“How, why, I don’t even know…”
With those scattered words, Miles voiced his disbelief at the unreal situation. At the intertwined gazes that he feared would never again cross.
Miles and Elena, against all odds, had run into each other again, atop a random bridge in the giant city of Catella, the mightiest of all in the Kingdom of Luzterna. Miles’ hands held her back, preventing her fall, his own torso having followed the arc of her descent.
They both shared a moment of frozen time, their breaths intermingling and both their bodies leaning forward. Miles’ beauty overwhelmed her view of the sky; his hair was blown by a sudden gush of wind, covering any sight of the blue above. The warm comfort of his fingers washed away the uncertainty that Elena had been living these days, the gold of his eyes providing light in a dark sea of incertitude.
Elena’s look of shock slowly morphed into one of relief, her mouth widening with the warmth of a smile.
“What are you doing here?” she asked the handsome man, as the hypnosis induced by his sun-colored eyes wore off, and she regained proper footing.
“I should be the one making that question. I thought you were dead…” The strength of Miles’ voice slowly started to dwindle. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Miles caressed his own shoulder and cast his gaze downward. It felt as if melancholy rained out of his tired eyes, a cascade of emotion that eroded even the way he spoke, his words sounding feeble, as if his throat was about to break from uttering them. Elena, at first, was taken aback by being the source of such an anguish, an indication of the depth with which she’d touched the young man’s heart.
A second later, she instead began tapping her right foot with excitement, shattering the mood the cold night sky had generated a moment before.
“Aww, did you really miss me that much?” she teased, her index finger on her bottom lip.
“ H—Huh? I mean” —he began stammering, while his cheeks took the color of roses—”I… it’s not that I was wishing every night to see you again, or something like that.” He paused and scratched his head. He raised his view and was met by the playful eyes of Elena, who pretended to be hurt by placing her heart on her chest, as if suffering a heartache. “Ok fine! I did miss you, okay?”
He crossed his arms and pursed his lips, as a slice of his heart was released into the world for Elena to see. For her part, Elena just chortled. There were few things she found more adorable than a man in a tug-of-war with his own emotions.
“By the way, where is your crew?”
“They’re at Bronson’s place. His family owns a tavern, and we tend to go drinking when we’re in the city. I just… felt like taking a walk.” Strangely, Miles let doubt be inserted into that straightforward statement, gulping between each sentence. He looked upward, as if searching the stars for guidance. Was there some deeper meaning to his nocturne stroll?
“So you guys are just hanging out? Aren’t you supposed to be wanted criminals, or something?”
Inadvertently, Elena’s casual remark seemed to hurt Miles a surprising amount, as he furrowed his brows. “Well, I don’t consider myself a criminal, for that requires me to be in the wrong. But to answer your question, it is a secret place, one the Knights will never find out about. Where those who live within the outskirts of the law can dance and enjoy themselves.”
“Dance, you say?”
“Yes. Nothing professional, of course, nor is it an art of war like my Sword Dancing. The tavern has a dance floor in which—”
“Oh, I see. Mind if I join you, then?“ Elena asked abruptly, winking. Devious plans were forming inside her head, so her mouth rushed into speaking before Miles could finish his sentence.
Miles was at first a bit startled by the bluntness of her voice. He regained his composure quickly, then answered, “Of course.” He stared directly at Elena’s eyes, and raised his fist. “Looking for you is why I came here after all. I’m not losing you again.”
The conviction he spoke with. The pristine luster of his eyes as he made his vow. It all proved too much for Elena, who began pounding her own chest with both hands like a gorilla while blurting out a squee.
AAAAARGH. Be still, my beating heart!
“Ehem,” Miles coughed, blushing, an admittance that he’d gone a step too far in showing his feelings. “Anyway, let’s get going, shall we?”
“Lead the way, oh-so-handsome rogue.” She cheekily pulled out her tongue.
Miles, meanwhile, only spoke the language of the awkward. “Umm, yeah. Follow me.”
The two walked side-by-side, their footsteps the only sound that gave the night any struggle to maintain its calm. The river beneath, the surrounding wind, and the sky above; those were the sole other entities they shared this faint moment in time with. They both took turns exchanging shy looks; well, it’d be more correct to say that Miles’ eyes were the shy ones, as despite the slyness of her glances, thirst was contained within the depths of Elena’s pupils.
Elena searched for something to talk about as they abandoned the bridge, their steps leading them to a small plaza, a different one from the large one from her first day there. As they crossed it, Elena took note of a monument built right in the center, surrounded by patches of grass. It consisted of a large statue, one of a tall woman raising a blade toward the heavens. Despite there being a difference in the quality of the craft, it was evident this was the same woman from the carvings in the chapel.
“Give me a second,” Elena asked Miles, diverting off their course. She closed in on the
structure, and noticed a plaque with some text explaining it. She leaned her head to read, and…
Oh shit… I can’t read.
Despite the citizens of this world speaking English, it seemed they used a different form of writing than she did. In all likelihood, they used different symbols for the same letters. Just a quick glance revealed some of those symbols repeated with higher frequency than others, likely being vowels. All it would now take to decipher this was…
“Do you need glasses, or something?”
