Despite the silence, I can almost hear the gears in Ilka's mind grinding, trying to process the new reality. "It's... It's not possible..." she mutters, her tiny form glowing dimmer than before.

A smirk crawls onto my face, her disbelief filling me with an uncalled-for sense of satisfaction. "I am sure that's hard for you to swallow, Ilka," I tease, "especially considering how important you think you were." Her ego must be huge considering she was stronger than the hero when she was alive.

Ilka's response is nothing but a weak murmur. Her whole demeanor has shifted from the proud warrior to a wounded animal. It's hilarious, I sound like such a terrible person saying all this.

"Look at you, 'The Great Ilka,' brought to her knees, or at least the equivalent, by words. And here I thought you were made of sterner stuff," I continue, enjoying her discomfort.

Ignoring my mockery, Ilka stammers, "But... but I fought... I protected... I..."

I cut her off, "And all your accomplishments were forgotten. Welcome to the real world, Ilka."

There is a long silence, her glow dimming with each passing second. The room seems to get colder, and I can't help but feel a bit guilty for crushing her so ruthlessly. Then, I remember my original purpose and grab the sword from where I had dropped it. The steel is cold against my skin, an unkind reminder of its deadly purpose.

Ilka's gaze follows the sword, and when she realizes what it is, a spark of recognition, then frustration, lights up in her eyes. "That... That thing...!" she spits out, pointing a tiny, ethereal finger at the blade.

I offer her an innocent smile, "What, this? This is your sword, Ilka. The sword that killed you. Your spirit is bound to it. You're inseparable."

A snarl escapes Ilka's lips as she glares at the sword. She shakes her head, her denial echoing in the silence of the room. "No... No...! I refuse!"

Suddenly, she brings her hands up to her neck, attempting to snap it in an attempt to end her own existence. I watch in surprise and then burst into laughter when she realizes her attempt is futile.

Her ethereal body is immortal and incapable of feeling pain or suffering physical harm. As her action does nothing, she looks at me in horror. The realization that she cannot end her existence, no matter how much she wants to, is a rude awakening.

"W-what is happening...?" she stammers, her eyes wide with shock.

"Hahaha, well, Ilka, you're a spirit, you can't harm yourself like that," I explain, holding my sides as I continue to laugh at her antics. She is not taking this well. I did not expect her to attempt that, she is truly different.

"I... I just want to rest...," she murmurs, her voice trembling. She repeats her futile attempt, each time her hands pass through her neck, my laughter grows louder. How does that work? I can hold her, how is her hand doing that?

[Note: She is incapable of killing herself, the sword prevents her from attempting suicide, not that snapping her neck would work, to begin with.]

[If I was her I would also try to kill myself, who would want to live with you?]

You shitty system, too bad you're forced to be with me. You will suffer for as long as I'm alive.

"Oh, Ilka," I finally manage to say, wiping a tear from my eye, "You should try to enjoy it. Come on, isn't it a little bit funny?"

"No! There is nothing funny about this!" she yells, her glow flaring with her indignation. "I can't rest, I can't fight, and I'm stuck with a disrespectful, ungrateful, good-for-nothing piece of trash like you!"

I try to suppress my laughter, but a chuckle escapes. "Alright, alright," I say, holding up a hand. "Let me try to cheer you up."

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Her glow dims and she huffs, crossing her arms as she waits for my attempt.

"I found a statue of you in the city," I begin, "It's you, standing tall and formidable, sword in hand, the epitome of a warrior. There is a plaque at the base, a quote from the hero you trained: 'Without Ilka, we would have perished.'"

She looks at me, her eyes wide. "Really?" she whispers, hope flashing in her gaze.

I nod, hiding a smile as I leave out the fact that the statue is tucked away in the grimy corner of the slums, surrounded by garbage, and the site full of stench. "Yeah, really. It's amazing, Ilka. You're standing proud out there."

"But, how can I be forgotten if there's a statue of me?" Ilka shoots back, her anger evident in her fiery glow. "You're lying!"

