SAVE POINT 102

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Rosabella

I step through the grand doors to the throne room and... Well, it feels weird when you walk into a room and instantly know everyone's talking about you. Because the conversations fizzle out and eyes dart to your face, lowering almost instantly when you look up to meet them. And it's a strange feeling. Like I can almost view the scene from up above, watching several steps out of my body and seeing the shifting throng crowded below, around columns on the marble floor...or, maybe, that doing so would be more comfortable. ...Then feeling the heavy awkwardness in the air.

"Thank you," a woman server nods at me, whispering fervently from the front of the group, "I think you've saved us all."

"The darkness can spread no more, whatever anyone says," a bearded palace worker insists from next to her.

And I nod back at both of them curtly as I move past their faces, which instantly blur with the rest, as I step towards the raised plateau which keeps me two steps higher than the crowd below. I can't speak with any of them directly. I can't take the time right now.

Because I have a whole room to address.

And, honestly, I barely feel like I have enough breath to do that. How do you tell a bunch of people that you really hope you're right about something? That you made the best decision you could with the best intent for them all? ...When you know they all might not believe it, even if it is true?

I itch at the collar of my shirt for something to do. I'd kept my look classic and simple today; Mimi said it would help with the backlash. A white, collared shirt stretches down, it's papery cuffs trailing almost a little too long over my wrists. At least the black leggings are comfortable and familiar. Paired together, I kinda match in with The Higher Place staff in their black-and-white uniforms. I open my mouth to speak when—

"She obviously has a disregard for our traditions," a stout, dark-haired man with a flat nose mumbles under his breath.

And it's like he pressed a button with his words. Something pink and fast darts forward from at my shoulder—Joy? I'd barely noticed I had a body guard tail, though Mimi stands alert on my other side. The pink-haired warrior grabs the grumbling man by the front of his shirt, yanking him off his feet and into her snarling teeth.

"Why don't you go ahead and repeat that to her face," she growls, her eyes flashing fireballs.

I hold up an urgent hand. "It's okay, Joy," I counter, watching as the girl, reluctantly, sets the man back on his feet. "It's okay," I state louder, angling my body to address the wide crowd blinking at me in the massive room. My words echo around us, bouncing off the high ceilings and decorative molding. "I understand that some of you here agree with what I've done—the creator magic increase. And I, also, understand that some of you don't. It's okay that we may not all see eye-to-eye on this. Darkness was eating our world apart; it was eating me apart. I nearly died. We needed a solution that would help us fix the root of the problem, and we found one—"

"Are you still going to be our ruler?" A woman's sharp, high-pitched voice pipes from the back of the crowd. I see a blonde head jumping to be noticed in the crowd.

"What about if there's an attack? How will you defend The Game and all of us if the person attacking will have just as much creator magic?" another yells.

I swallow. Mimi and Sparo had prepped me for the questions but...well, everything's harder to face when you're staring down the barrel of it. I just need to focus—why is public speaking like staring face-to-face with a lion?

I clear my throat. "I will remain here at The Higher Place in the Game Maker position to do my best to guide us forward and through all of this, yes," I tell the first objector, "As for what will happen if we're attacked. I will always do my best to move us through any and all obstacles and keep you safe—"

"Who gave you the authority to make this decision for all of us?" a deep voice blurts.

And that one hurts.

Stings.

In my core.

Like a human-sized bee has plunged its stinger right into my stomach.

Or a knife.

Oh, God. Maybe it would be better if I was punctured so the guilt could all wash out of me—spill out over my legs and the carpet runner to this throne. ...So that I didn't have to ball it all up inside—try to hide it.

Because the truth is that I don't know what gave me the authority—the right. I'm still not sure who gave me the title 'Game Maker'—why it's me that's the one making these big decisions. Why me? A screwed-up girl from New York? Just because my parents were a nobler version of my bloodline before me... All I know is that someone had to decide. And I feel I made the right call to give out creator magic—even though this is hard and the whole world feels cloudy...I know this it's as right of a choice as I could have made. I open my mouth to respond when Mimi sticks an adamant arm over my chest.

"You don't need to answer that," her wide eyes are insistent over her thin, freckled nose.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

And all the air goes out of me like a deflated balloon.

Joy steps forward, blocking the angry man who'd asked the last question from view. The pink-haired girl's eyes dart to Mimi's. "She's said her piece. Get her out of here before they start throwing more than offhanded insults," she growls. I might be mistaken, but I swear that I see both fear and concern flash through her gaze. The emotions look foreign imbedded there in her taut cheekbones and worried eyes.

"Done," Mimi agrees swiftly, grabbing my arm and whipping me around towards the exit door.

And I let her tug me through the doorway but—

Well, I lose patience with the whole 'being ordered around' thing directly after. I throw off her iron fingers.

