Fortunately, I don’t have to go to the palace immediately. There is still time for me to rest a bit before having to present myself before all the Earls of Elfdom or whatever.

I sit in my quarters and prop-up a sore leg on a wooden chair. I’ve got some time before the elven court assembles and I intend to use it to relax. Maybe chew on some more of these rancid herbs the healer left for me. They’re sort of like chewing tobacco – or at least what I imagine tobacco to be. I smoked a cigar once, but inhaled so quickly that I got sick and vomited.

What a glorious moment that was.

At least my tea is hot. I raise the cup and gingerly sip my ‘ginger’ tea.

Hot damn, I’m a comedian.

I look out the window: it’s a beautiful view. And there’s even a servant outside my door, waiting for any needs or instructions I have.

Can you bring me the elf princess? Preferably naked.

Not much chance of that happening though. Betrothed or not. Fiance or not. Doesn’t really matter.

“Friend zoned again, I see,” says a voice.

The words startle me and my foot slips off the chair. It crashes clumsily upon the floor and I turn to see who’s disturbed my respite (though in my thoughts I already know).

The demon grins at me. “You know I like to make an entrance.”

I groan.

She saddles-up beside me and I manage to look away from her body. It helps that she has no scent. Apparently demons don’t smell like…anything at all.

“Come on babe,” she says. “I’m just here to comfort you after striking out with that sexy elf.”

“I hate you,” I mutter.

She wags a finger at me. “Careful dearest. Hate is the path to the dark side.”

I cup my head in my hands. “No, that’s wrong.”

“It is?” she says in surprise.

“Fear is the path to the dark side.” I lift my head and look at her. “That’s what Yoda says in The Phantom Menace anyway.”

The demon shrugs coyly. “If you say so. The movie sucked anyway.”

“It’s not that bad. I mean the pod racing is cool. Ewan McGregor is good. The lightsaber fight is still one of the best –” I cut myself off and stand-up. “Why am I even talking to you about this?”

The demon twirls with delight. “Because I’m amazing!”

I get a crazy idea and extend my hand. I use my new magic and the light beam flashes right in her face.

She laughs. “Oh no my lord, please spare me from the fire of your little torch. If you’d listened to me you’d would be at the head of a mighty army right now. Instead you’re playing with matches.”

I lower my hand. “It was worth a shot.”

The demon is suddenly serious. “You can be so much more, Ethan. You have so much more power within you.”

I feel the pit within me stir. I push it away. “Light magic has plenty of power. It just takes effort and time.”

The demon scoffs. “Is that what Shylvanna told you in the tower? You’re taking lessons from a failed ghost now I see?”

“Shylanna was a powerful elven mage,” I retort.

The demon rolls her eyes. “So powerful she lost the war of the Magi.”

“Yes, because she betrayed the Maker and his magic. That was what made her weak.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“No, what made her weak was trusting in the light to begin with.” She says earnestly. “Light magic is for pussies, Ethan. And as the saying goes: pussies are for sex, not for magic.”

I gawk at her. “What? Whoever said that?”

She struts forward and arches an eyebrow. “I did. Just now. Do you like it?”

I stand my ground this time and stare right back at those red eyes. “Is that what you told the sorceress?”

And for a moment her she’s silent. A shadow of doubt races across her face and she takes a step back. I won’t let her wiggle free though.

“That’s right, demon. I know you appeared to Lillian at the tower. You corrupted her just as you’re trying to corrupt me. Well, it won’t work. So take your sorry ass back to her. If she’ll even have it.”

The demon slouches back like my words are cannon balls puncturing her castle walls, and I feel exultant, triumphant even in finally turning the tables against her perpetually seductive wit.

“You don’t understand,” she says finally. “You don’t know how hurtful those words are to me.”

Tears well-up in her eyes and I take a step back myself, unsure of what’s going on or what I should say.

She smiles sadly at me. “Though perhaps I deserve it. After all the evil I’ve done. Goodnight, my hero.”

Then she’s gone. Just like that she disappears and I’m alone in the room. I wait, just standing, wondering if she's really gone or will come back. But there is nothing: no body, no voice, just silence. I realize I’ve won. But my victory feels strangely…

Hollow.

I throw up my hands. “Maker’s Mercy I am done with this crap!”

There is a light tap on the door. “Is everything alright Sir Ethan?”

I sigh, realizing my voice was too loud. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Ok, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

Need anything. Yes, I will take a personal clinical psychologist and perhaps script for xanax.

I deserve it? All the evil I’ve done?

That’s what the demons said. But what does it mean? Regret? Repentance?

I take a deep breath.

No, it must have been a sham. A trick. Nothing more.

I sit down with my tea again, attempting to recapture my zen. But the room feels strange to me, like all the positive vibes have been disbursed or disbanded to someone else’s quarters.

“Freaking demon,” I mutter.

I rise and go to the small library that adorns the left wall. Casually I peruse the book titles looking for anything interesting. I wonder what elven science fiction looks like. That would be cool to read.

In the distant future elves will soar through the sky on magical branches dressed as exotic fashionistas who fight glorious battles with rocket propelled javelins against minor deities who grow too big for their britches and want to tear down all the world’s forests because no one is willing to buy their artificial Christmas trees.

Alas, there is nothing so provocative and I’m instead left with dry treatises on elven history and the ‘enduring wonders of the forest’s leafy goodness’.

I can’t believe that is an actual title.

I am about to return to my seat when an idea hits me like a thunderclap.

Where is the cleric?

Amidst all the tension, anxiety, and chaos I forgot about my loyal companion. I knock on my door and the servant enters.

“Yes, Sir Ethan, what do you need?”

“How is the cleric?” I ask, cutting through any formalities.

The elven servant stammers nervously and it dawns on me that he feels intimidated.

Wow, I don’t know that I’ve ever intimidated anyone before.

“It’s alright,” I say softly. “If you don’t know it’s fine.”

The servant gulps and steadies himself. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry but I don’t. Would you like me to inquire for you?”

“Yes, please do.”

The servant politely exits and I turn back to my window. Anxiety rushes within me at the thought of the cleric. Some for his well being, but also (if I’m being honest), at the thought of my own problems. Prophecy or no I never could have gotten to the dryad by myself. I needed the team.

And my journey isn’t over. I’ll have to visit other realms and find these other temples. With Myran apparently out of the picture that leaves Cyrus as my only companion. And as much as I like Dauntless I’d rather not have to journey through mountains, deserts, streams, forests and whatever else without more bi-pedal assistance.

Nervously, pick-up my tea, and realize it’s empty. I start toward the pot and remember that’s empty as well.

Sweet.

I sit back down again and wait, feeling suddenly isolated, left out from all the hustle and bustle below me in the square – like I’m some kind of passive observer or even a voyeur into a world that is not my own.

“You are never alone.”

I startle, looking about me and fearing that the demon has returned. It wasn’t her voice though, it sounded more like…

“Angel?”

There’s no response but I feel a bit warmer and the square doesn’t look so far away now. I feel like l’m a part of the things around me again.

“Never alone,” I muse. So often I was obsessed with my own privacy, concerned that my parents were checking my gaming habits or browser history. Now, I’m just worried no one will care to look at either. I’ll just be a walking archetype – the hero that no one actually knows or understands.

My how things change.

There’s a knock at the door.