I opened my eyes and grimaced.

My head pounded. As if that wasn't enough, every miniature movement sent shocks of pain through my nervous system. It was like going to the dentist to get a caries removed, but instead of a bad tooth, what got drilled was the center of my skull. I grit my teeth and tried not to move too much, just waiting for the pain to recede. Then, slowly, with careful movements, I looked at my surroundings.

An unfamiliar ceiling. Its bare white appearance towered above me. No lamps, ceiling fans, or whatever else a normal room tended to have these days. Instead, the lighting came from an open window on the left, and I could see the clear blue sky.

My fingers ran over the silky cloth below me. I seemed to be laying on a bed. I couldn’t bend my neck to confirm it, but I could feel a pillow under my head. On the right, large paintings hung on a red wall. Epic battles and posing knights were drawn in great detail, something you wouldn’t be surprised to find in a mansion. There were tapestries too, though they couldn’t be seen very well from my peripheral vision.

I closed my eyes and waited, mostly so the pounding in my brain could recede a bit. I had a long queue of questions to ask, all of them on the where, how and why. I began with the first, most simple one.

Where am I?

I remembered the flash of light perfectly. Although I had no idea what it was or what it implied, it definitely had something to do with my current situation. My first thoughts had been aliens, and that they had somehow abducted me, but that was quickly dashed when I looked at this victorian-esque environment. This looked like Earth, alright. Just not anywhere near my place of residence. I moved on.

How did I get here?

Why am I even in this place?

My mind drew a blank here. I might have been drugged up and carried off for extortion, or maybe even to be sold off on the black market. But that wouldn't explain this place, or the flash of light we all saw.

Wait. So this must mean Dean and the others are here, too?

I pulled aside the bedcover and sat up.

I immediately regretted my decision as a wave of nausea hit me in the gut. It was even more intense than when I first woke up, making me double-over. My stomach turned upside down and I felt something travel up my throat. To my horror, I realized I was about to throw up.

Panicked, I took a shaky step. The sudden movement made the feeling even worse. I considered letting it out on the floor at that moment, the beautiful carpet be damned. But then I looked around, and saw a ceramic vase. It was placed on the center of a small table, right next to the bed. A single flower bloomed inside, leaving a large part of the vase empty.

I then proceeded to barf my guts out. The acrid stench of acid filled the room and irritated my nostrils as the contents of my breakfast spewed forth. The table cloth was not spared. There were no survivors, although this was far from a perfect crime.

I leaned forward as the last bits of pizza dribbled from my mouth. My head had finally stopped pounding, though I had no idea how puking could alleviate something so painful.

I wiped the last bits of vomit from my mouth, then plopped back down on the bed. I felt light-headed and my face was most likely bleached. I took a few deep breaths to steady my heartbeat, turning my eyes away from the mess I had made.

The door was wide open.

A woman stood stock-still, her hand rested on the handle. She had jet-black hair curled into a bun, and she wore a black and white maid uniform. Fuck me, I thought, watching as her small lips parted, as if she’d witnessed something that she shouldn’t have.

Without saying a word, or giving me time to explain, she closed the door.

A minute passed.

I sat on the bed, hands against my mouth, aghast and in silent dread of what I had just done.

Then the woman opened the door again, this time a similar-clothed girl in tow.

"Please follow me," Icy Eyes addressed me, bowing briefly. She let the second maid enter the room, a bucket of water and a rag in each hand.

I watched as the girl with the rag passed me in silence. She began to clean my puke-filled work of art. I didn’t know what to say anymore, so I muttered a quick sorry to the poor maid. Then I stood up, and made my way towards Icy Eyes. She just turned around and marched back through the corridor.

Naturally, I followed her. I didn't ask her any questions, of course. Engaging in conversation wasn't in any of our interests. Instead, as we quietly walked on a long crimson carpet and made a few sharp turns, I took the chance to observe the outside scenery from windows and openings on the brick walls.

A wooden pavilion immediately caught my attention. It was surrounded by a flowery garden and well-kept hedges, and housed two figures under its shade. I could see a maid pouring tea in a cup next to a young lady.

Shifting my gaze to the lady, our eyes met. I couldn't see her face because of the sun, but I was sure she was facing me. The girl seemed young, most likely in her teens. She had blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and wore a frilly yellow dress that swayed lightly in the breeze. With elegance she stood up, made a step forward, grasped the ends of her dress, and made a curtsy.

Yes, a curtsy. She turned to face me, crossed her left leg behind her right, an extremely practiced motion, and with a straight back and lowered head, bent her knees down to make something I have seen performed only in movies.

