Oliver awoke on the chill of the stone floor. His head throbbed, and his body was a patchwork of bruises. Daylight filtered into the high window. He pushed himself upright and tried to shake off the remnants of restless sleep.

The heavy door creaked open, its iron hinges groaning in protest. Expecting the usual silent guards or perhaps the stern visage of the Malarite Crown, Oliver was surprised to see a stooped man shuffle into the room. Clad in tattered rags, the man's skin was leathery and worn, like parchment stretched over bone.

The man offered a faint smile. "Not many get to call this chamber home. It is an honor of a sort."

Oliver studied him warily. Had the evil woman sent a torturer? He’d suspected it might come to that. "Who are you?"

"No one anymore. Though perhaps my story may save you a world of agony.”

Oliver sat against the wall and waved a hand to show he didn’t care. “Go on with your story.”

The man sat down cross-legged. “I took my land. Many inherit kingdoms. Few make them. I carved out my territory from Torraska. I built a fortress in the most splendid oasis of the whole continent."

"A king?" Oliver asked.

The man chuckled. "Hard to believe, isn't it? But yes, I had lords fighting over who could impress me the most. Gold, woman, magic, and I started to believe I was destined to conquer the world."

"What happened?" Oliver asked. He’d tried his best not to be interested but failed.

"I was young and proud. When the Malarite Crown asked for my assistance, I refused. I knew the elves were powerful, but I was in the greatest fortress imaginable: the desert." He sighed. "She installed a puppet in my place. She brought me here to legitimize the new rule, expecting me to visit my lands and praise the new king. I wanted revenge, swore I'd rather die than serve her. Yet here I am, polishing the floors of the Tower of Leaves."

Oliver felt a pang of sympathy. "Why did you give up?"

The man looked at his hands, looking sad. "Visit a man in a week, and he’s the same man. Visit him in a decade, and he’s someone else."

They sat in silence until Oliver broke it. "Tell me about Torraska and the lands beyond. I've heard nothing of the world."

The man’s eyes sparkled. "A harsh land, unforgiving as the sun that scorches it. But it’s more beautiful than anywhere else. The people are stronger for the harshness, and you don’t know someone until you’ve survived the thirst with them. I feel sorry for those north of the Vasian Sea. How they trust one another, I cannot say."

"You spoke of magic," Oliver said.

The man hesitated. "The desert folk have their secrets. There’s the magic of skin and blood. The sands don’t produce the battle mages you’ll find here, but far more dangerous arts."

"I don’t think you completely changed. I bet if you had power, you’d take those lands back. Fuck the elves." Oliver realized that he’d included Elstina in that blanket statement. Well, she’d never come to help him. She’d probably forgotten about him.

"No," The man seemed conflicted. "I came here to help talk you out of your futility. I must be going."

With that, the former king slipped out of the chamber. Moments later, the door swung wide and guards filed in, their faces obscured by helmets.

This beater was worse than any previously.

Hours blurred into an unending stretch of solitude. Oliver found himself sobbing in the chamber, the oppressive silence weighing heavily on him.

A faint tapping came from within the room. At first, he dismissed it as the creaking of the old tower, but the tower didn’t creak. But the tapping returned, more deliberate this time.

"Oliver," a muffled voice called out, barely understandable with its echo.

He looked up to the window above. The pale glow silhouetted a figure in the narrow opening.

"Who are you?" Oliver whispered as loudly as he dared.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The figure shifted. "I used the sphere. I remember everything."

Relief flooded through Oliver. "Hunter. How did you find me?"

"But we don't have much time. I'm getting you out of here."

Oliver glanced at the heavy door. "It's locked, and guards patrol the corridors."

Hunter reached into his satchel, producing coiled rope. "I've got a few tricks left," he said. "But you'll need to climb up here. Think you can manage?"

Oliver eyed the distance to the window. "What choice do I have?"

Hunter let the rope fall.

Without hesitation, Oliver grasped the rope and started shimmying up. "Hold it steady," he urged.

"Hurry," Hunter whispered.

