What had happened? He was Mark, but he was Amaro?
His reflection changed, reverting back to the face of Mark. Why was he being shown all of this? Why was he living as Mark? Or maybe he had dreamed he was Amaro? There was something he needed to do, but what was it?
He noticed an envelope stuck to the corner of the mirror. He picked up the paper, and began to read.
When you finish shaving, meet me near the pond.
-V
That’s right, he needed to shave. Mark put the paper down, and unsheathed his hunting knife. Ol’ reliable had never failed him in times like these.He looked at his tangled blonde bearded face. Did he really look like a bear? Or a rabbit for that matter?
When he finished shaving, he wondered if he was really seeing himself. He looked so different without his beard.
Maybe he did look a bit like a rabbit. Mark still did not understand what Veronica saw in him. She was the daughter of a noble in Peakieria, and he was a lowly vagabond who never knew his parents. Perhaps Veronica saw him as a gateway to freedom, or perhaps she had wanted to rebel against her bloodline.
No, she would never be that petty and self centered. Her love for him was genuine, but in the end, he didn’t feel he deserved it.
Mark pushed the doubts from his head. Without another thought he made his way out the door to the pond.
He woke up in his bed.
What?
He was just about to… where was he about to go? Hunting. Winter was coming so it was good to save up some coin. He could hardly afford to live alone like he was.
Mark looked out the window. Winter had already come. He should really stop drinking. He had been downing enough for two people lately.
One more trip to the bar. He stumbled over a pile of books. Why were there so many of them here? The damn hangover was splitting his head. Only cure for that was more booze. He’d have to clean up these books later.
It was cold, dark, the sun hadn’t come up yet. Was it too late to go to the bar? At least his head felt better.
There was something strange about the houses nearby. The night wasn’t just quiet, it was dead silent. Surely there would be someone else up at this hour?
Maybe he should take a dip in the pond nearby. It would be cold, but he needed to shake this hangover off somehow. He hadn’t done something like this since he was a Ranger in the guild.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
He woke up in his bed. It was cold. He had forgotten to close the window last night. Good thing he had a beard to keep his neck warm. Was it already morning?
There were only a few people roaming around the village. The winter had been rough this year. Some had probably left… probably.
What was he doing again? Maybe he should shave. But it was winter. No, it was almost spring. That’s right.
He walked up to the mirror and scraped the frost from the glass. There was an envelope stuck into the corner of the frame. The handwriting looked… familiar.
He unfolded the envelope, and pulled the parchment. The handwriting was messy and rushed. He almost didn’t recognize it was his own.
When had he learned how to read, much less write? That sort of thing was for nobility.
PLUG YOUR EARS BUT PRETEND YOU DON’T SEE IT. YOU WILL REMEMBER EVERYTHING, BUT DON’T LET IT KNOW. DO NOT GO TO THE POND THAT IS WHERE IT EATS. GET OUT AND GET HELP.
The message sent a chill down his spine. Was he drunk when he wrote this? He tossed the parchment off to the side. It was time to go about his day.
And yet.
That message was eating at him. He strapped his quiver to his hip, only five arrows left. As he moved to leave, he thought twice. What was the harm in plugging his ears?
He found some old cotton and stuffed his ears with it. All at once, memories flooded his vision. Last spring, his promise, Veronica, the pond. Oh gods the pond. He wanted to vomit, but he kept a poker face.
He remembered that monster too. The very same one now looming over him, its grinning visage carried by a lengthy worm-like neck. The rest of its body was somewhere underground. It had gotten so big since the first time he’d seen it. Festering deep beneath the ground like a cancer. It pale necrotic skin shifting with vague faces of sorrow and despair.
He walked from it in a slow and casual pace, his heart felt like it was screaming for him. He didn’t want to remember anymore. He did not want to remember what happened to Veronica.
But the sight of her being speared through the neck. Of her kicking, and gargling. Of how he ran like a coward. How every time he remembered the creature, he experienced his guilt all over again. And now he was running still? Did he have no pride? Or maybe he wanted to forget all the times he had tried and failed to shoot the damn thing? That horrid grinning face followed him until it could not stretch its neck anymore.
Another elongated face met him from a different part of the ground. They were sprouting like trees. He tried not to look at them. Their mouths were moving in such an unnatural manner.
Where they… singing?
One of them noticed his gaze, and shot towards him, its distorted face only inches from his own. Mark pretended to be staring through it, he continued to walk, and it let him pass. He walked and walked and walked. He did not dare to run. He did not dare to look back. He did not know how far this monster had dug its roots. This thing was unlike any invader to Lithiria. It was apocalyptic.
But just as he thought he had walked far enough, a shrieking noise burst through his cotton wads.
Who was he? Where was he? Why was he so deep in the forest? Maybe it was time to walk back. He might freeze to death out here.
I am Amaro Xirxus, and I’ve spent too long in this dream!
He sprinted the opposite direction as fast as his human legs could take him. It worked. How long had he been stuck in this dream? How much time had passed out side of it? He sprinted until he was gasping for air, until his feet were numb from the cold. Until his hands were red and blistered. He had to get to the next village and warn them. He had to tell them to plug their ears and gather an army to kill the monster before it became unstoppable.
This was no mere monster. It was a Malaki.
He felt the ground give way beneath his feet. Like a smeared painting the world vanished from sight and he was once again floating in the infinite darkness of the abyss.
Go on then. Tell me your riddle. I’m ready.