Miles and Elena’s little night hangout—
No, wait. There were some scenes I skipped in this story.
My bad. What a failure of a narrator I am.
Let’s rewind, okay? Yes, let’s go back about… 6 hours or so.
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—6 Hours Before.
“GOOOOOOL!” Elena shouted at the top of her lungs, cheering for the girls playing before her.
“The chosen one is rooting for us!” cried out the girl who scored the goal.
“That’s not true!” responded one in the opposite team. “The Chosen One said the same thing for our goal.”
With rocks serving as posts, a match of football was taking place. And as the laws of football dictated, an argument soon ensued. Elena, being the only one to know the rules she’d “invented”, was by default stuck as the referee, meaning she had to intervene.
“Calm down girls, I’m cheering for both teams equally. No fighting, okay?”
All 10 girls nodded in agreement, treating her words as gospel. Real referees would die of envy at how religiously they followed her orders, resuming the match without any objections.
Her job done, Elena returned to watching from the sidelines. At that moment, Naomi approached her. Now that the two were close, Elena took a better look at her features. Her hairstyle consisted of black, tousled braids that carried the impression of someone who cared about their appearance, but had no time to actually polish it. Her figure resembled an hourglass. Comparing their heights, Naomi stood about a head above her, yet the aura that emanated out of her was friendly and inviting.
“It seems your game is a real hit. It’s been centuries since something new happened in this village,” Naomi said with a warm smile.
“It took a while to explain the rules. Especially the offside rule. But I’m glad these girls are having fun. They certainly picked up the rules faster than I did! I needed my uncle to pretty much give me a university lecture to understand everything.”
She was a woman into football. While far from an oddity, the sport in her world was associated much more with men. It was ironic, then, that she was teaching it to girls first.
“You know, now that I think about it…”
Elena observed her surroundings. Plenty of grown women strolled by, some stopping to watch the football match, others clearly focusing their eyes on Elena. From a distance, she could spot women working the fields, helped by Kabeasts. But there was a suspicious lack of men among the passersby.
“There sure don’t seem to be a lot of men around here.”
“Oh wow, you truly are ignorant, Chosen One,” Naomi said in a completely casual tone.
“Huh? Something else I don’t know?”
“There have not been men in the village even since the end of the war besides Patriarch Malachi.”
“What? How does that even work? Where did these children come from, then?” asked Elena with a scowl, pondering the possible explanations her mind concocted, such as that of homosexual reproduction.
“We do not age. We do not die. The children you see have remained as such since the day of the Demon Lord.”
Elena gasped, letting the implications of her words sink in. The land she was in was frozen in time, its residents not growing old. The girls playing before her were in an eternal childhood, undisturbed by the threat of adulthood. The one exception was a greasy old man, whose orders were law.
That last detail made Elena’s stomach turn in disgust.
“It is my job to look after the children. It is the reason for my existence. I have carried my duty for hundreds of years.”
The strain in her voice was palpable. Such was the result of centuries without experiencing change.
“Unreal…hundreds of years taking care of the same children…my mom could barely handle ten! And a single child, at that.”
Elena grinned widely in response to her own joke. Naomi laughed along without missing a beat.
“It’s a thankless job, but what can I say? I’ve grown fond of the little fellas. Sometimes I wanna stab every single one of them, but I resist. For the sake of the tribe.”
She crossed her arms as she smiled proudly, observing the children she raised. Even just from her profile, Elena knew she and Naomi had built up a good rapport from their limited interactions.
“Naomi, you seem knowledgeable about all the lore of this island. What’s the deal with the whole ‘Chosen One’ bit?” Elena asked.
“You do not know?”
“Are you calling me ignorant again?”
“I am not.” Naomi responded bluntly. “I simply needed to assess your level of knowledge. I have no intention of offending you, Chosen One.”
“Well, you kinda did anyway!”
Elena grimaced in a goofy manner and slapped Naomi’s back. Naomi showed no response, however, her face dryly maintaining a cold expression.
“Unfortunately, I am forbidden from sharing such information,” spoke Naomi.
“What? Why?”
