First Wimbleton had to go and lose his mind, whatever mind he even had in the first place, and now Garrote was completely stranded in the woods, alone, with absolutely no way out, not to mention the questionable state of mortality of his entire party. And even if he did have the necessary instruments to navigate, he hadn’t the slightest where he actually was, a VERY necessary component for finding your way. Not to mention he didn’t exactly have the best track record navigating.
Welp, not much he could really do–time to pick a direction and pray. He needed to get to the mountains, so keep an eye out for any rocky terrain and elevation increases? Yeah, that sounded pretty smart.
Garrote spun around several times, doing his best to judge what seemed like the best. But without any real indication to go off of, Garrote just started walking in the direction that gave the mostly westward-like energy. Scientific? Absolutely not. The best he could muster?...yeah. Yeah, it was.
But the further along he went, sun blazing high overhead, the worse he felt about his choice. No matter what direction he took, no matter where he looked, it was just trees and hills, the occasional clifface doing little to inspire confidence.
Eventually, Garrote started just wandering around randomly, turning himself all about the moment he lost confidence. He was always one to simply do and figure out the rest later. He hated complicated planning, hated sitting down to think things through. It always reminded him of Wheel, a face he wouldn’t soon miss. But he didn’t have the time to walk around the entire world. He needed some sort of plan, some sort of standardized metric to go off of. But what?
Garrote kicked at a rock on the ground, burrowing a small hole into a nearby tree trunk. He moved to turn around, quickly losing his faith in his path the longer the endless sea of trees stretched on. But just as he started to turn, a sudden gleam caught his eye, a vaguely familiar brilliance sitting calm as could be atop a low hanging branch of the tree he’d just assaulted.
“Sun,” Garrote mumbled, stumbling forward towards the tree.
Hands to either side, golden robe flowing in the gentle breeze, eyes of the warmest gold creased with an understanding smile looking down towards him, Garrote’s older brother by many years, the Sun, sat patiently. He gleamed with the golden light of the sun, radiating an almost nostalgic, welcoming heat.
“You look a little lost there, bud. Need a hand?” Sun said.
“But…you died. I watched you die, watched your light fade,” Garrote mumbled in disbelief.
Sun chuckled, “C’mon kid, you can’t kill the sun, can you? Life is relative, and even if I’m not really alive, I’m here right now. That’s what matters most.”
“But why?”
“Because you needed me. Whether you realized it or not, you drew my card, and your fate is a bright one. I always did like the fool card. Everybody else was always so stuck up, locked in their ways as if they’d known for all of eternity what they were meant to do. But not you, not the fool. You always did have a knack for getting yourself in trouble, but you were always trying something new, and you always learned from your mistakes. You just need to have more confidence in yourself, sometimes. You may be the fool, but you’re a damn good one. A hesitant hand will bring only ruin.”
“But I don’t know where I’m going! I don’t know what I’m doing! I’ve eloped across the continent and for what!? It’s all so confusing, fighting and bloodshed and slaughter at every end, new enemies popping out of the woodworks like little rats! Do I go back to mother and father? Should I run away? Hide for the rest of my life? Should I fight? I don’t know. I really don’t. I hate it, gods I hate it. At least back when we were kids I could only do what I wanted because I knew you were there to help me, but…now I don't know what to do. I feel like a fiddle in empty hands,” Garrote cried.
Sun jumped down from the branch, landing before Garrote with absolute grace and placing his forefinger against Garrote’s heart, “And the only one who can answer those questions is you, Garrote, not me. You think you’re helpless without me, but I don’t think that’s true. I think you’ve got what it takes more than anyone to find your way through this cruel world if only you’re willing to grasp it,” Sun’s smile faded, hand falling to his side. “One day, you’ll have to make a choice about the direction you want your life to take. And when that time comes, I won’t be there to help you. I don’t know what it’ll look like, not the slightest, just follow your heart. I have faith in you. And until that day comes, just know that I’m always nearby, cheering you on,” Sun pointed straight up at the sun, snagging Garrote’s eyes.
That was it. Of course, how could he have forgotten? The sun rises in the east, sets in the west, which means he was actually heading in the right direction all along. The sun was always there for him, he was just too blind to see it. Garrote looked down, meaning to thank Sun, but he was simply gone, not a trace left of him anywhere in sight.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
***
“I knew it was big, but holy,” Kiva muttered to no one in particular, staring up at the gargantuan complex with wonder.
They stood at the top of a narrow clifftop path, just before the grand, ornamental gates surrounding the academy. To either side of them, the sheer cliff dropped off into chasms far below, the distant echo of chipped off rocks barely audible above the howling winds. At even intervals all around the wall, stone gargoyles crouched with long stone spears, their crimson eyes almost alive enough to make Trenton think they were watching.
