I feel a surge in my head, like electricity from an outlet. It spreads down my spine, into my torso, and all the way to my feet. I see, or rather sense, the future: a march of husks down Astrian streets with me at their head, urging them to the palace itself. I see the sorceress cowering like a beaten house cat, extending her crown before her – extending it to me.
“That's what you want, isn’t it?” asks the dryad. “It’s why you came to the elves: to get an army. I offer you mine, and you may lead it as you like, even to retake your precious Astria from the Sorceress.”
Another vision: me and Luna, married in the palace, with adoring crowds cheering us from below.
“I hate the sorceress as much as you do,” the god continues. “She wishes to rule me, just as she wishes to rule you. But these are my forests and my elves. Help me defeat the elf Lord and I will gift you an army far mightier than you can ever imagine.”
I shake in my feet, overwhelmed by both the terror and power of the possibility. I remember my home on earth, my couch, my gaming pc. I remember how often I longed to be doing something different, something important, something epic. Now here I am, and all I can think of is how I want to go back to that comfort.
Coward. You know what you have to do.
“Never,” I stammer, channeling my best Luke Skywalker. “I’ll never fall –”
“Wait!” says the demon. "Where air once wafted she stands now, her seductive features riddled with urgency and anxiety. “Think about her offer. She’s right.”
I gape at her. “Now? You show up now?”
“You don’t owe Erriam anything,” the demon continues. “Remember how he ignored Astria in its hour of need. Remember how he treated your king. Remember how he treated you. He would just as well have you die out here if it meant consolidating his own power. Do you really think he’ll march on Astria if you win? The dryad offers you everything you could want and more. She offers you the ability to defeat the sorceress now.”
My head is spinning and I’m having trouble focusing. The husks are calling me now: “Where to now? What next, my lord?” They are outside elven homes, waiting to advance on my order, ready to kill their own kin.
“What of the elves?” I ask. “The ordinary elves? What happens to them if I join the dryad?”
“Ugh,” the demon throws up her arms in disgust. “Fuck the elves already. What have they ever done for you? For us?” She leans in closer, her red eyes blazing with fiery intensity. “Protect your own, Ethan. Cause no one else will.”
Protect your own.
I think back to the game, the description on Steam: And you will become the Hero of Astria. The uniter of realms. Protector of the innocent. The champion of the just.
“The Hero of Astria,” I mumble.
“Oh no,” the demon sags back. “Not that again.”
I look at that ridiculously hot demon and, for the first time ever, I’m able to hold her eyes. “It takes more than an army to be a hero.”
I stride toward the dryad, feeling new strength coursing through the veins of my injured body. “I have been chosen by the Maker to defend Astria and protect his realms from the might of the sorceress. I will not allow you to torment his elves any longer.”
The leaves rustle and the branches quiver. “Very well, chosen one. Have it your way. But you should know: there is another.”
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I feel the power drain out of me and can no longer sense the husks. Once again I’m shaken as I adjust back to normal experience, and it’s only dimly that I sense something charging toward me.
A husk?
I turn, raising my sword and see…Myran?!
His eyes are green and his face savage.
“Myran, what are you –”
He leaps at me. I raise my sword just in time as he crashes down on me. The impact splatters me on my back, and I roll away as he tries to bash his shield into my face.
“Stop it!” I yell in terror.
“You didn’t listen,” Myran hisses. “You should have let me talk to the god.”
He raises his sword to strike and I know that I’ll never best him in a swordfight as my level is too low. So I lunge for his legs like I’m sort of brazilian jiu-jitsu wrestler. We tumble together on the ground and I manage to knock his sword away.
“Talk to the god? We came here to kill it.” I manage.
Myran smacks me across the face. “Not anymore. She told me everything. I know the truth now.”
Know the truth? He’s turned into Gildar, the lost elven prince, and is seduced by the same siren song. A victim of the ultimate remix.
“Then what’s the truth?” I ask, desperate to buy time to survive.
“That she is the true elf God. That you are an agent of the temple. Sent to kill her so that others are forced to worship the Maker. Just as others tried to kill her in the past. But she perseveres. And so do I. We’ve both been ignored and dismissed. No more. We will take our rightful place as the leaders of all elves. She as their God. I as their lord.”
So much for just wanting to be heir. Sounds like he’s ready to claim his inheritance right now.
“The husks will destroy your people, not save them,” I try.
“Don’t you see, Ethan. The husks are my people. The dryad has already saved them. All the elves can become husks and will live with us forever.”
I gape at him. “You’re insane.”
He scowls and unleashes a flurry of blows against me. The last connects with my wrist and I drop my sword in pain, the blood spraying all over my palms.
“I’m sorry,” says Myran, “but I have to look out for my own.”
Look out for my own. Protect your own. It all just means protect yourself. Only think of yourself.
I close my eyes and smile, a peacefulness coming over me. “So that’s why the Maker didn't choose you.”
Myran grits his teeth and raises his sword above his head for the finishing stroke. “If you love the Maker so much, perhaps you should meet him.”
The sword descends.
But so does Dauntless.
Out of nowhere my battered steed crashes into Myran sending both him and his weapon clattering away. Behind him charges a rampaging bear who eagerly pounces on the shocked elf.
I grasp my sword, and stagger to my feet, feeling weak and dazed. Dauntless doesn’t look any better than I feel. The horse is bleeding from both hunches, his mane is coated with green gunk and he wheezes in exhaustion as he speaks to me. “Sire, I have arrived. What can I do to help?”
I grin a smile as broad as the Mississippi river. “Dauntless, I need you to help me kill the dryad.”
Dauntless tosses his mane enthusiastically. “Excellent, sire. How do we do that?”
It’s an awfully obvious question but I look at the tree and realize I don’t have a straightforward answer. There’s no time to just hack-up the limbs and trunk and I doubt I could do all that by myself anyway. I need to kill it fast, before all my friends are dead, or before I’m dead.
Then I see her. Hovering in the air, just in front of the tree, her brilliant blue shatters the green haze that dominates the color palette. Her wings spread wide and look more glorious than any eagle’s.
“Angel,” I mumble. “She’s come at last.”
“Who?” Dauntless asks, following my gaze but not seeing the spirit himself.
Angel points at the tree. No, not just at the tree but at the dryad’s face. And she does so with her glittering sword, like the point is going right between the dryad’s eyes. At first I’m puzzled, unsure of what she’s doing, or the message she’s trying to send. Then I smack my forehead at my own stupidity.
Of course.
I turn to my horse. “Dauntless, I need one more dash from you. Can you still carry me? Even on this ground?”
The horse looks down on the mangled cobweb of roots that dominate the space all around us. Even a goat or donkey wouldn’t enjoy walking on this mess. To ask Dauntless to carry me on it is no small thing.
“Sire, I will give it my all.”
I smile weakly. I guess that’s all I can ask for -- it’s our last option at this point. I scramble onto the horse’s back and feel him wince at the additional weight. But he grits his teeth and neighs with determination.
Thatta boy.
“For Astria!” I cry and spur him forward.