SAVE POINT 83

Loading a Heck of A Heart Attack...120%

[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1102021402707628096/1128506075218456606/Guard_2.png][https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1102021402707628096/1128506075746947082/Choice_2.png]

Rosabella

I dig my nails into the flesh of my palms, fisting my hands so tight and, yet, trying to keep my face calm.

So they can't see.

So the two elders deciding the live-or-die fate of Joy can't tell how much I'm truly sweating their next words.

I've done the song and dance. I've been leaping around this maypole for over an hour explaining the light in the pink-haired girl. How she's a Game Warden. How she fights for everything she loves. How she shouldn't be killed for something that's not in her...anymore. There's no darkness in her, but there's fear gathering in these people's eyes—gloss and dangerous and engulfing. ...Fear. Uncertainty. Terror.

And, like me trying to gloss over mine, they do the same.

The two elders are dressed in long, flowing robes. Quietly, they tuck their hands beneath the fabric folds as their eyes shift, whispering without words—exchanging that same shine in their eyes.

Fear.

How can I shake them out of it? How can I make them decide Joy isn't a threat? So we can both go home?

"We'd leave you be," I insist, trying one last time as my desperate voice scrapes up my sore throat—again—"We'd both leave this town. We're not going to stay here. Please. Help me spare an innocent's life." My words shutter at the end—pitch.

I feel dizzy. Is it this sun beating down on my neck? Or the limited root powder supplements? I've been trying to cut down on the dosage. And I've been standing here, shifting from foot to foot, on this sandy ground out in the heat for over an hour. I stand with two elders between a cluster of thatched-roof houses. And, neither elder, it seems—the man or the woman—has made up their mind in my direction.

"We shall see when the voting starts. Perhaps we will change our minds—"

"The voting starts in five minutes," I protest weakly, watching the elder's eyes narrow.

Trust me, I'm well aware that I sound like I'm begging at this point. Actually, I don't sound like I'm begging—I am begging. But the truth is that I don't know what else to do. I don't know how to make this better in five minutes.

I didn't sleep last night with worry.

I can't let Joy die—

"Come on," the elder woman with the short hair grabs me, almost kindly, by the arm, "As you noted, voting will commence soon. We only have a few minutes. We must hurry."

Hurry?

I can barely lift my feet—or my head.

Because the sinking feeling controlling my stomach keeps telling me the same thing: I've lost this fight. I've lost Joy's life. The elder's AREN'T convinced. It'll be a vote of 2 to 1 and Joy will...die.

Joy will die.

I swallow, feeling exhaustion crumpling my knees. Tears sting in my eyes, but I won't let them see. I shrug off the elder's hold and turn away. I take a breath, and I lift my head—lift my chin. I don't know where I'll get the strength from, but I'll get it. I have to face Joy and whatever the elders' decision is firmly. I have to do this. Out of respect for Joy. She'll be facing it like a warrior; I have to too.

I grit my teeth together. And I compile every bit of courage in me to walk towards the prison and the Questioning Room even as my shoulders and everything in me falls.

I've failed them.

I've failed Joy.

I've failed all the dragons they're holding here.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I've failed that little girl...but, worst of all, I've failed myself.

Why was the trying so hard? Why has it pushed me to this limit? And do I have the strength to watch Joy die? I bite my lip. Because I can't answer the first two, and I won't answer the last.

Loading 7 Minutes Later...

I was wrong. I can't face this. I'm not strong enough.

My limbs feel like jelly even frozen while I watch the scene before me play out. It feels like a nightmare I can't stop. Like, even if I threw myself kicking and screaming against every guard in the room, they'd easily pin me down and cart me out. And I'd fail...again.

Fuck this. I can't watch her die!—I think, blinking through tears that make the blue carpet under my feet blurry.

But it looks like I'm going to have to.

Joy kneels three feet away—three fucking feet away and I can't help her. Her hands and feet are bound, and her eyes leer up under layers of parted, pink hair as she waits for her sentence. The enormous blade of the guard's sword bobs just over her head—ready, in his outstretched fist. The girl's eyes keep darting to it. I wish I didn't notice, but I do.

"Elder Bradshaw, how do you vote, fail or pass?" roars the guard at the front.

I watch the weedy man with the long beard sway on his feet. His gaze darts to the carpet before he addresses the room. "Pass," he whispers.

His words send a whisper of relief flooding through me, but he was the guaranteed one; the bearded man had promised me that he'd vote in Joy's favor. It's the other two that have my heart pounding in my chest—

"1 pass, 2 undetermined," drawls the guard, pulling his dark hood further over his face, "Elder Nafta, how do you vote, pass or fail?"

He's asked the woman first, luckily. She's the most likely to side with me. I watch the brown orbs of her eyes fly over the room to connect with mine, but her lips tighten—

No—

"Fail," she declares.

Fail...

Death for Joy, no—

I try to swallow, but there is literally no liquid left in my throat. I send a pleading gaze at Joy, but her eyes are already steel like she's accepted her fate. Her face is granite-hard and her jaw, tensed. No. This is my fault—it's my fault she's there—

"1 pass, 1 fail, one undetermined. Elder Jacob, your vote?"

I've vaguely aware of the guard's last question. His voice sounds faded and far away. I gasp for air, my vision locking on the last elder's face.

"Fail," the man states.

"NO!" The scream wrenches out of my lips as I hurl myself forward.

At Joy.

Past the barriers.

Past the guards' grabbing hands.

Fingers lock down on me like iron clamps. One of them grabs my hair, yanking backwards. I howl out in pain and desperation.

No! No—Joy—

But the pink-haired girl just lowers her head. I'm close enough to hear her whisper, "For The Game." As her hair slips over her face.

"No! No! No!" I kick at the guards. It's no good. They slam me up against the wall, my cheek hitting painted drywall...their hands already tying mine behind my back.

"No..." And, just like that, the anger turns to tears.

Rushing.

Swarming.

I sob, letting all the fight leak out of me. The waterfall down my cheeks blurs the room like it's trying to protect me from seeing what's going to happen. But I already know what's going to happen and I can't stamp the image of it out of my mind no matter what I do.

Grand Dragon, I sob, Grand Dragon, I couldn't stop it. Why couldn't I stop it? Can YOU stop it? Joy shouldn't have to die! She shouldn't have to—

But, even through my tears, I see the blade coming up over her thin neck.

Her thin, white neck.

Grand dragon, do something! Do anything! Please!

I watch Joy close her eyes.

I take in a shaking breath as the guard's gloved hands tighten on the handle—

"Wait!"

A man's cry.

Every eye in the room whips around, towards the doorway, to see a figure standing there—a scrappy boy around my age in a guard's uniform who's nearly breathless. "It's fixed! The Game code is fixed!" His freckled face is red from exertion like he's ran here.

A murmur runs through the room.

And all stares land on the guard with the sword again. With a swish, he sheathes it at his leather belt, "Thank you, Marvious." He turns towards the group, "We will let The Game determine this girl's fate! We cut out the darkness!"

"We cut out the darkness!" the room echoes.

The guard brings his hands up to punch numbers into the air when the boy at the door speaks again, "Err, sir, the people would like the Level 10 to conduct The Questioning. They'd like to bestow the honor in thanksgiving for him fixing it." He bows low.

And my insides churn—another curve ball?

"Of course," the guard says, returning the bow, "Please bring in the Level 10."

And a thin figure in an engulfing, green robe steps staunchly through the doorway. Two white, bony hands throw back the hood.

And my jaw drops. It's—

Dormouse grins back at me.