"Hey! Don't I get a say in any of this?" I protest. Should I have stayed and answered their questions? They are my people, after all. Maybe I should have just been open and honest—

"They will chew you up and spit you out like overcooked oatmeal," Joy snarls, "We're protecting you."

My stomach clenches at the girl's words.

Not again.

Not someone trying to protect me again.

Not like Goran.

This is different right? This is so different. ...So, why does it feel...the same?

My head reels. I gulp for air, but there's none to be had. Overwhelming—that's the feeling. Powerlessness—another emotion that's there.

Shit. What am I doing? What have I willingly gotten myself into? I was just trying to help—again! Why do I feel like I'm only going around in meaningless circles?!

"The nerd crowds in the west have stopped fighting each other and the Gamers," Maude's voice, clipped and business-like, interjects as she steps forward with a clipboard that doesn't look like it belongs in her manicure-figured grasp. Distractedly, she pins a blonde curl behind one ear, "Your tactic worked, Rosabella—"

"Of course it worked," Joy snaps, cutting the other girl off, "The question isn't if it worked. The question is if it's going to keep working—"

"I think I need some air," I whisper. It feels like the maroon and gold hallway walls are closing in on me—like they want something from me too.

Where's Sparo? Where are arms to snuggle into? Safe? Where is that illusive feeling of safety that it seems I can never give myself? Where is it?

The groups' faces fall and harden as I push through them—by them and down the hall.

I grab for a doorknob on the right, glad to finally only have one door between me and fresh air. The breeze lifts the strands of loose hair around my face up, but not even it can budge my heavy heart. Still, I gasp to hold the fresh, salty scent in my lungs. And I shut the door behind me like the last set of armor I have—one wall I can put between me and all that's been going on. ...Just so I can think...

Miles of ocean sparkle beyond the balcony railing, the sun glinting off ocean waves so serene and a sky so blue that, if I didn't know better, I'd assume both were fabricated like a desktop background screen. From somewhere above, a gull cries, and the air is salty and glorious as it fills my nose...and I can't decided if it's a wonderful thing or an unfair one—that there exists a place in this world that's this peaceful. Why can't my mind be so peaceful So...unburdened? Instead, I just stand here in the midst of a place most would consider Heaven eating myself apart. I grasp the balcony railing with both hands, feeling it's cold smoothness and leaning into it and the wind.

This is crazy; this has all been insane. I gave this whole world creator magic. I did something that Rainer wanted a long time ago; everyone can create now. They can create without causing darkness.

But there's a price. I've accidently made myself irrelevant. What is a Game Maker if everyone can create? Who am I to lead people who all have the same power now? What's so special about me anymore?

I sigh—letting the noise grate out of me.

...Maybe I did all this so I wouldn't be special. Maybe I did do it selfishly. ...So I can live and...and just be normal but...

"Grand Dragon, what do they want from me?" I ask out loud, hoping the beast can hear me even in the crowded mess that is my current mind space.

> Get down, child.

I hear the familiar, resounding voice echo in my mind but...it can't possibly mean that—

"I am already down," I huff, throwing my hands to my sides and feeling them hit my thighs heavily, "I'm trying to feel better—"

> DUCK!

The voice roars.

And, call it self-preservation or common sense, I do.

I dive to the wood deck. My hands scrape against the floor like my cheek—what?!

BOOM!

An explosion.

Overhead.

My ears ring.

My heart beats.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud—Is someone trying to kill me? A disgruntled Gamer? A nerd from one of the throngs?

I drag myself forward, peering through the balcony slats and blinking into the sun rays blinding me from their reflections on the waves—

BOOM!

Another blast; another explosion.

Rock falls—chunks of the building above me. I hear a guard's whistle blow—one of ours. Shit! I press my stomach closer to the balcony floor.

There, I finally see as the smoke clears. I finally see a group that's gathered below me on the sandy shore—a horde? They have tanks and weapons? A rag-tag army of nerds and Gamers alike? ...And it's headed by a blonde girl—a young girl with wispy, white-blonde hair. ...Who holds a megaphone to her lips.

"Come out, come out wherever you are!" she screeches into the mouthpiece, static mixing with her cry.

And there's only one thing to do.

I get to my knees slowly, my arms raised on either side of my head as my shoes scuff over the chunks of rubble and stone dotting the balcony floor.

I'm not going to let them destroy the place my parents once lived in. I'm not going to let them destroy this palace for the Game Maker on my watch—not because of me. Not another thing ruined because of me. I won't stand for it.

"Hey!" I cry, "I'm right here. If this is about the creator magic—"

"Who the heck are you?" the girl's voice squawks into the megaphone, sounding disgruntled and distracted, as her thin lips tug into a frown, "I want my sister released, and I want it now, you understand?"

I blink at her, confused.

Stunned.

Even more confused.

Her sister???