I'm sure, in these kinds of situations, a quick bow or nod of acknowledgement was in order. The young lady displayed beautiful grace, so I had to reply in kind, right? I’m sorry to disappoint you. The moment she grabbed her dress, I was already facing forward like we’ve never met, trying to avoid any more embarrassment.

We kept walking for some time when I saw other people in the hallway. Maids moved trays of food and empty dishes, while butlers sweeped the floor and wiped dust from the balcony windows. All of them sent us curious glances, but quickly averted their gaze as we came near. I just stared at one spot of the carpet, trying not to meet their eyes.

We walked by the first group of servants, then the last. None of them seemed to pay us any mind. I sighed in relief, thinking we’d passed all of them, just as a man with a moustache, who carried a basket with laundry in his hands, stopped in his tracks. He gave us a once-over.

“Is that him?” he said, shifting his weight from one leg to another. He looked like he wanted to fidget with his hands, but he was busy carrying the laundry at the moment.

“Yes,” said the maid, “Audience.”

The man’s expression changed. From curiosity to surprise. His eyes met mine, and this time he gave me a big smile.

“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” he said. 

He put the basket on the carpet, then offered me a hand.

“This one is called Gatsby of Cromwell. Born from a house of servants, raised to serve the royal family. We are glad you are all well and good…” he paused.

“Lewis,” I offered.

“Lewis,” he said, as if it was his first time pronouncing it. “Ah, yes, some of your companions have told us about you. A man of mystery, if I may say. All departments must be dying of curiosity right now. Some have even begun to bet on your affinity," he smiled.

Icy Eyes picked at the top of her apron. Her eyes moved from the corridor, to the man, then back at me.

“In any case, what a surprise and absolute joy it was, to find out the scroll could bring not only one, not two, but six figures of the Guard! Second time in history, if I may say, after Halbert the First-”

“We must go,” Icy Eyes muttered next to me.

“-summoned Alan and Bertha, the Derinvold Duo as they would be called later. And now, six! Surely this will be remembered as a time of legend. A time where heroes-”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Gatsby,” I said.

He stopped talking, looking at me.

“Of Cromwell?” I added. There was a twinkle in his eye as I said it.

“Of course,” he smiled, clasping his hands in front of him, “How can I be of help to you, Lewis?”

“I just woke up,” I said, looking around the hall, “I don’t know where I am, or what I am doing here. You’ve met my friends, so you must know we’re just kids, right? So what’s going on? Is this some kind of prank?”

His eyes opened wide, as if I'd just said something unbelievable. He looked at Icy Eyes, who gave him a brief nod of the head. He looked at me again, and this time he spoke in a quiet tone:

"I am afraid that is something only his Highness can speak with you about," Gatsby said. He was about to add something more, but hesitated.

"... Well I shouldn't be keeping you any longer," he finished, picking up the laundry basket, "It was a pleasure meeting you Lewis. Now if you'll excuse me-" 

Gatsby gave me a hasty nod and continued down the hallway.

I just stared at his back in confusion. I looked at Icy Eyes in the hope of an explanation, but she just bowed and began walking in the opposite direction.

We walked in silence for about five minutes as the questions on my mind kept piling up. I was about to ask where we were heading, when we came close to a wooden double door. Chatter could be heard from the other side.

The servant opened the door when the smell of roasted meat and alcohol hit my nose. My stomach grumbled and my mouth began salivating, reminding me that I haven't eaten anything for a while. As I lamented the lack of substance in my stomach, two familiar faces caught my attention.

Dean and Samuel sat in front of each other, eating something like skewered meat and drinking wine. Dean said something I couldn’t hear and Samuel laughed, slapping the wooden surface of the table. Even though the hall was big, they were the only ones occupying one of the three long tables. They didn't finish talking when Dean noticed me and his eyes widened.

"Lewish!" my friend said with a mouth full of meat. He dropped his skewer and stood up, wiping his hands with an already dirty handkerchief. "You're finally up, man! Honestly, with how you collapsed on the floor, I thought you were a goner."

I made a few steps from the door, then stopped.

“I 'collapsed’ on the floor?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t wake up no matter what we did,” Samuel said. He took a bite of his skewer and chewed, raising a metal goblet to take a sip. His cheeks were visibly flushed.

“You okay, dude?” Dean asked, "You look pale."

I said nothing, looking around the hall.

