Have you ever talked to someone who is convinced of a topic's conclusion before even starting the conversation? Do you know how annoying or draining it can be? Now, add a layer of fear for your life to the equation, and you may start to understand how Hunter felt when trying to convince Derick that he was not evil.

Derick stood up from his chair and walked to the bars. Even though he drank a potion that Hunter was told would make him tell the truth, Derick seemed to believe Hunter was somehow circumventing it.

"What do I have to do or say?" Hunter asked, feeling a cold sweat on his brow. "I don't even know what a Malivorii is."

Every time Hunter said Malivorii, Derick flinched as if Hunter punched him.

Derick finally stepped back, pacing restlessly but never taking his eyes off Hunter. After pacing for a few minutes, he finally faltered over the word. “M-Malivorii” he spat. "Are always evil; every time one appears, they leave death and danger in their wake."

Derick stared off into a corner as he spoke, almost so small Hunter couldn't hear. "Your people have done so much evil… so much." He paused, his tension deflating so much. "I have lost so much because of your kind."

Hunter was taken aback. Not only was he apparently no longer human, but there was also more of his new race. Additionally, they were evil. "Wait… others like me? But I just got here… how could that be?" he wondered.

Finally, Derick shook his head and walked back over to the chair, slumping into it and finally using his name. "Hunter, I can't believe you; I have told myself for so long that if I ever met one of you, I would kill you."

This was a different side that Hunter had yet to see of Derick, so he asked. "What happened?"

Derick scowled at the question and let his face fall neutral. "It doesn't matter if you hear; maybe it will help me figure out my emotions."

The bald man released a long breath. "I used to travel with some other merchants around the continent. It's safer that way. We can look out for each other."

Derick looked down at his hands, fidgeting as he continued. "We had met an honestly remarkable man who wanted to join us for one of our expeditions; I stayed behind because I wanted to finish getting a new merchant license for more cargo."

He slammed his hand into the chair. "They didn't return, not one of them. I spent tens of gold hiring search teams, and." He stopped, breathing sharply. "And I found them, or what was left. The man… he was Malivorii."

"They didn't stand a chance; there wasn't any wreckage, nothing stolen, just a slaughter of my friends."

Hunter didn't like his situation, but he finally started understanding where Derick was coming from.

Hunter let the silence draw on, unsure if he should console the man who had lost everything. Finally, he spoke up, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I don't need your sympathy," Derick spat. "Telling you helped me decide what I want to do to you, though."

A sharp chill ran down Hunter's back as the man's eyes, which had been black, started swirling with a dim blue energy.

Hunter felt adrenaline running through his veins, but it quickly seemed to flow in one direction instead of circulating; his energy moved down to his wrist and then disappeared.

He looked down and saw the bracelet that had been placed on him; his fingers were trembling and he had no way of escaping. He was as helpless as a prisoner on Earth. "It wasn't me who killed your friends. You have to believe me."

Derick nodded. "I believe you,"

"Then wh," Hunter started but got interrupted.

"I will decide if you are someone with a soul worth saving or a demon who needs to be purged." Derick walked up to the bars, whispering as he said. "If you truly want to prove that you aren't evil, I have the perfect way."

Derick handed him a white rock, then dropped a small pocket knife on the ground. "I'm not going to explain what that does. All you need to know is it needs to be covered in your blood."

Hunter looked at the knife; it was smaller than his barbed bone; the reminder made him try and pull up his menu.

A sharp pain jabbed into his mind; it felt like someone was trying to pull his skull apart.

The pain subsided, and he grabbed the stone; it felt like… nothing; if he hadn't seen it in his hand, Hunter would have thought his hand was empty. Hunter gripped the knife; the blade was only an inch, more a box cutter than a weapon.

Hunter looked up at Derick one more time, seeing no sympathy, and continued; he looked at his arm and inched the blade close. He squinted his eyes and gritted his teeth, then sliced a two-inch gash on his arm.

With a sharp pain, blood flowed down to his elbow; Hunter inched the stone closer to the blood, stopping at the last moment.

Derick gave it a few moments, then spoke up. "If you wait too long, you will have to cut yourself again."

Hunter pushed the stone under the dripping blood.

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

One drop, two, nothing happened.

Then, the white stone seemed to swirl with a crimson glow, the same color as his blood. The stone shot up towards his arm on its own, digging into his cut.

He let out a cry of surprise and hurt as the pain shot through his arm, and he rocketed his arm away from the stone.

Hunter felt the stone latch on, digging deeper into his arm. He reached for it with his other hand, but the stone was covered with slick blood.

Blood flowed to the ground, pooling as sweat mixed. Hunter heard the stone grind against his bone and let out a pained cry.

He hit his arm against the metal, trying to relieve any amount of pain. The stone started emitting heat, and Hunter felt it melting his skin.

He squeezed his arm near the stone, trying to press it out, then a new pain enraptured him.

Hunter felt his mind grow hot as memories flickered into and out of his vision.

He saw his dad coming home from work and fighting with his mom; he saw him trying to stop his dad only to be flung into the wall; he saw the police, who were called by the neighbors, lifting him into an ambulance.

Hunter heard a cry of pain in the background as Derick growled. “I need to dig deeper.”

He saw the night everything happened; he saw his friend drunkenly stumbling his way to him. "No!” he screamed in his mind.

Hunter saw himself reaching into his pocket for his keys. "DON'T DO IT!" The keys froze mid-drop into the friend's hand.

His mind was once again present in the present; he lay in a heap on the ground of the cell, his eyes stung, and his cheeks were wet.