Hand over hand, Oliver ascended and reached the top, his muscles straining with the effort. His palms were raw, but luckily, he’d grown calluses working on the ship. He saw the late evening sky.

"Someone's coming," Hunter warned.

Oliver tried to squeeze through the window. It was tight. "Pull me through." They clasped hands, and he made it through the opening.

"Well, looks like we’ll have to hurry," Hunter said. "Jump."

Oliver held the ledge and hung, let go, and dropped to the walkway.

Guards ran towards them.

"This way," Hunter said, running forward and grabbing a rope he’d left over the outside wall.

Oliver scrambled up after him and pulled the rope up after them so the guards couldn’t follow.

The clamor of alarms rang out behind them. "Well, I pictured this going better.”

To stay off the walkways of the gardens, they climbed onto a rooftop to go over the final wall. Even though this wall had an opening, the elves likely closed it off already.

Hunter had left a rope here, too, and they managed to get to the top and over the other side. They climbed down a trellis covered in flowering vines and entered a secluded garden of a wealthy household.

"Elstina arranged for a safe place nearby," Hunter explained as they collected and walked down a shadowed pathway. "She couldn't come herself."

Oliver nodded, gratitude welling up within him. She hadn’t forgotten him, and Hunter risked his life to save him. "I can't thank you enough. You’re a true friend."

"You brought me back," Hunter replied. "Anyway, we're not out of the woods yet."

As they approached the arch to the front of the house, figures emerged with weapons drawn. Leading them was the Malarite Crown. "Did you truly believe you could escape so easily?" she asked. “I let you escape because you thought it was still possible. You’ve clung to hope, but what will you do now that I’ve taken it away?”

Hunter tensed, his hand inching toward a concealed dagger. "Any ideas?" he whispered to Oliver.

“Find me in the north.”

Hunter looked sideways at him. “What?”

“If we’re separated, look for me there.”

Before Oliver could respond, the Malarite Crown raised a hand. The air seemed to turn to water, or honey. He found it hard to breath.

"Seize them," she said. “Take the thief to the magistrates. He can hang with the rest of the vermin.”

The guards advanced. Outnumbered, unarmed, and subdued by magic, Oliver could do nothing.

"You disappoint me, Oliver," she said.

She motioned to the guards. "Take them back."

As they were led away, Oliver caught a glimpse of Elstina watching from a balcony above, her face etched with sorrow. Their eyes met briefly before she turned away, disappearing into the shadows.

Back in his cell, the familiar confines pressed in on Oliver. The door slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock with a definitive click. Hours passed, each one stretching longer than the last.

Why did they bring Hunter back here? Would they bring him to hang tomorrow or use him as leverage? The answer came sooner than he expected.

The door opened, and the Malarite Crown stepped inside. "Perhaps if you behave, I could spare your friend's life.”

Oliver met her gaze. "Do you think any of this has softened me up? Do you think I’m ready to break? You’re a fucking bitch."

She stormed away and told her guards while the door was open. "Beat him until the skill of my healers is tested. Make sure he begs. Then bring in his friend and execute him."

The guards poured in. Two looked joyful, as if this was what they lived for. But they froze in place like statues.

A familiar chill enveloped the room, and the white reaper materialized before him.

"You paused the game?" Oliver asked.

"No.” The reaper bushed past one of the guards. “Only they are frozen. I’ve returned because I don’t like how you’re playing the game. Do you know how bored I’ve been, watching players do nothing of interest? I wanted something to see. Real stakes.”

"You made me conscious?"

The reaper regarded him with an enigmatic stare. "Not really. It was happening already. Perhaps I gave a push, but nothing more."

Oliver laughed. "Well, I don’t plan to bore you any longer."

"Tell me." The reaper came closer.

"It’s no big deal. The former king gave me an idea."

The reaper cocked his head. "Fascinating." The reaper swung the scythe and decapitated the guards in one swing. “Then I won’t help you again. You know what I want, and you know what you want.”

Oliver recoiled at the rolling heads. The reaper faded into the shadows, leaving him alone with unblinking eyes and his thoughts.