Cobblestone vaults arched around the ceiling, while huge chandeliers lit up the middle of the room in a warm glow. Heads of beasts and animals hung lifeless on the walls. Some of them I’ve never even seen before.

I looked at Dean, then at Samuel, and noticed they had matching brown pants now. And although Samuel wore his usual jumper, Dean's shirt was replaced by a white tunic.

"Dean, how long was I out?" I asked dead-serious.

"Uh... Three days, maybe?" He rubbed his head with a palm. "I was worried, y’know."

Three days. The longest I had slept in my life was seventeen hours, and that was after putting off sleep so I could marathon all seasons of a TV show. Dean had been here for a long time, which meant...

"Then, do you know where we are? What's happening here?" I looked around the room, "And where are the others?"

"Ah, the girls? They're in the public bath right now. We just started without 'em."

Dean motioned at the table. 

"And about why we're here...” he said, “Man, honestly, even if I told you, you wouldn't take me seriously."

"Explain," I insisted.

It was driving me nuts. I didn't know anything about my location, and from the looks of things, we were pretty far from home. I had just woken up and felt too tired to freak out like a little girl, but I doubted me and Dean were on the same boat. His easygoing attitude was making me anxious.

He was about to open his mouth when Icy Eyes cleared her throat. She headed through an alcove on the right, the other side of which had stairs going up.

"Well, no use telling you now when you're about to find out," Dean grinned, shooing me away from the table.

I watched as he went back to eating without a care in the world. I would get him back for this, no doubt about it. I hadn’t forgotten the last situation he’d dragged me in, and now this. I was pissed, hungry and tired of it all. But I didn’t have a choice.

Icy Eyes had already left, so I reluctantly joined her as we climbed the spiraling staircase. We made our way up the last pair of steps and through a similar alcove, when the atmosphere changed.                                                    

First of all, guards. Men in gear stood at equal intervals, bardiches in hand. They were in every part of the corridor, and I swear I would have written them off as statues if not for the sharp look one of them sent my way. Carved on their shoulder was an emblem of a bear. It stood on its hind legs, mouth wide open and teeth showing.

Then there was the decor. Man-sized portraits of people I've never seen showered the walls. Golden statues of important personages stood on pedestals near the entrances. A delicate fragrance wafted around, most likely from the strange blue flowers we'd just passed. It took no more than a minute to get to the last set of double doors before the maid stopped, and I found myself holding my breath.

Stolen story; please report.

Icy Eyes knocked lightly, and one of the doors opened. She turned to face me, bowed, and went in, probably to inform someone of my arrival.

I tried to calm my nerves, shifting in place as I waited for the maid to return. Not even five minutes had passed when the doors opened again, but this time a guard gestured for me to move. I tried not to pay attention to his uncomfortable gaze, and walked on the carpet I had now grown accustomed to.

The hall was enormous. Stone pillars rose from both sides of the red cover, and an armed knight had their back on each one, vigilant of my every movement. They were better armed than the guards at the door, steel plates and longswords instead of the regular chain and mail. When I passed them by, they raised their long swords in a salute, giving me a jump.

As I reached the middle of the hall, I could see a throne at the end. Sitting on this combination of ornate wood and gold was a man in the autumn of his life. He smoothed his graying beard with his hand as a pair of droopy eyes sized me up.

When I reached the end of the carpet, the man on the throne spoke—

"Might you be Lewis?" he said. His booming voice reverberated around the room.

I nodded. It was something I had learned early in life. Nodding required no amount of talking, handshaking, shoulder bumping or eye contact. It was the perfect weapon for these kinds of situations.

The man gave a nod of his own. 

"Good,” he said, “Then let's get something out of the way.”

He stood up.

“You are not on Earth—as you call it—anymore. Right now you are on Argoth, in the kingdom of Sinua. I am Ganelezian Marinel Ortonoff, its rightful ruler. You may call me Ortonoff." 

He then pointed at an elderly man on his right.

“Grand magician Aldron.” 

Then to his left, where a woman in plate armor stood.

“Sword mistress Arna Nefis. Please treat them well.”

He sat back down again, his eyes never leaving me for a second.

I gaped.

Okay.

So…

What the fuck just happened?

I didn’t know what to think. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Behind the stupid face I was no doubt showing, my mind raced with questions. His first statement rang especially loud. This was not Earth. This was Argoth, a place where kings, some kind of wizard people and sword people lived. It felt unreal. Like I was thrown into a scene pulled straight out of a fantasy book. I called bullshit.