At the sound of Elena’s question, Naomi slowly turned her head.
“The Patriarch has outlined what actions must be carried through to fulfill our Lord’s desires. We must not diverge from his orders. Only once you come in contact with our Lord, will my conversation privileges be updated.”
“Your what?” Elena said, confused.
“Further discussion of this topic is disallowed.”
Naomi brought her hand to her chest as her unblinking stare absorbed Elena, not elaborating any further. The shape of her pupils grew. The soul of the young woman Elena was talking to vanished, as Naomi appeared zombified, uttering her words with thoughtless, pious devotion.
“Umm, Okay, I understand. I think. Give me a way to contact this Lord of yours and then let’s get back to this conversation, alright? Maybe a phone number or email address,” said Elena, in a joking manner.
“Impossible. It is the Lord who shall approach you,” Naomi said in monotone.
“May I ask when that shall be?”
“Further discussion of this topic is disallowed.”
Elena was well and truly creeped out by now. Naomi showed no signs of being a threat, but the way her tone had become increasingly cold felt uncanny, like a switch had been flipped inside her brain.
“Oooookay, then,” blurted out Elena. Her eyes darted, seeking escape from the pressuring vortex that was Naomi’s stabbing stare.
They would find solace, as she caught wind of a familiar figure, spying on the two of them from afar while wrapping their body in a brown cloak. Upon their sights crossing, the onlooker raised their eyebrows, grimaced, then turned around to withdraw.
“So, ehem, would you mind watching the kids for a minute? It’s your job, after all. I have… something to do,” said Elena.
Elena’s words reached their target, and seemingly caused the switch inside Naomi to flip back. Her round brown eyes regained their color, their pupils shrinking in size. The woman clapped her hands, and with enthusiasm said, “Of course, Chosen One. Anything to help you out. Albeit, I’m not sure I got the right grasp on the rules.”
“Just ensure they don’t kill each other. Be right back!”
Elena began to run, but she still felt a tenseness permeate her shoulders.
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Elena gave chase. The cloak the person wore disguised their body beyond their face. To most, that alone would not suffice to assess their gender, as it was a face that sat at the edge between femininity and masculinity. But Elena, who recognized that face, not only knew it belonged to a man, but also knew the man’s name, a name she yelled as she ran.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Galen, get back here!”
Hunter and prey inched ever closer, the distance between the two vanishing further with each passing second. Elena couldn’t believe it, but there was truly someone in the Dead Sea Pirates less athletic than she was.
Eventually, the chase came to an end, as the man wearing a hood halted his sprint completely. Reacting to that, Elena stopped as well.
“You decided to follow us after all? Are you feeling —”
better, Elena wanted to say. But the answer she sought was delivered to her in a form most unusual.
—In the form of a punch.
“...”
Elena caught Galen’s fist. It was a slow, clunky hook. Were she to attempt to block a similar strike from most men, odds were her arm would fall out. But coming from a scrawny man like Galen, it lacked the force to defeat even a frail girl like Elena.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Elena reproached, tightening the clutch she held over his fist.
“What I think I’m doing… What do YOU think you’re doing?” responded Galen. “Messing around with some random children, when Bronson might well be dead?”
Elena bit her lips. Galen’s bony arm began to shake. He cast his head down, tears falling like rain droplets.
“I spent hours in bed. Sulking. Trying to make sense of it all.” Galen raised his head, staring at Elena dead in the eyes. “So how dare you! How dare you act so cheerful when I’m in so much pain?”
His voice audibly creaked. He attempted to disguise his grief by covering his words in a posh tone, but it was pointless. Each movement of his head scattered tears across the green grass.
Elena stared in silence, full of desire to provide comfort but dry of words that could accomplish that.
She knew anything she said would be in vain, yet against her better judgment she spoke all the same, “Galen… I know how you feel. A long time ago, I also lost someone I—”
“No, you don’t! You have no idea how much I’ve given up for him! My family, my lifestyle, even my path to nobility. I’ve had to sleep in that nest of rats they call a ship. Clean underwear. Risk my life against Kabeasts!” His voice, swelling with rage, mellowed out into a contemplative sorrow. “And I did all that for him. I am the biggest of fools.”
