bullies would have acted the same if they had known they were being recorded. And he doubted that criminals would consent to footage of them being recorded as they committed their crimes. And any footage of those people was usually obtained without consent or knowledge so what was so different that he was in the wrong?

Michael shook his head from reminiscing about that moment and refocused on the conversation he was listening to. He didn’t want to look past the corner he hid behind and risk them knowing he was eavesdropping, but he heard the sound of cushion fabric rustling as though someone was shifting themselves on the couch. He assumed it to be Thomas.

At first when Michael had let his body fall onto the bed he had every intention on catching up on his rest but then he heard the sound of a door opening through the walls and followed the sounds of footsteps outside his room. Initially he had no intention of finding out who it was until he heard a second door open up and swiftly follow after the first. Then the mumblings of a quietened conversation began echoing down the hall and into his ears. Despite the obstacles and low volume the conversation was carried in Michael was still able to make out some words but otherwise it was all a monotonous blur of sounds that had no meaning. He was almost about to ignore the conversation entirely when he heard someone, though he couldn’t tell who, started speaking about his dad. That was when he could not hold back his curiosity any longer and set out to see if there was something going on that he needed to be made aware of.

“Maybe,” His older brother replied. “But I don’t want to put all my hopes on him having the patience and understanding to do a bunch of yoga poses and expect to suddenly find himself at peace. That’s not how his mind works. If we had a lot of time to practice and not have the life threatening dangers we deal with every day then maybe it would work, but right now we need something steadfast.”

“I’m not a licenced pyschologist but I do have lots of experience listening to people whine and complain and expect me to come up with the answers for them. I could talk to him if you’d like?”

“Nah,” Thomas said. The way he said it sounded as though it was accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand. “He just needs to get laid.”

Both men chuckled warmly at that. Michael found himself smiling a little at the comment too, even if it was a dig at his life.

He thought about leaving the conversation to its supposed privacy as there was very little that actually interested him and then turned around to head back to his room. As the young man went down the narrow hallway he kept his head low, almost facing the floor when he heard a small cacophony of small little tik sounds coming from above. It was reminiscent of the sound of rain hitting sheet metal. An almost calm background noise that seemed to fill in the void of quiet. But there was no sheet metal above him, only the ventilation duct and there was no rain to be had inside. They were in a secret base in the desert, several dozen metres underground.

A small part of his mind wanted to take further action into investigating the sound but it was ultimately overruled by the rest of him explaining it to be the metal work settling. At first it seemed like an answer that satisfied him but he couldn’t avoid wondering why it sounded different to what he expected. In the end, Michael shook his head and tried to not think about it, there was no use pondering about it and even if he brought it up he would most likely be told by everyone else that he was jumpy and imagining things. Maybe that was also true.

Maybe...

The sound grew distant as he walked further away from the breakroom, the door that led to his room was left open as were the others except for the one Ghilya occupied. Hers was right next to him, and the sound of her breathing could be heard through the door.

Except it was too loud for her breathing. Too loud for any normal sounds, it sounded more like crying.

Michael carefully approached her door, taking every ounce of caution he could to avoid her noticing his presence and placed his ear close to the door. Sure enough he could hear her muffled sobs and the occassional sniffle. Not much information was available to him at the time but Michael considered it to be a binary decision of whether he should check in on her or not, knocking on the door and asking if she was alright was not going to work because she could easily dismiss him and say she was alright when that was clearly not the case. On the other hand she was a skilled hunter with lightening quick reflexes so her reaction to his intrusion might not be amicable. The thought of her knives suddenly appearing and making their way toward him had sprung to mind.

He drew in a deep breath to prepare himself and twisted the door knob open, then mustered up a voice that was both calm and understanding without necessarily being patronizing. One that was guaranteed to be a quick stop to getting one of her blades inserted in some nonspecific part of his body.

“Ghilya, are you alright?”

Michael had expected her to be curled in on herself on her bed and softly rocking her body back and forth. Instead he found her hunched up in the far corner between the bed and where the bathroom was. She had her arms wrapped around her knees which where already close to her chest and she made soft motions as her chest heaved spasmodically and snot dangled from her nose like a stalactite made of mucous. Her otherwise pale face had been turned into a rosy shade of red most prominent around her eyes where they looked puffy and bloodshot. She was able to lift her head from her knees and gaze at the human standing in her doorframe with a mixture of sadness and disgust.

“I’m fine.” She sniffled in a low, croaky voice.

She underwent a series of sharp inhalations without a similar number of exhalations leading Michael to think her breathing was far from regular.

“Go away.”