Is this a prank? I thought, Some kind of social experiment? Another joke of Dean’s? But who the fuck has the budget for something like that? I haven’t heard of anything like this. Doesn’t matter. For now, think. There might be a hidden camera somewhere.

My eyes scanned through the hall, looking, searching for anything that would raise suspicion. I glanced at the “king”, then at the throne, then at their apparel. I did see a lot of jewelry on them, but not anything that would seem like a recording device. I soon gave up, as continuing to do so would make me look suspicious. Instead, I figured out an easier way to find out 

I looked at the man on the right. Robed in blue, he had strands of gray hair only on the side of his head, leaving the top bald. He held his hands behind his back and gazed with an interested look on his face. In what part of me he was interested in, I wasn't sure.

The king, too, faced the ‘Grand magician’. He seemed to have guessed what I had in mind.

“Aldron,” he said.

Aldron bowed, left the king’s side and stopped just a meter from me. He rolled up his sleeve with one hand, revealing a skinny wrist that had even more wrinkles than was normal for his age.

“Watch closely,” he said as his forehead creased in concentration, “I am only going to do this once.”

He then pointed a finger at the ceiling.

“Flame,” he said. 

His finger was set ablaze.

I jumped. One hand went up to protect my face, and I took a step back on instinct. I braced myself, waiting for an impact that never came. Instead, the logical part of my brain caught up and I realized what had just happened. I looked up.

Magic.

The flames on his finger wriggled vehemently, yet Aldron remained stoic. He even moved his hand closer so I could have a better look. The finger was definitely on fire, but the skin wasn’t getting scorched. The bald man didn’t seem to be in any pain, either.

I stared in dumb fascination as he made the flame into a ball, no bigger than the size of his fist. He moved the ball from one hand to the other, then tossed it in the air. I expected gravity to make it come back down, but the ball of flame just hung in the air.

I looked at Aldron, who had a slight smile on his face. That was a gotcha, it seemed.

“I hope this is enough evidence,” Ortonoff said.

He gestured at Aldron, who then waved his hand in a dismissal. The flame winked out, and he returned to his post.

“Your companions had a more amusing reaction,” Aldron murmured, a wry smile on his face as he took the king's right.

An image of Dean freaking out while throwing his arms around crossed my mind. I shrugged. Shouting and screaming when the unexpected happened was just asking to be embarrassed. And I was too exhausted to think straight at the moment. Instead, I felt like now was a good time to ask:

"Why am I here?"

"Ah…" Ortonoff said, "We still haven't talked about that.”

The king paused for a moment, thinking.

"Lewis, what do you know about heroes?”

My fingers twitched. I had no idea why he’d asked me that, but I knew that look. He was evaluating me.

"Is there a wrong answer to this question?" I asked, trying to play it safe. I didn't know what privileges a so-called king had in this world, but no doubt bad things could happen if he didn't like my answer.

The king belted out a laugh.

"Gods, no!” he said, “There is no right or wrong answer, my lad. I simply desire to hear your thoughts on this matter." 

He leaned on his palm and stroked his beard, clearly enjoying this.

I sighed.

Should I lie?

I thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. 

Heroism.

I almost knew what I had to say.

Phrases that would get me on his good side. To show obedience, trust, respect.

But then I felt a tightness in my throat. A slight discomfort at first, progressively getting worse, as if a thorn had been lodged inside it, and the only thing able to get it out was to speak my mind. I wanted to cough, shout, do anything else but open my mouth and say the words. The thorn didn’t care, making it unbearable to do or think about anything else.

And so I spoke.

"There was this girl at my school," I said, my voice echoing through the hall.

“Everyone knew she had breathing problems. We were told by her parents, the teachers, even the school director about her asthma. So we had to keep the air clean. Notify them immediately if something happened.”

I shaked my head, watching as the words spilled out on their own.

“Of course, we were kids back then, so we didn’t listen. And she was a strange girl, who wasn’t really sociable. It made her easy to poke fun at.”

I looked at Ortonoff, who was paying close attention.

“So we made fun of her, stole her inhalers,” I gave him a self-deprecating smile, “It wasn’t all of us, of course. Some of the girls stood up for her, and the teachers made sure we behaved where they could. But it was a matter of time until someone crossed the line.”

He didn’t give me any reaction, so I went on.

“Her parents filed a complaint against our class. That stopped us for a short while, I guess. Made us wind down our teasing. But not even a month had passed, when we returned to our antics, and she had her first asthma attack.”

The smile slipped from my face, the memory making me sick to my stomach.

“The girl was called Emma Heterson,” I said, my voice hollow, “She died in a hospital a few hours later.”