Elena bit her molar. She truly had misspoken. Overestimated her ability to understand his feelings. She naively thought she could empathize with his dismay, since she too once had lost someone she loved.
But in Bronson’s name, Galen had sacrificed a lot. Elena, by contrast, never gave anything up for Mara’s sake. When she had the chance to act on her supposed love, she chose to dwell in sloth instead, watching helplessly as she was robbed of her life by some lowlife.
Her grief could not compare to his. She was unworthy, too full of sin, to share such a pain.
“Now he’s gone. And I am powerless to do anything about it.”
Two souls, joined together by their hands, joined together in their lack of power.
Galen admitted to his powerlessness. From his body to his soul, Galen did not conceal the weak man he was. His entire persona radiated an aura of weakness. Within the realm of his eyes lay a man who had given up on making a difference, who’d accepted his role and couldn’t change it.
“Miles could’ve saved him… and yet he chose to save you. They’re supposed to be best friends… do you understand why I hate you? Ever since you appeared, our so-called captain only cares to get in your pants.”
“Galen.”
“No, you can’t. You always have that pretty boy saving your ass. You don’t know what suffering is!”
“Galen!”
“Nobody understands me. Especially not a slut like—”
“Galen!”
Her exclamation cut through the flow of toxicity Galen was spitting out. Elena’s piercing black eyes radiated with the ire of a mother who’d seen their child misbehave. So intense was her burning stare, Galen took a step back and withdrew his fist, else he would be set on fire.
Following a moment of silence, Elena spoke carefully meditated words, “You are right. Although I have suffered, I cannot understand how you feel.”
A confession. Giving up everything for someone she loved was a challenge she could never rise up to. Elena, who deemed herself a weak, slothful person, saw a limit to how much of herself she could risk for others. Even risking her life for Cordelia’s sake was only possible thanks to her ability to revive from death. Had her life truly been on the line, she couldn’t say if her actions would have been the same.
Galen grinned, taking her words as an affirmation of his views. “At last, you admit it.”
“I also cannot promise to bring Bronson back. I don’t know if he’s alive, and besides, I am too much of a lazy, pathetic woman to perform such heroics anyway.” Elena swallowed saliva, then added, “But I can promise one thing.”
Galen, who at this point watched with crossed arms, said, “What?”
“I’ll put my all into bringing you two back together.”
Elena put the entire strength of her chest into her declaration. There was no sense of irony, no jokes to deflect the seriousness of the moment. She didn’t stammer, nor show any signs of ulterior motives. She was vowing to put her entire being into their cause, to not rest until the two were together or her soul was shattered.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? The pledge of a self-admitted powerless girl?” Galen remarked.
“Nothing I say could ever erase your sorrow. I am not so conceited as to believe I am capable of doing such a thing.” Elena raised her chin high. “But promising to do my best… that’s gotta count for something, doesn’t it?”
Her little resolution failed to cheer Galen up. If anything, her words and deeds had the opposite effect on him, as he turned around and left with a scornful look.
“Hmmph!”
But that didn’t matter. In truth, she was mostly speaking to herself. She needed a wind to push her forward, a reason to fight.
She couldn’t fault Galen for not believing in her—but she’d make him believe in her. No matter the cost.
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—4 Hours Later.
Miles and Elena’s little night hangout came to an end. Accompanied only by the starry sky and the weaving trees, Elena let the smell of the nearby forest fill her nostrils.
“It smells like shit,” she stated. Perhaps a bear took a dump nearby.
Then again, do bears shit on the woods in this world? Or in this island, for that matter?
Such pertinent questions would need to wait for an answer, as the time for jokes had passed. Elena slapped her cheeks, and said, “Okay Elena, concentrate.”
Ignoring the odor, Elena began her stroll across the forest. She had no destination, but she did have a goal.
Find Bronson.
Making such an effort was likely a waste of time. Her finding even a hint of Bronson would prove a miracle. Perhaps the sagacious move was to rest well for tomorrow’s dungeon crawl.