She is sharp, I'll give her that. "No, I swear I'm not lying, Ilka," I respond, poking her ethereal cheek. Haha, I could do this all day. "History has a way of distorting the truth. It's not always about what actually happened, but what people remember that happened."

"You're just saying that to make yourself feel better about being the bearer of bad news!" she snaps, fuming.

She is rightfully pissed, but her anger is a sight to behold. It's been a while since I've seen a spirit show this much emotion.

"Alright, alright," I chuckle, deciding to lighten the mood, "Enough with the long faces."

Without waiting for a response, I flick my wrist, sending her spiraling into the air. Her shriek of surprise fills the room as she whirls around, her glow illuminating the surroundings in a captivating pattern.

"Damn it! Fuck! Stop it!" she yells, her voice tinged with anger and mild amusement. It seems my trick did manage to distract her, albeit momentarily.

Still spinning, she yells, "And don't you dare try to justify this by saying people won't remember me after 4000 years!"

I laugh, watching as she struggles to regain her composure mid-air. "Ilka, take it easy. Life is long, especially for you," I advise, a grin splitting my face, "You should learn to enjoy these little moments."

"And you should learn to respect those who came before you!" She yells back, her tone fierce.

While still spinning Ilka, I decide to drop another bombshell, one that might put her anger into perspective.

"Okay Ilka, since we're being honest," I begin, my voice adopting a serious tone. "I thought you should know, the demons won the war."

The room falls silent. Her glow, although dizzyingly rotating, becomes dimmer, as if the spirit within is fading. I stop my hand, letting her float down gently onto my palm. She lands with a soft thump, looking up at me, her form pulsating with a more somber light.

"How... How did that happen?" she whispers, her eyes wide with shock. "The hero... he was supposed to win. That's... that's his role. That's why he was chosen."

Ilka's voice rises into a sharp yell. "You're lying! You're making this up!"

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand. This is more complicated than I thought it would be. Honestly, I wish I knew what happened, but in my novel, I left it vague on purpose to expand it further in the story, however, the problem lies in the fact that I never finished my novel.

"I wish I was, Ilka," I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper. "But the truth is, the hero disappeared. There is no record of what happened to him, or even of the war itself. All we know is that the demons emerged victorious."

Her glow flickers erratically as if trying to reject the information I just presented to her.

"But," I quickly add, trying to lighten the mood, "at least the demons returned the lands to the humans. They claimed that the humans shouldn't have started a war they were going to lose."

She gazes up at me, her form flickering and her glow dimmed. I can't imagine what's going through her head right now. Being a spirit, she doesn't have the luxury of crying, but I can sense her sorrow. It's as if the very energy that makes her up has become heavy with grief.

Her voice breaks the silence, "Then... then all my sacrifices, all my struggles... were for naught?"

I don't know how to respond to that. So, I stay silent, letting her tiny form sit in my palm, her glowing light a stark contrast to the darkness of the room. The ticking of the wall clock seems to echo louder, punctuating the gravity of the situation.

My pocket vibrates, pulling me out of the somber moment. I reach into my pocket and pull out the TSI. Pressing a small button on the TSI, a holographic screen springs to life, lighting up my palm with a soft red light. Ilka jumps back in surprise, her form tumbling in the air with a comical kind of panic.

I can't help but laugh at her reaction. It seems like even after all these years, there are still things that can surprise her.

"Wow, Ilka," I tease, grinning at her. "You really are an old geezer, aren't you?"

A flash of indignation pulses through her form, her light flaring brighter for a moment. "I'll have you know, I was young when I died!" she retorts, trying to maintain her dignity. "And unlike you, I literally woke up from a 4 thousand year nap!"

Her outrage, instead of making me feel guilty, only serves to amuse me more. After the heavy conversation we've just had, this bit of normalcy is a welcome change. But still, the TSI's light continues to flash, reminding me that I have a call waiting.

"Alright, alright," I say, still chuckling, as I tap the holographic screen to answer the call, leaving Ilka floating, her light still flickering in mild annoyance.