Beyond the gate, built into the great mountainside of the Thalian range, an imposing castle of grand proportion stood, its many open air bridges stretching gaps between winding colossal arcane towers wreathed in slanted stone decorations and arches, giving the whole place a lavish exterior, luxury even Trenton could envy. At the center was one great building, the center of the gothic castle upon which all the outjuts centered in one way or another, a singular paved path lined with gasalian guardian statues leading up to the hundred foot opening to the academy main hall.
Unlike other cities they’d been too, no one stood to guard the gate. Instead, he could see the thin veil of a spatial barrier extending around the entirety of the academy groups, an impenetrable field, just like Arthur said.
“So how exactly are we supposed to get in?” Maria said, walking forward and banging on the spatial wall. “Hello!? We’re here to see Era!”
“Something tells me that won’t work,” Karfice said, waltzing up to Maria and laying a hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t see you getting us in.”
“Just have a little patience.”
“How is patience-”
Suddenly, the stone gargoyles lining the exterior of the wall began to shift, standing up to their full heights, some taking to the air, each with weapon raised. Of course, why wouldn’t the academy have automated defenses? It was the magical center of the world, afterall.
“Is that what you were waiting for?” Maria shouted.
“I could not possibly have predicted this,” Karfice shot back.
Trenton summoned his hammer to his hand, fortifying himself between the encroaching hoard of gargoyles and their weak. They charged, some thrusting their spears towards their group, either missing or getting deflected, others entering into melee range, Trenton’s bread and butter. Trenton sidestepped the strike of a gargoyle falling straight down, swinging his hammer around and obliterating the golem in one strike, sending out the shrapnel in a wave towards the other gargoyles lining the sky, peppering handfuls of them with holes larger than skipping stones.
All around him, the earth rose to his command, serpentine spikes lashing out at gargoyles in the dozens, ripping their bodies to shreds, holding them still for Trenton to bash through, and snagging their legs and shattering their bodies against the ground.
To his left, Leo cut through mobs of his own, bright flames cremating hoards of their enemies at a time, Kiva grew a great tree from the side of the cliff, riding it into the sky to fight the gargoyles on their own turf, and Avardis coalesced the air around himself, making a barrier of air so dense as to catch any attack thrown his way. It was mass chaos in every direction, Leo’s fire singing the hairs on Trenton’s face, gargoyles crying out in mad, metallic scratches, a sound akin to the grinding of stone against stone, filling the air with faux cries of agony, their bodies descending from above like angels from heaven.
Trenton ducked to the side, grabbing a spear out of midair aimed at his head and twirling it round, thrusting it straight through the heart of the gargoyle that threw it. Before it even had the chance to react, it collapsed to the ground lifeless, along with many of its companions.
And yet, the more statues they broke, the more that came, an endless legion of expendable soldiers ready to give their life without a moment’s hesitation. Slowly, Trenton was accumulating wounds, scratches here and there, bruises from the blunt blows of gargoyles without a weapon, and stray spears burrowing into his flesh at odd points. Even weak, their numbers made them an imposing force. He needed to fall back, find a point further down the mountain to fortify. The little path they were on made it difficult to move around, let alone defend themselves.
Then, a sharp whistle rang out across the cliffs, and just as quickly as they’d risen to attack, the gargoyles stopped, returning to their perches as if nothing had ever even happened.
“Some nice fighting there, bud. Looks like the rumors were true after all. Trenton Boulreguard’s got some weight to his swing. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, though. We do make pretty good warriors, don’t we?”
Sitting atop the wall, legs crossed, head cocked, was a man a lot like Trenton. He had a chiseled exterior, the make of a statue made man, perfect jawline only bested by even greater muscles, which practically burst the seams of the shirt he wore.
His brown hair tousled lightly in the wind, swaying this way at that, chocolate eyes surprisingly…sad. He smiled at Trenton, a lopsided smile only accentuated by the many jagged scars lining his face. He looked battered, battleworn. At his side sat a large stone warhammer, one very similar to Trenton’s. He was…almost familiar, like an older, alternate version of Trenton, and so, unmistakably familiar.
In one effortless movement, the man tapped his heel against the wall, great quantities of magic flooding through the earth like Trenton had never before felt. It was like an avalanche of strength, all perfectly restrained to just what the man wanted. The cobbled remains of the gargoyles, some 200 corpses, leapt to life, chunks flinging themselves over the gate without issue, piling together out of sight behind the wall. And before Trenton even had the chance to speak, replacement gargoyles began to rise, reclaiming their stalwart positions atop the wall.
“Did he just call himself a Boulregaurd? I thought you didn't have any family left,” Kiva asked, stitching ripped chunks of skin back onto her body.
“I don’t,” Trenton said, stepping forward and looking up at the ghost before himself. He took a deep breath, allowing himself a fleeting glimpse of hope, allowing himself to dream for just a moment, “Yissle?”
The man’s smile widened, his sorrow only growing the longer Trenton looked, “Hey, Trenton. Been a while, huh?”