I looked at the king again, his face bearing the same expression since the start.

He said nothing.

“You might be asking where I’m going with this,” I said, mulling over my words, “When Emma looked for her inhaler, gasping for air, we all laughed at her. And when that didn’t stop, we watched in shock as she cried and choked on the floor in front of our eyes.”

My eyes began to water.

“The teacher came to help eventually. Not that it made any difference...” I dug my fingernails into my palms, ”So can you tell me that heroes exist? Even when a child lost her life, all because some little shit wanted to have a laugh?”

The pressure on my throat lessened, the emotions fading away.

“Why am I even telling you this,” I scoffed, rubbing the back of my neck. It was already drenched in sweat. “This is embarrassing.”

“Your story is tragic, little one,” The king finally spoke, “I am saddened to hear that your world would house such injustice.”

He took a pause, trying to find the right words. “When I spoke with your companions, the impression of your home that I formed seemed a lot more… peaceful.”

“It is more peaceful,” I said, starting to feel heavy on my feet, “That is, if you’re in the right place at the right time. We are blissfully ignorant of the problems around us.”

Ortonoff seemed to take that in.

"Even so, to have lived as long as I have, this is the first time someone has so outwardly denied the notion of heroism," he said, stroking his beard again. Now that I was closer, I could see it was trimmed neatly at the sides. It made him look even more regal.

"While I must disagree with your opinion, I can empathise,” the king said, a little bit of smile returning to his face, “I have spoken with many 'heroes' and every single one of them demanded something in return. None offered to put themselves in danger, without the notion of reward or glory."

I nod my head in approval, waiting for the topic to move on already.

“However, those who do not fit the mold of a 'hero' at first glance, are those who sacrifice the most in the time of need,” Ortonoff said, “It is the poor farmer, who shares his crops with the starving village. The wounded soldier who chooses to fight and die for his kingdom, instead of running for his life. It would be a heavy insult to undermine their deeds as something other than valiant.”

His droopy eyes searched my face, waiting for a response. When it became clear that I would just give him a blank stare, he continued.

“I have heard your reply, Lewis, and I think it is time for me to answer your long-awaited questions,” he said, giving me a chance to finally relax, “However, that would require you to hear me out first.”

Oh, here we go again…

I gave him a reluctant nod of the head.                            

"We are in dire straits, my lad,” Ortonoff said, his gaze shifting to Aldron at his side, “Our golden age has passed, and our power is not how it used to be. It is a matter of time until we are unable to oppose the other kingdoms." 

"There are others?" I asked, happy for the change of subject.

The king nodded.

“We are not the only ones trying to survive the evils of this world,” he said, “Nefel, Lordov, the Goldfaw Republic, all of us forced to fight between ourselves for the smallest piece of bone we find."

He furrowed his brows, then sighed in disappointment.

"Aldron knows this is a delicate subject for me, so I'll stop here for now..."

Ortonoff glanced at the red-haired woman on his left. She seemed to be the youngest of the knights. In her gauntlets she gripped the pommel of a thin sword, the sharp side of which had been chipped.

As if remembering something bad, the king’s lips pursed into a thin line.

"I made a difficult gamble, my boy, and I still have yet to see if it was worth it," Ortonoff looked at me again. His face seemed aged with pain and worry, "I sent my best men to their deaths. A thousand brave warriors, with families waiting for them at home."

His forehead wrinkled even more.

"Only a small number survived. They had brought with them a scroll from the ruins."

Ortonoff looked me in the eyes.

"It was a scroll of summoning magic."

Suddenly, it all made sense. His gamble. A summoning scroll. The pieces started to fall into place, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

"Then..." I said.

Ortonoff nodded.

"You and your friends came out." 

My heart sank into my chest. 

"I know it is a lot to take in. Especially when you have just woken up. But fear not, you are not as powerless as you think. You have potential."

My brows furrowed. Was this guy for real?

"Potential?” I said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I have that. I don’t know how to fight. I've never held a sword. Our world doesn't have magic. Forget saving the kingdom, leave me in a forest and I'll starve in two days."

"That may have been the case before. But here, you are powerful. And the people need your help."

"People…" I said, "What about the scroll? Can it summon other people?"

The king gave me a wry smile.

"It was a single use magic item,” he said, “It burned to cinders the moment we performed the ritual."

"Then… Did you try making copies?"

Dread started to creep within me.

"We took three months just for that. No matter how similar the scrolls looked from the original, they just flared up without any results."

