“What do you mean we are leaving?” Sapphire hissed into his ear.

The two of them were walking quickly through the street. People made way for them, avoiding the two like they were dangerous animals. Raylas felt eyes on him from every angle. Everyone watching and waiting for him to call them out, to order them to be questioned.

An Inquisitor? How ridiculous.

“There is an adventure right in front of you and you are turning tail and leaving?” She continued.

“I am trying to survive,” Raylas stated.

“How is running away surviving? Being alive and living are two different things.”

Raylas snorted as they entered the Tavern. Dave was standing at the counter talking to some of the patrons. He gave them a surprised look as they entered, but Raylas was in no mood to play his game.

He quickly moved to the stairs and made it to his room where he burst inside. Sapphire followed, pushing the door closed behind her. She reached out and pushed him, causing him to lose his balance and fall onto the bed. It wasn’t the first time but how could the girl be this strong?

“Cowards stay alive,” she scolded. “They hole up and hide while the world passes them by, never seeing the hidden beauty it holds.”

“I’m no coward, if that is what you're implying,” he grumbled, reaching down and grabbing the larger pack and checking to see if the supplies were still okay. “I’ll fight when attacked, but I’m not stupid enough to go search for an unwinnable battle.”

“Do you really think its unwinnable?” She asked, leaning against the door.

“Have you ever fought one?” Raylas snapped. “They never leave the forest. That is their domain. You have to fight them in their prime grounds, where they have every advantage.”

“Difficult, sure.”

“Difficult is an understatement.” He sat back recalling the nightmare. “Imagine, the ground itself moving to swallow you. Every step is invaded by small pincers seeking to grab you and tear you apart bit by bit. Leaves falling like blades that cut your skin. The trees themselves bend over to block or punch you. The entire time you can’t find the true body of the creature. Its laughter echoing around you, teasing you, mocking you for being so… human.

“And then at the end it lets you live. Not from some hint of mercy, but because it doesn’t even see you. You’re not worth it’s time to even make into food for the forest.” He sighed and slumped. “I never want to see a dryad again, much less fight one. That is why I’m leaving.”

“You have to face your fears, Master.” She soothed.

“Do you really want to be here when all hell breaks loose?” he snapped quietly to her. “A… maiden! A damned creature of the trees who is probably older than the cataclysm. The walls are made of her element! There is no paved road so the roots of the forest will invade. The houses will twist to trap us… No. I am not staying here.”

He finished the pack and tied it shut. He leaned up and took the other one and opened it. It had some clothes, not all of them, but enough to last until the next town. He lost a lot of money here but the less weight he had to carry the faster he would move.

“So what if the city turns against you?” She grabbed his shoulder and twisted him around, facing him. She brought her head close until their foreheads touched. “You are an Aasim, heir to heroes, descendant of monster slayers. A dryad should be nothing to you.”

“I am a normal human who can only do what a human can do,” Raylas growled and pushed her back. She stumbled but remained upright, glowering at him. “You claimed me as this heir, not me.”

“You found the relics,” she said. “You claimed them as your own. You have read the inscriptions and even entered the Vault which only opens for those of Aasim blood. You are the heir, whether you believe it or not.”

“If it wasn’t for the curse I would have tossed them all back into the woods once I learned they were artifacts,” he snapped.

“Is that what you truly think?” she asked, her voice almost a breath. “When you asked to live, was it only to live under a rock and hide from the world?”

“Who are you to even judge me?” he yelled. “We have known each other for, what? Three days? Four? Yet you act as if we have been traveling together forever. I don’t even know your real name, Sapphire Ring!”

“My name is what you deem it to be,” she sniffed.

“Then I’ll go back to my original one and call you Harlot,” he spat.

The girl huffed in indignation and left the door to go to the corner of the room. She crossed her arms and flicked her hand, a chair flying to her and then landing quietly beneath as she sat.

“I am trying to survive in a world filled with death,” he gestured toward the gate in the distance. “Out there are undead, monsters, bandits, corrupt lords, insane zealots, and forgotten cities which might do worse than kill you. So yes, if I have to I will survive under the rock. At least then I’ll be alive, Harlot.”

The girl glared at him. Her face turned an angry shade of red.

“I’ve shared with you the knowledge of the family’s arts. I’ve explained their history. I’ve even helped you get into the vault… yet you still resist.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“I resist because you forced everything onto me. I didn’t ask for any of it.”

“You asked to Live!” she screeched.

“To survive being eaten. To live to see the dawn and continue to travel with my companions. But now look at me!” He gestured to himself. “I am a freak! Not even my mother would recognize me if she saw how much the curse has twisted me.”

“Stop calling it a curse!” she hissed. “Stop insulting the blessings given to you. They’re here to make you greater than yourself. You won't just live if you accept them, but you’ll be alive! Truly alive and something greater.”

“All I want to be is myself,” Raylas yelled. ““I am Raylas of Eilire, former mercenary and a nobody. I live by my sword and I will die in a gutter. I don’t resist… whatever that Aasim stuff is. That is a story for someone else, someone long dead and forgotten.”

“Why do you–”

“I reject it all!” he roared. “I reject the sight you gave me! That dungeon and this weapon!” he pulled it off his belt and threw it against the wall, the blade getting stuck and the chain rattling noisily.