Hunter didn't move; he didn't care anymore; this was too much; he had already lost so much: his best friend, his freedom, his life.

"Kill me." He mumbled.

Derick was silent; he didn't make fun of him, he didn't exclaim in anger or happiness, just silent.

When Derick finally spoke, it was a small voice, and it was matched with the sound of a metal door opening. "I'm sorry, " he said. You are not evil. I didn't understand many of your memories, but I could understand that."

"Memories?" Hunter questioned.

Derick poured a cold liquid on Hunter's side. "Yes, that stone allowed me to dig through your memories."

Hunter felt blood on his arm flow away from him as the pain in his arm lessened; he shuddered as he pushed upwards, leaning against the bars for support.

Derick had blood flowing from his eyes and nose; he wiped the blood with a white handkerchief and then reached out an arm. "Would you be willing to accept my apology for what I have done?"

Hunter looked at the hand in disbelief; the man who seemed so unforgiving moments ago, seemingly determined to prove that he was evil, now offered him a hand.

After a moment of silence, Hunter felt worried. After all that had been done to him, everything felt hollow. Somehow, he didn't even feel angry at Derick. "It's fine," he said, words that sounded as empty as when he said them on Earth.

Derick nodded, his eyes still bloodshot from the experience with the stone. "Let's get you cleaned up. We should be arriving in town soon."

Hunter still felt fatigued, but the liquid that was poured on him dulled most of the pain. He reached out, taking Derick's hand, and he was easily pulled to his feet.

Reaching with his other hand for Hunter's wrist, Derick said. "Let's get this off you." He touched the bracelet, and it fell into his palm.

When the bracelet fell off, Hunter felt a rush of power greater than any skill gain to date; he felt his muscles tighten as if they were interlocking armor, and his mind cleared quickly, a fog lifting off it he hadn't noticed. "Wow," Hunter stammered.

Derick gave him a small but kind smile. "Kind of a rush, isn't it?" he then led Hunter over to a corner of the wagon; it was a large space with a small step in the middle and racks with different pairs of clothes.

Looking over Hunter, Derick said, "First, I want to clean you up." He brought out a white towel.

Hunter looked around for a shower so he could wash himself in it, but he didn't see one, so he asked, "How do I rinse myself off?"

Derick tilted his head slightly. "You don't need to; just wipe the cloth over yourself."

Confused, Hunter did so and felt one of the oddest sensations of his life. Dirt, grime, sweat, or even blood practically jumped off his skin to cling to the towel. As he wiped it around, the dirt crawled on his skin towards the cloth, giving him shivers. "I wonder if this is how magnets feel, " he wondered.

After cleaning himself, the towel was almost brown. Hunter looked toward Derick for direction on what to do with it, and Derick said. "You can keep it, put it in your inventory, I'm all out of cleansing potions, but I'll buy you one in town, and that will allow the cleansing towel to work again."

Hunter did so, feeling cleaner than he had ever felt before. Derick then brought some clothes, holding them up in front of him. "Which one?" he asked.

Derick held two poles; the poles had a shirt and pants attached, but each was different.

The one on the left was sleeveless, light brown, and felt soft; the fabric had the same thickness as cotton; it had three buttons at the top to adjust how tight it was against your neck. The pants were a darker brown and felt like leather but were as thin as paper; they were cut to be tight, almost like skinny jeans.

The ones on the right were very different. They were flowy with an almost wispy design. The shirt was light gray, and the design was a short-sleeved button-up. It had frills on the sleeves, and to hide the buttons, it felt silky smooth to the touch. The pants were dark black and just as frilly. Unlike the other's tight-fitting design, they were flowy, almost like pajamas.

After careful deliberation, he chose the frilly ones; Hunter had dealt with changing in front of people for so long that he didn't think twice about putting his goat shorts into his inventory and putting on the new clothes right in front of Derick.

Derick turned away, seemingly embarrassed, "Sorry, Hunter said, bad habit."

After putting on the new clothes, Hunter felt the cart slow, Derick indicated to the front where they had entered the wagon, and they walked over.

Looking out through the fabric, Hunter saw the creature again. " The…" he searched his memories. That's right, the Lorid." It was wagging its tail, seemingly happy.

Hunter paused, looking beyond that, "This is a town?" he said out loud; they were at a nine-foot-deep wall; the gate was only a little larger than the wagon and had two large metal doors, one on each side of the wall.

Both doors were open, and two guards stood near the Lorid. They were both wearing black armor, which looked mostly leather, with long brown sleeves and pants. One metal plate guarded their chests, and they wore metal gloves with a scabbard at their waists.

One of the men was scratching the Lorid's chin, making the creature wag its tail even more. The other guard walked up to the carriage and looked at Hunter, saying. "Welcome to Ilian; what is your reason for entry?"

Hunter looked at Derick, who answered for him. "Just a merchant traveling to sell some

wares."

"Do you have your guild card?" The guard asked, holding out his hand expectidly.

Derick handed the man what looked more like a tablet than a card. The guard examined it and then asked, "Is it just the two of you entering?"

"Yes," Derick answered.

The guard nodded and returned the card, then noted something on a silver-colored tablet. "What is the name of the other occupant?"

"Hunter," Derick said.

"All checks out," the guard said, nodding to the one still preoccupied with scratching the Lorid's head. "Have a great day." He smiled and stepped away from the wagon.

The carriage started moving again, but Hunter didn't go back inside; as they passed the wall and his eyes adjusted, he took in the first town he had seen in this new world.