Michael closed the door behind him, the hinges croaked almost identically to her voice and approached Ghilya steadily, not wanting to make any sudden movements. For a moment, it was almost like trying to approach a stray animal that had all sense of hope beaten out of it and distrusted everyone and everything around it. He had to resist the urge to slowly extend his hand to reach out and pet her in some form of comfort. Instead, he sat on the corner of her bed and looked down at her as she refused to make eye contact. She repeated her earlier statement albeit in a slightly louder voice but still drowned out by the sadness and worn out vocal chords.

Michael cleared his throat. “No.”

“Michael,” Ghilya said still not looking up at him. “Please go away, I am not in the mood for talking.”

And there it was. The invitation of saying it was okay and understandable if he left her here. One ignore-a-person-in-distress-guilt-free pass. It would have been a simple choice. Nobody would have given him shit for it if he took her up on it. But deep down he knew that it would have eaten away at him until he was wracked with guilt.

“Then I won’t say anything.” He replied.

She looked up at him with those pleading, puffy red eyes. Small motions of her facial muscles pulled in such a way that for Michael he would have sworn she gave him a brief look that said “thank you.” He chose not to say anything out of fear of ruining the fragile peace and understanding that momentarily existed between Human and Wood Elf.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

For what felt like an hour, Ghilya’s emotions ran high with her breathing consisting of short and shallow gasping in an effort to regain some semblance of control followed by letting her head fall into her lap and sob silently. Though he wasn’t certain how long he was there watching her cry herself, Michael found an instinctual drive that seemed to elude the higher reasoning centre of his brain and brought himself to sit closer to Ghilya with his back on the wall. Perhaps, he wondered if it was right to do this was because he still hadn’t had the chance to process his own grief and that by assisting Ghilya with hers it would do something for his own. For now he would put it on hold with no concrete understanding of when he was going to be able to deal with it. The thought of unloading his grief and sadness on her right now was, for the most part, a dick move and something she might interpret as him making it all about him.

Then, something he had not expected had occurred: Her body shuffled close to his own until her body pressed up against his and her head listed toward his shoulder.

Before he could protest this her arm reached around him for support and she cried into his shoulder. Michael’s eyes widened and his arms were raised in surprise. The move came from out of nowhere, not to mention unexpectedly that it left him wondering if this was really happening at all. He looked around as though some kind of indicator or clue in the room would present itself and tell him what to do next, when nothing did, he instead slowly lowered his arms and set his left arm on her back and gently patted her. She sniffled in response and continued her sobbing fit in his shoulder while he gently brushed his hand on her back in circular, clockwise motions and giving her an occassional pat on the back.

Somehow, the physical act of touching her came as an interesting experience that Michael didn’t realise he lacked. He took note of her back muscles and the way her shoulder blades jutted out from beneath the skin so prominently that the tactile sensation almost stirred his curiosity.

Is this what people do? Normal people do this when someone is sad, right? What do Elves do when they are sad, are they the same as mine?

Thankfully for Michael he would receive his answer far sooner than he had anticipated. When he looked down at Ghilya she had stopped her sobbing and was breathing raggedly.

Over time she came to her senses and eventually worked herself off of Michael leaving a damp spot in his shirt and stood up, looking down on him.

“Thank you,” She said sniffling. Her voice quiet and croaky. “Really. Thank you, Michael.”

Ghilya wiped her tears with her forearm gauntlet and looked away, ashamed and disgusted by her current state.

“It’s alright. I know what its like to see... That. To see everything you’ve ever known be thrown on its head and see the ruin and the devastation it caused is hurtful.”

Still, she didn’t face him and had crossed her arms across her slim chest. “Was this what it was like for you?”

Michael swallowed, the saliva might as well have been a gold brick with how suddenly his stomach sank.

“Well, for me it was because I had nearly died a few times and somehow it keeps getting scarier and more terrifying each time-“

“No, I didn’t mean that... I meant when my kind invaded your home.”

“Oh! Oh, well, I guess. Truthfully, with everything going on it had slipped my mind and I had forgotten all about it.” Somehow even acknowledging it felt like he was betraying his own kind. Michael looked back on his memories and tried to recall the sense of dread and fear he felt when his once poverty stricken suburb had been invaded by beings of all shapes and sizes from Dragons unleashing columns of flame onto entire streets, Elven hunters jumping from building to building and striking down unsuspecting humans trying to flee from the danger, Nagas with their long reach spears slithering across the ground and impaling their prey.

And yet, all he could feel in that moment was the briefest sense of excitement and adrenaline at how fast paced everything had become. And it was that feeling that disgusted him into thinking he had betrayed everyone back home. They were still suffering, still under the oppressive boot of the creatures wanting to take over human lands assuming they were not already killed and here he was safe and secured in an underground complex complaining about the near deaths he avoided.

It prompted his head to ache just behind the centre of his forehead.

“I mean it was shocking seeing the Barrier get overrun,” He continued. “But I was so busy with trying to stay alive with my brother and then planning this expedition it just... It just took all my focus away from that. I guess with everything else going on I have to make this work so everything was worth it in the end.”