"Can we go back home?" I asked, knowing the answer.

Ortonoff looked down at the marble floor.

"I apologise," he only said. 

My stomach dropped. I couldn’t go back. I was stuck here forever. No television, computers or smartphones. No internet.

If I had food left in my system, it would have been on the carpet right now. That's how queasy I felt at the moment. My head swayed, my knees were unsteady. It was exhausting to stay still. I just wanted to lay down, sleep, and wake up at home.

"You must be feeling tired," Ortonoff said after I kept silent, "We have talked enough. You can take your rest in the bed chambers. It is past lunchtime, so a servant can get food for you." 

He motioned at the doors, and they spread open.

"Do not be reserved if you are in need of something. It is the least I can do for bringing you here."

I didn't have the strength to reply. I just slowly, with wobbly movements, walked past the knights and made my way out. 

The doors shut behind me, and I found myself looking at Icy Eyes. She did her usual bow, and we headed down the spiraling stairs.

The dining hall was empty. Dean and Samuel hadn’t waited for me, and I was glad. I wasn’t in the mood for talking, or any type of social activity that involved using the brain at the moment.

But who am I to decide, right?

Icy Eyes had stopped, her sharp blue eyes pointed in my direction. She obviously wanted something, but otherwise stayed silent.

"What?" I was starting to get irritated.

"Horned wolf or venison?"

"...Horned wolf?" I questioned, wondering if I'd heard right.

The servant didn't say another word. She went through one of the doors, and came back with a circle plate in her hands. Slabs of grilled meat and strips of cheese surrounded a blunt horn in the middle. Horned wolf...

The food was cold and it didn't give off the saliva-inducing smell that Dean's skewers had. It was still enough to remind me that I hadn't eaten anything in three days. 

Paying no heed to my stomach's desperate pleas, we made our way through the corridor. We passed a now vacant garden and stopped after reaching a mahogany golden-handled door. My room.

The servant placed the plate with food on a table near the door. She bowed and turned around, leaving me to my own devices.

I waited until she made a few steps from the door, then picked up the plate. I didn't wait for her to get out of sight. I entered my room, closed the door behind me, and sat myself on a wooden chair. I was famished and couldn't wait any longer.

The taste of grilled meat, cooked and seasoned to perfection, spread through my mouth. I could honestly say that I haven’t eaten anything like this in my life. It was tender to chew, tasted like a mix of chicken with bacon, and made me look at this fantasy world in a new light.

Yes, they had no television, but there was magic. Sure, there was no internet, but what about this magnificent cooking? Maybe it wasn't as bad as I had made it out to be.

A light breeze tickled the nape of my neck, and I turned to look at the opened window.

The palace seemed to be built on a hill, because the whole kingdom could be seen from up here. Large mansions surrounded the palace, which might have housed the nobles, if there was a caste system. They were enormous in size, but otherwise did not obscure the view.

Down the hill the ground seemed to level and the city spread for as far as I could see. Houses made of wood and bricks were separated by cobblestone roads. Carriages and caravans made their way left and right on the streets. Some parts were full of people, hawking their merchandise on colorful stalls; others had inns and shops with weird-looking signs above the entrances. I could barely make out the walls at the end of the kingdom, even though they might have been at least fifty meters high.

I finished my meal, then sank on the silky bed, a drowsy look on my face. Argoth. A world where kings, Grand Magicians, and sword mistresses lived. A world of fantasy and magic. When Ortonoff said I had potential, was it in magic, I wonder? I extended my arm, a finger pointed at the ceiling.

"Flame." 

My finger didn't catch fire. Nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. And I was glad. Roasting myself wasn’t on my schedule today.

“Fire.”

No, I guess saying it differently wouldn’t change a thing… So people learn this stuff? Maybe Aldron could teach me how it's done.

I moved to my side.

The small table was clean now, I noticed. The vase full of vomit was nowhere to be seen. There was a vase, but it was more oblong and was painted blue. A purple flower bloomed inside it, leaving a large part of the container empty.

The same flower, I smiled.

The flower cared not how its vase looked like. It only needed water and sunlight, and it would grow. There was a beauty in that. In a way, flowers were surprisingly tough.

I closed my eyes.

I had to continue living. No matter what happened next. I would learn magic, earn money, open up a small shop in some rural area, and live life quietly. I could play along with the king for now. When I get the chance, I would just inconspicuously fade away from all this hero stuff.

Forget Dean, Samuel, Ortonoff, the people. I don’t need them. I am a flower.

Before I noticed, I had passed out.