Rodent stood in that room and found that he could not think or move or do anything of the sort as there was an intense pain in his heart that was failing to go away. There was suddenly a need for tears in the corners of his eyes as he did not know the reason why.

His hand raised to lay upon his chest, feeling the slices at his heart each and every time it beat, leaving him to wince at the internal wounding inflicted upon him. Then his head dropped away as his vision started to become fuzzy. At once, his breath was taken from him, and there was a vortex in his mind that drew him back to the past.

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“I… w-want you… t-to… h-have… this…”

Rodent sat on a chair too tall for him as his short legs swung in the air. The poor boy was unable to keep still even during a time like this—when his friend lay back in his hospital bed, hooked and plugged into various machines. Rodent didn't know what they did and continuously never wanted to know.

It never made a difference, after all.

But Rodent looked over when his friend weakly raised and brought a book over the guards of his bed, causing him to blink as he reached for the book—not wanting his friend to strain himself. It wasn't often that Rodent looked worried. This, however, was one of those instances.

"You know I'm bad with reading." Rodent took the book, sitting back. "Someone else would do better with this." He turned it in his hand; it wasn't like any book he'd seen. "What is it anyway?"

The boy in the bed laid back down.

He was bald.

But once was blond. "It's… my notebook."

"Notebook?" Rodent cocked his head. "Is that where you write about yourself?"

The boy weakly smiled, nodding. Occasional beeps came from the machines around him. There was a soundless T.V. posted in the upper-right corner of the room. "Yourself. And. The world around you."

Rodent looked at the notebook dumbly. "Why give it to me?"

"Because… that notebook… is me."

Rodent blinked and looked at the boy.

“It’s… the… real… me…” Tears welled in the boy's eyes. “…who… n-nobody… sees…”

Rodent listened.

“I… don’t have… m-much… l-l-longer—“

"NO!" Rodent called as he hopped up on his seat. "DON'T SAY STUFF LIKE THAT! YOU'LL... be okay. This is just a rough spot!" He fell onto his chair, pumping an arm. "Everyone goes through rough spots. You'll pull through! Pull through… a-and go outside again." He nodded vigorously. "We'll explore the forest behind the hospital—sneak out to the city and see how normal people live! It'll be awesome!"

The boy only smiled.

"Then, during that, we'll step through a portal and get transported to another world, where we'll be heroes with magic and swords and all that stuff!" Rodent finished nodding as he sat back. "You just need to hold on a little until then! Besides… I said that I was the one who was going to die first! You can't take that away from me!"

The boy only nodded.

"Do me… a-a favour… then…" the boy struggled. “W-When I’m… n-no l-longer h-here… p-promise me… t-that you will… r-read that book…”

Rodent squeezed his eyes tight and started to cry, coming to the edge of his chair to put his hand over the hospital bed, coming to hold hands with his friend. He cried and cried and sobbed and could not find a way to make the sadness stop.

"I-I promise, Rocket."

Rocket, holding Rodent's hand, was nodding.

"Carlos, Rodent." The boy kept nodding. "Please don't forget my name is Carlos."

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When Rodent snapped back to the present, he was already standing before the desk, holding a notebook before his face. It took him a moment to realize he was in another world and room. The book in his hand was heavier than it looked.

Cracking the clasp on the front, the strap fell away, and Rodent flipped through the pages.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

At once, his power activated, and the foreign letters became English inside his mind, allowing him to skim what was there as he went along. He saw many sketches of places, people, creatures, and things. The earlier entries were avoided with respect to privacy.

Rodent came to the latter ones.

1479 Sicith 995

I don't know if I have made a hero or a fool out of myself, but regardless of which one will become of me, I am resigned to doing my best. Steinith still rules over Dumi; even if he did not, the lands around us are too harsh for people to live out here.

Deskar approaches, and it will only be warded off by life for so long.

The Main Land, Fal'qu Kingdom, does little about the fact for reasons I cannot gather.