Ghilya still didn’t move though her face had somehow managed to look even more miserable without adjusting her facial muscles. Michael started to think answering that was a mistake and aided in making her feel more miserable. Still, he had to try and managed to get up off of the floor with his back scraping against the wall and stare at Ghilya who refused to meet his gaze. He still felt uncertain about why he cared or what he was supposed to do next but the one thing he did know with any sort of certainty was that he wanted her to stay and help them end this conflict.

“Look,” Michael said taking every precaution of keeping his voice warm and sympathetic. “I know nothing I can say will undo what has been done but if you just want someone to watch over you while you cry yourself to sleep or-or comfort you then...” He shrugged his shoulders with uncertainty. “Just come get me and I’ll be there if you need it.”

She exhaled softly and let her arms fall to her sides, she still didn’t meet his gaze but her arms were thrown toward and around him until she was pressing her body firmly against his and Michael consciously worked on suppressing the awkward feelings he was experiencing from her embrace. Despite her size and twig like limbs she was surprisingly very strong with her embrace. Her face came close to his and it was the first time since they met that he realised just how tall she was compared to him, up close she was at least another inch taller than he was, maybe two, and he was impressed by how wonderful her skin looked from such close proximity. Her face inched closer to his, Michael’s eyebrows shot up thinking she was going to kiss him until she spoke with a soft, breathless voice.

“Thank you, Michael.”

When she released him from her hug there was an overwhelming tsunami of relief that came over Michael. His heart raced and he could feel a discomforting sensation throughout his body as a result. For a moment he wondered if he should kiss her or if she was considering doing the same. Ghilya’s whole body slumped a bit and he lowered his head to check her face to see if she was going to be alright or breakdown into another fit of sadness. She nodded at him in a silent acknowledgment that he was allowed to leave her be for now and he graciously took it.

Once outside her room Michael closed the door gently and sighed heavily.

“What’cha up to?” a voice with comically high tones asked.

Michael jumped on the spot, startled by the unexpected voice and looked to his left to see Thomas staring at him with arms folded across his chest and a cheeky smirk plastered on his face. Just how long had he been standing there? Was he also eavesdropping on himself and Ghilya? Did that mean he knew about Michael spying on them, and if so, how did he?

“W-what?” Michael replied breathlessly.

The sudden scare took all the air out of his lungs and he took a moment to catch his breath with one hand gripping his chest.

Thomas shifted a little and started leaning on the wall, his arms still crossed. “I said ‘what are you doing?’ I thought you would be in bed sleeping for the next millennium.”

“I- I uh, was. But I heard something in Ghilya’s room and investigated.”

Technically true in broad strokes but Michael knew that wasn’t going to placate his brother’s curiosity. He wondered if being his older brother came with some kind of sixth sense that allowed him to know when Michael was telling the truth or telling lies.

“Uh-huh... And what was it?”

“What was what?”

“What was it that you found in her room? You weren’t watching her sleep or checking her gear while she slept were you?”

Michael flinched back, his face contorted to one of disgust. “What, no! That’s creepy.”

A soft rumbling came from Thomas’s chest as he laughed to himself. Michael then realised his brother was trying to wind him up, rather than retaliate he rolled his eyes instead and walked right past him towards his room.

“Whoa... Hold on there, little bro.”

Something tugged on the back of his shirt as though it had been caught on something, a strong pull dragged him back and he realised his brother had gripped him by the neck of his shirt. After shrugging his shoulders wide to loosen Thomas’s grip to no avail, Michael conceded.

“What were you doing in her room?” He asked casually as though this was a question that was asked on a regular basis.

“I heard her crying and went to comfort her.” Michael sighed. “That was all.”

For a moment he thought Thomas was unconvinced by his response, but was relieved when he felt the bunched up fabric at the nape of his neck loosen up.

“I take it it has something to do with that pyrosonic bomb we saw?”

Michael nodded.

“I think she needs time to process this and come to terms that her village is wiped off the face of the planet.”

“She’s not the only one,” Thomas said folding his arms across his chest. His voice took on an upward inflection that could have said ‘suck it up.’. “We are still going to need her when we leave this place and introduce us to the Dragon King.”

“Dragon Lord.” Michael corrected.

“King. Lord. Duke. Baron. Dragon Emperor. Whatever, it’s all the same thing with those pompous titles. Point is if she doesn’t have her act together when we leave then we will need to have a serious discussion regarding her position within the group. Last thing we need is for her to have a sobbing fit when we don’t need it.”

“She’ll be alright. She just needs a minute to go through something.”