But a promise was unbreakable. Because Elena had promised to give her all, she could not allow herself to waste away in bed. Any ounce of energy remaining in her must be spent on fulfilling that promise. To act otherwise would be an act of hypocrisy, an admittance of the weakness of her character.
The howls of wolves could be heard. The shapes of bats invaded the sky. Elena gulped, understanding the dangers she was daring.
“Worst thing that can happen is I die,” she said to encourage herself. Only to one with a power like hers could those words bring relief. And even then, they only relieved her for a brief moment. Those previous deaths had left scars within Elena, albeit not physical ones. So the idea of undergoing such trauma again proved enough to send shivers down her spine.
“GAH!” Suddenly, she turned around, catching whispers of bushes, informing her she wasn’t alone. “Who’s there? In the bushes.”
Nobody answered. Elena gripped her upper arm, trying to collect herself. Surely, it was just her imagination.
Then, the rustling intensified.
No figure came out of hiding, no threat made itself present. All the same, new images presented themselves before Elena.
Albeit calling them “new” was perhaps a misnomer. Elena’s eyes closed to blink, and when they opened back up, familiar landscapes rushed to her mind, ones that lived in her nightmares.
Her sight wasn’t her only sense affected. Being impaled. Burnt alive. Drowning. Those were the sensations that accompanied those gruesome images.
Her breath began to falter. Her arms and legs were on the verge of collapse. She could feel her brain overcharge with dread.
No threat made itself present, no. But even the possibility of danger proved enough for her to experience her nightmares while awake.
“I’m an idiot, what am I doing… I need to get back to Miles!”
In her panic, Elena’s ideals perished. Her will to keep her vow, to truly push herself, was squandered. In the face of death, something as unimportant as a promise was irrelevant.
“Deses—. Abs—. Des—.”
Blending in with the wind blowing her back was a faint yet adenoidal voice. She could make out some words that seemed Spanish, but their sound was too subdued to affirm what they were with efficacy.
It didn’t help that her mind was too occupied with running forward.
It didn’t help that her mind was too occupied with not tripping over any branches on the ground.
It didn’t help that her mind was too occupied with what she would tell Miles upon seeing him again.
It didn’t help that her mind was too occupied with figuring out what day it was.
It didn’t help that her mind was too occupied remembering who she was.
It didn’t help that her mind was too occupied with trying to remain sane.
It didn’t help that her mind was too occupied.
It didn’t help.
It.
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As ever, Elena awoke.
As unlike ever before, Elena awoke.
She had no headache, no lingering pain, no desire to cry like a newborn baby. Such reactions were only befitting of souls who returned from the dark void, whose senses used to death were suddenly confronted with the light of life.
And Elena was not such a soul.
“What is this place?”
Her surroundings differed from those she saw while living. A void of darkness surrounded her. The only color that shattered the black infinity was a red carpet lying beneath her feet. Following its trail led to a small staircase. Atop its steps, there was a tall coffin, surrounded by eight pillars. Each had a chain of a different color attached.
Their purpose? To act as shackles for the man lying in the coffin.
The powerful, fearsome, and, if you ask me, really handsome man who was now calling for Elena.
“At long last… we meet face-to-face,” I said.
Seeing a face so finely crafted and a body as ripped as mine must have come as a shock to her system after so much time gushing over that mediocre rogue. Mesmerized by my beauty, she was left wordless, staring up at me with tender eyes.
“No need to be afraid. As a wise woman once said, the worst thing I can do is kill you, right? And guess what? You’re already dead. Even I can’t kill what’s already dead.”
I was joking before. I am not a fool, I could read her body language. The hesitance in her steps and the way she bit her lips revealed she was afraid of me. An understandable reaction, but one I hope to surgically remove from her.
It was a reaction improper to the woman I love, after all.
“Where am I?”
“Always straight to the point with your questions. I like that about you, Elena,” I said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “But to put it bluntly, you are… in my domain.”
Elena furrowed her brow. “Your domain? And you are?”
“Who am I?” I briefly cackled, before earnestly answering, “I go by many names. Demon Lord is my personal favorite, but because it’s you, you can call me… Ernest.”