I doubt Steinith, sent by Fal'qu, is on official Kingdom business. He serves something or someone else. I can't determine their purpose—only to get to the root of Deskar. He will find nothing but how Deskar moves. Few believe in Brar anymore. Much less the Sword.

Steinith spoke about knowing the Sword. It's true that most who venture after it are never to return. Few have made it to Kularlro Forest. Fewer have returned to speak of it. It's unknown if any have made it further than that—if any have reached the Sword itself.

But I am convinced that the Sword is the cause for this Deskar.

But why? How?

Deskar is naturally occurring.

No matter what, it will appear, though its extent varies.

Through recorded time, it has never reached the levels that it has now… except during the Dark Time before the Ancient Hero.

Many are unable to believe such a case.

That we are heading toward our own Dark Time.

That, much like the legend, another Hero is supposed to arise.

It's a fairy tale. A story. Something that's not supposed to actually happen in real life.

But what other conclusion are we supposed to draw from this?

Everyone can feel the great amount of Deskar in the south, in the Kunan Region, even though it isn't as wild, as roaming as it is in the north. Why is this? If the Monster was to be slain and sealed for good where the Sword now rests… perhaps… that seal is breaking?

That seal. Even speaking of it feels like taking a fairy tale seriously. That it's just some aspect of a story.

But what if it's all real?

Everyone believes in the existence of the Sword—even if most are skeptical about it.

So what about the fable as a whole?

I promised everyone I would find the Sword… but I am not like my brothers… I am unlike anyone in my family.

I am not strong.

I am not brave.

I am not talented or skilled like them.

I am not the next Hero the Sword is waiting for.

So why do I pledge myself to this quest?

The answer is simple.

I won't be the person to hold the Sword.

But I will be the one to chart the path to it.

You. The one who is reading this. I must assume that you're after the Sword, too.

It's the only reason you would be allowed to read this.

My name is Issac Fila.

It might not be much, but I left what I could for you.

If you're reading this—then I'm already dead.

Please… tend to my grandmother the best that you can.

She's no doubt very lonely.

And I doubt that she'll do anything to resolve this fact.

I wish that I didn't have to leave her like this.

But… I wasn't left with many choices.

I can't free my village.

But maybe you can.

Soon. Deskar will wither the life in this village by taking from around it. Once the village has become weak enough, it will invade in many forms that—true to his word—only Steinith can hold back. He, however, will not let my people leave.

And I, as the last male Fila, owe it to them.

This task is something I cannot do myself.

Please.

You must bring the Sword back to Steinith.

It's the only way to be rid of him—one way or another.

And more than that.

The Sword might be the answer to all this Deskar.

It might answer all the vile things brewing in the lands.

It might be the answer to what's supposed to come next in the legend.

For I believe that the legend is unfinished.

For the one that is reading this.

Please.

Come find me.

~ Isaac Fila

Rodent stopped reading and lowered the notebook, feeling like he had incurred another weight too heavy for his chest and shoulders to bear. He shook his head at that notion and looked instead to the closet. Coming to slide open the door, he saw within an outfit, adventure's garb, with a leather plate covering his chest and back and shoulder pads doing much the same.

The chest plate itself had a white symbol: a circle with a white dot in the middle and mini spikes coming out of the circle. Rodent stared at the outfit while pulling at different ends of it. The length and size seemed close enough.

Do you have what it takes to wear a dead man's clothes?

Rodent's eyes shut tight as he drew a deep breath to silence that voice. It made his heart pound and feel sensitive. His body felt weak as he tried to pretend to be someone he wasn't. In his fairy tales, the hero was equipped to handle the problems of the world.

But Rodent… wasn't anyone special… in fact… he was much like everyone else… except a bit weaker.

But he knew that he couldn't stop.

He knew that he had to keep going.

Rodent took down the outfit.

And proceeded to put it on.