Rodent passed through narrow halls that fit only a single person, and the frequent turns felt more maze-like than inside someone's home. He followed Beatrice, looking at the walls and seeing symbols carved into the wood.

There was something special about each engraving that made him want to stop and look at them, to follow the swirl with his finger as though hidden magic would flow through his fingertip and he could relive the memory stored within it.

However, he was not given time to stop, ponder, and wonder as Beatrice had finally reached the door at the end of the hall—which, seconds ago, felt endless. Something about the space and its placement didn't make sense.

But Rodent, able to shake his head of such things easily, did so as he advanced forward.

"This… is Isaac's room." Beatrice stood to the side of the frame, with just enough room for her to stand. "I haven't touched it since he left. And it'll be a long time before I ever do."

Rodent stopped before the door and looked at her. "This isn't necessary. I can find another way."

"You won't." Beatrice stared up at him, smiling. "Even with this... you won't make the trip." Her head shook without breaking eye contact. "But I, in good conscience, can't let you leave poorly fitted." She turned to the door. "Isaac had a good soul. He would not want his stuff wasted."

She nodded. "It would make him smile if his stuff helped another—if it helped this village."

Rodent smirked. "I'll make sure it goes to good use."

"Take what you need." Beatrice left, squeezing beside Rodent. "Feel no shame. It's good someone like you showed up." She disappeared into the hall. "Good luck. Please… don't touch what you don't need."

"I promise."

Rodent placed his hand on the door, feeling its dust and how it glued to him, his soul suddenly heavy. In a second, he was transported, becoming a kid again, standing in a dim, vacant hallway where gurneys lined the walls.

He stood before a door that shivered his heart, the frame broad and great and a horrible white, with something terrible on the other side of it.

----------------------------------------

"You don't have to go in there, Rodent."

Rodent stood with a rapidly moving chest and a horrified, panicked expression. He hadn't blinked since told the news—which was why he bolted here. No words or sounds escaped him.

His hand rested on the door, his body horribly numbed as if preparing for great pain. The child was stunned for the first time. Worry, doubt, and fear captured him.

The moment was intense.

Especially for the one usually free and strong.

"This is your first time." Her voice spoke. It was quiet, gentle. Care and concern wept in her tone. "It's okay to feel like this. You can leave. Do anything you need to. You don't have to do this."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Rodent's head shook. He looked at the wheelchair girl with an expression he had never worn before—one that made her tear up.

Rodent tried to speak but couldn't. His lips wobbled and sobs tried to escape. His knees buckled. The boy, weak for the first time, nearly collapsed.

He faced the door again, fighting back his tears, breathing through his mouth—trying to control himself. Something unforgettable was behind the door.

Something that would kill him.

But he had no choice but to pull down on the handle.

And go inside.

Alone.

----------------------------------------

Rodent left the memory, nearly feeling a tear on his cheek, but he repressed the sadness, focusing on the door. Feeling the same numbing he had as a child, he depressed the door's handle, pushing the door open with a brave face.

Don't look away.

Rodent spoke to himself in the way he needed to hear, like how the adults were supposed to, though he had to raise himself in that respect. He battled with the weak feelings inside himself.

Treat this room with the dignity it deserves.

Be strong.

Be strong.

Rodent entered the room with his back straight, feeling the air change—like he was somewhere he didn't belong. His heart felt sliced as the room smelled almost sterile.

And then his breath came out through his mouth. He looked around the room and saw the bed in the corner and the desk against the wall. The room itself was small. There was a pocket to the left where a bed slotted perfectly within it, a closet on either side where the wall resumed, and two kinds of desks to his right.

Bows were on the walls, each held up by nails, with various arrows neatly set side-by-side.

As for the walls themselves, there was barely wood to be seen as scrolls and maps were laid across them, parchment with sketches of creatures of differing quality. As for the maps, some seemed standard, while others were drawn—although with a rough quill—with precision.

On one such map, different-coloured pins were inserted, with different-coloured strings connecting some of the pins. On the study desk were books, tombs, and parchments with scribbled symbols and incomplete text beneath.

On the other desk were things Rodent hadn't seen—tools, it seemed—crafty things with piles on each side of the desk. There was a lot of stale life in this room, and it felt unnatural that things had been left as they were for so long—as though the room was never-ever meant to lose its motion.

Rodent felt something he could not describe in a room where its owner would not return. That never was it intended for him to be in this place—an unmet stranger's personal place. It chewed at him a little as he fully realized the weight being placed upon him.

The responsibility that his words would have him bear.

What struck Rodent more, though, in being in this room, was how familiar it looked. How, even worlds apart, people still had the same things as he—still woke up and did things in their rooms. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to be different in that regard.

But his fantasy stories never recorded that someone woke up in the room much like he, stayed underneath the covers perhaps longer than they should, and then stumbled out of their rooms to have food and drink and whatever else before shambling into the person that would spend the rest of their days in adventures.

But Isaac was different from Rodent in that he actually studied the world around him, worked on and created tools, and practised lost spells and magic while learning of the world's hidden history. Isaac was a man who was uncovering the world.

While Rodent, in his hospital room, drew stick figures that were supposed to be heroes and nights and made stuff up on paper before pinning it to his walls. Still. Something close to the same desire was in the two men. Which made it even odder for him to stand here.

"Isaac," Rodent said with a small smile. "Wish I knew you."

Just then, Rodent noticed something on the study desk.

It was a [Notebook].