It was close enough to be the actual truth that he could believe it. She could possibly get through her problems well enough to resume the journey unimpeded if given enough time. So why did it feel like he just told a bold faced lie to his brother’s face? A memory of her getting intimate with him just a moment ago flashed before his mind’s eye followed along with some fantasies involving that scenario. It triggered a biological response in the form of increased heart rate and respiration. Michael quickly hide that from Thomas and tried to hide any sense of discomfort. Should he have told him about that, the closeness of the moment and how he felt? No, that was for him and Ghilya only. Nothing was going to happen between them, and any assumptions otherwise was pure delusion on his part.

Thomas made a grunt in his throat, neither satisfied nor dissatisfied.

“Alright,” Thomas finally said dragging the first syllable to three. “But she’s your responsibility. If she’s not fine by the time we leave, we’re ditching her ass.”

Michael nodded in understanding.

Thomas pushed himself off the wall and walked by Michael and went into his room. Once Michael was inside his and the door was shut he took the moment to strip his clothes off to expose his bare, sticky skin to air. The bathroom mirror reflected his form and it was for the first time in a long while that Michael was able to see the extent of what was done to his body. The modifications and the punishment it had gone through in the weeks since.

Where there wasn’t visible lines denoting where one panel of faux epidermis intersected with another there were bruises, gashes, and scrape marks from where he had been nearly dragged to his death. His chest had a series of scars from his brother’s rushed procedures and several ports hidden behind a plate covering his sternum that had been scratched to the point of exposing the metal underneath. He looked down at his hands and saw the work that was done to them and willed the blades to expose themselves out of his forearms. In his reflection, he looked like some poor attempt at hybridizing a man with a praying mantis.

Already the self loathing at what had become of him started to settle in and he pulled the blades back in and walked away from the mirror before donning his dirty, sticky clothes once more.

When he woke up, Michael wasn’t certain just how long he slept but he had to guess at least a few hours. He still felt tired and tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes before considering his next move. Outside his room he heard the pitter patter of footsteps as though a dozen small children were walking around. When he opened the door to see who was outside he found there was no one around.

Weird, could’ve sworn I heard something.

Michael reached for his gun and placed the sling over his neck as he left the dorms. Everybody else seemed to be in their rooms if their closed door was any indicator. Michael went to the breaker room, the subtle subsonic hum of electronics and computer parts whirred and ticked softly as though there was nothing to begin with, then he checked the map. It took him a minute to memorise the layout and where he wanted to go next: The Armoury.

If the map was any indicator, then the armoury was directly one floor below him. He smiled at the thought of seeing the vast array of old weapons and the chance at getting to pick whichever one he wanted out of the lot. He probably should have waited until Thomas or Clarke were available to go with him but a small part of his brain said that they would probably ruin the fun of seeing guns by telling him not to touch a specific one he really wanted to touch.

After backtracking through the halls and out past the motorpool, he took a turn down the emergency stairs that ran the depth of the base and entered through the creaky door. With the exception of the motorpool above, the layout of this floor was almost identical to the one above. Michael felt a tightness below his navel that came with the sensation of being watched, from where, he couldn’t tell. It was as though invisible eyes were observing him from every corner where light didn’t reach. He tried his best to dismiss the feeling as merely pure flights of fancy. Something his irrational mind cooked up to keep him alert and anxious when there wasn’t a need for it.

The door to the armoury stood out compared to the others. Where the normal ones, such as the one for his room and the offices that filled the vast majority of rooms in this building were a laminated wood type of material, the armoury’s was a solid foot of metal nearly a meter and a half wide and two metres tall. Faded black and yellow hazard stripes lined the frame as though to warn all who pass by of the dangers contained within its walls. Michael approached the door with a frame of mind already working on how to get it open. From the way it looked, he knew it was going to be next to impossible to pry it open with brute force. And if it possessed a keypad then he was fucked. Resting dead center in the panel was a cold steel wheel a foot in diameter connected to a series of levers and gears that held a metal rod going to the floor and another to the ceiling.

If this was to be the way to open it, then the only thing better than this was if the door was slightly ajar to begin with.

Michael grabbed the wheel with both hands, grip as tight as a vice, Each muscle group yelled in protest, working in uniform to make the wheel move even a little. When it creaked after shifting only a centimetre Michael released his grip and caught his breath before taking another shot at it. With nothing to tell him the time, it could have been one hour to multiple hours for the wheel to move enough so the rods were not holding the door in place. Metal groaned in protest against being disturbed after so long, but Michael panted heavily with a wide grin on his face at his achievement.

What Michael saw inside the vaulted armoury filled him with an exaltation that felt more aligned with boyish excitement. His eyes could not widen any further if he tried and he was certain that his mouth went slack with a wide grin pulling at his cheeks.

Guns.

Old guns. Pristine guns. Carbines, assault rifles, shotguns, pistols and many more that he didn’t know the words to. More firearms lined the racks than there were in Sanctuary Hills.. If that was even possible.

And he could take his pick of the lot.