“And,” he reached into his pouch and pulled out the golden ring. “I reject this.” He dropped it onto the floor.

Sapphire stood, her mouth agape as the ring tinged and bounced on the floor, landing just at her feet. She looked up, her anger replaced by sorrow. Tears were forming in her eyes as she turned away from him.

“By the gods… you’re boring.”

She burst into mist and dissipated into the air. The bag she had tied to her waist dropped and landed onto the floor and rolled onto the ring.

Raylas look at where she was standing and shook his head. What was going through her mind? Making him some kind of hero? What did she think? He was as strong as Sir Vodianus, a Knight of Kasan?

If he was that strong do you think he would have accepted the life of a pathetic mercenary?

He looked around the room. There were some clothes lying out in the open including a small pile of dresses. He had paid for a week, so he would leave them here for her. She shouldn’t follow him after this event, after all.

Feeling shame he finished packing. He realized he forgot the map back with the Knight and guards, but he at least knew the rough direction he would have to go.

He stood to leave but paused. The pouch and chain were still lying where they landed. He needed a weapon and he doubted he could find one as good as the artifact. He hesitated for just another moment before walking over and pulling it from the wall. He wrapped it up and clipped it to his belt, then he looked at the bag.

She was too trusting. She might give it to the next person she calls a master, and who knows what insane things might occur. There were treasures there best left forgotten in the legends, and wealth too potent for even Kings. What was lying by him was a trap, locked and loaded, ready to spring and take out the kingdom. Maybe more.

But should he take it? He would never go hungry again if he dared go deeper into the Vault. He had his supplies still inside it too. The girl was able to go in and out like him, so why not use it too?

He shook his head and took a step to the door, but a nagging feeling flicked his eyes to the bag again. He took a breath and cursed as he went to retrieve it. He was cursed and would still need it to break the curse. That is why he had to take it. Not for the wealth or potential dangers, but to save his own life.

He frowned as he clipped it to his belt. Beneath it was just a plain floor. The ring was missing.

He looked back and forth before shrugging. He had rejected that artifact, so if it was gone then so be it.

He yanked the door open and saw both Dave standing at the door, his face filled with shock. He opened his mouth to say something but Raylas stormed off down the stairs. Darling was standing in the middle of the dining area, flicking a spoon in her hands.

“Are you done?” she asked.

“The girl gets the room for the rest of the week,” he grimaced, then started to the door only for a spoon to thud on the ground in front of him.

“You’re abandoning that poor girl?”

“That poor girl can defend herself well enough,” he countered. “In fact I doubt many people could be her match if she let loose.” Her glowing eyes made him shiver.

Darling clicked her tongue and sighed.

“Physically, perhaps,” she said. “But mentally… go, Mr. Raylas.” She pointed to the door. “Travel quickly and safely. We’ll take care of the girl in your stead.”

He gave a curt nod and left. The air outside was brisk, but the snow had finally stopped falling. He looked toward the gate and debated for a moment.

No, he needed some defenses if he was to brave the road.

He turned and left toward the smithy.

The smoky signal and clanging of metal resounded as he got close. He paused at the edge of the foundry again and peered inside. Tarrok was hammering a large sheet of metal, a sheen of sweat cascading down his face and into his beard. The dwarf’s muscles were enormous, bulging as he swung a hammer the size of his head onto the metal.

The metal twisted with each strike, folding into itself and then spreading out into a plate again.

Raylas stood frozen for a couple minutes, fascinated at the fluidity of the dwarven work. Then he shook his head to break himself from the trance and knocked on a beam.

The dwarf peered up and gave him a large smile. He stuck the metal into the furnace and started to pump the flames again. Heat radiated throughout the area as he pumped what appeared to be an accordion on the ground.

“Come ta watch me work, eh?” the man laughed.

“I’m actually here to cancel my order and buy some armor instead,” Raylas said.

The dwarf froze, his bushy eyebrows condensing into an angry ‘v’. He paused his pumping and pulled out the metal, giving it an examination before putting it back into the fire and starting again.

“Now don’ ya joke with me, lad,” he chuckled with a forced cheer. “If ya need a rushed job I can have it done for ya by tomorrow, but don’ be crackin’ no jokes sayin’ ya’re cancelin’.”

“I plan to leave tonight,” Raylas said. He watched as the dwarf paused for a moment again before slamming his foot onto the pump, a large burst of flame flying out of the kiln.

“Ya gave me a good job, paid me like I was a master, and now ya are takin’ it all back?” He bellowed. He pulled the metal out and let out a curse, dropping the chunk into a barrel of water with an angry hiss. The short man stomped over to Rayals and stopped in front of him.

A thick finger jabbed into Raylas’ chest causing him to stumble back. It was like getting punched in the chest.

“Now spill the coal, stranger,” he rumbled. “Why do ya need ta skidaddle so quickly?”

“I can’t say,” Raylas answered, giving the crowd on the street a look. More than a few people were watching their exchange. “You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“I trusted ya when ya commissioned me,” Tarrok growled. “Now ya are tellin’ me ta trust ya again? I don’ think so.”

The dwarf stomped away and took a hold of his hammer.

“Ya treated me like a master, so I’ll act like a grumpled one. Speak true or fight, stranger. My honor won’ listen to yur pathetic excuses.”