Miles noticed the strain Elena’s eyes were putting themselves through, all to read a simple plaque. She must’ve looked completely ridiculous.
“Uhm, yeah, I lost them back when we met.” Miles’ question had provided her the perfect alibi. She didn’t want to explain how she, a grown woman, was unable to read. “Mind reading this for me?”
A chortle climbed out of Miles’ throat. “I don’t need to,” he replied with a chill voice, his right hand on his hip. His gaze climbed upward toward the statue’s head, then he added, “It just says it’s a statue of the Goddess.”
Elena’s gaze rapidly shifted its focus between Miles and the statue.
“This is supposed to be the decisive moment of the Battle of the Barrier. But I don’t know. I feel she’d be far more bruised up than this.”
The statue depicted the goddess as a woman of perfect skin and unparalleled beauty. Her hair was long, too long in fact, to the point of not being practical in battle, for it reached her feet and made it easy to trip over. The sword was held in an awkward position, one that left her body far too exposed. And on the topic of leaving things exposed, the woman’s breasts were so large it was fair to call them balloons, with her cleavage exposed and painted with a different color. It was likely the sculptor took some… artistic liberties, if what it was portraying was truly a warrior engaging in battle.
Elena returned her gaze back at Miles, who watched the statue with strong disgust on his face; the glare he had back when defending her from those brutes did not compare to the intensity of his current one. It appeared he yearned to demolish it with his sight alone.
“Not a fan of this statue, I figure?” Elena asked, tilting her head.
He let out a faint grunt. “Not a fan of Cromalsky in general,” Miles replied monotonously. He closed his eyes for a second, then began to flail his arms as he ranted, “I just. Hate. The way he sculpts bodies. You can just tell he was sculpting with one hand. Just look at the curves and the way—”
Miles hit the brakes of his own mouth, realizing he was going on a tirade about something Elena likely didn’t care about. His head thus slowly began to turn, dreading seeing the young woman’s reaction.
Elena, meanwhile, snorted with a grin on her face. The grin only grew, as Miles’ cheeks began to paint themselves red.
He diverted his gaze shyly. “I’m sorry.” He fake coughed. “I got carried away there. I’ve traveled the continent a fair bit, so I’ve gained something of an appreciation for art, I guess you could say.”
His “apology” only made Elena blow even more air out of her nose. This sight was in fact one she could probably enjoy while munching popcorn; that of this tall man, whose fighting strength exceeded those of armies, geeking out about art and then getting all embarrassed about it.
“Oh please, I don’t care,” Elena said, wearing a smile that had lust written all over it, “If anything, I’d rather you tell me aaaaall about it in excruciating detail.” She had no real interest in the arts of this new world, so to claim that she’d carefully listen would be a lie. It was in hearing someone speak their love for their interests what Elena found great pleasure in.
Miles’ pupils grew in response, his hand on his chest as if he needed to check his heart remained there.
The stroll toward the bar resumed, with his endless blabber about art being the sound that defined the city’s night. Elena listened carefully, painting her face like that of one who listens, all while retaining precisely zero information.
—
Within the depths of the city’s alleyways, a large, wooden door stood tall. To reach it, they had to trek through the most rotten areas of the city. Houses had broken windows, rats wandered around like they owned the place, and the roads were made of dirt. Were she in her native town, Elena would likely not transit a place such as this during the late hours of the night, not unless she wanted to return home with a knife on her back. This time, however, she was accompanied by one of the most skilled fighters in the land, and was too distracted by their conversation. It was only once they arrived at their destination that she looked around and felt the hands of discomfort rub her spine.
Miles, meanwhile, remained composed. Standing by the door, he knocked twice; he then raised his thumb, then his index finger, then finally his middle finger. He then knocked on the door three more times; it seemed that was his way of counting seconds.
An eye peeked through the peephole, and a masculine voice said, “The password.”
“Stop messing around,” Miles replied with a furrowed brow, his arms crossed.
“You never play along. ”The door swiftly opened, and with a hearty laugh, the large, muscular bull of a man called Bronson was who greeted them. “About time you came back… and what do you know, you even found little missus!”
Realizing she was the focus of Bronson’s attention, Elena waved her hand at the man. “Nice to see you again, Bronson. I wasn’t expecting you to be the kind to run a business here.”
“BWAHAHA, well, I wasn’t expecting you to be alive! Come on in!” The two of them walked right in. As they did, Bronson continued speaking. “My parents have run this place for years. I set off for the seas years ago, but I help them out whenever we’re in the Capital.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The bar was made of wood, from floor to ceiling. The walls were adorned with paintings; the one that stood out most to Elena featured a man and a woman, along with a small boy—presumably Bronson, but it was hard to believe that was the same person as the giant next to her.
“So yeah, if you excuse me, I have work to do. I decided to let my old man and woman have a day off… much to some people’s dismay.”
Bronson let out a sigh as he said that, for his eyes had spotted a figure approaching him. A lanky, short man, with bags that acted as shadows for his eyes and a build frail enough for a breath to knock over. He carried a plate in his right hand, which itself carried bottles of beer and wine.
“Bronson, do I really need to deal with these drunks brutes?”
“If you want to make your in-laws happy, then yes.”
“Y—Yes sir! I hadn’t noticed you there. My apologies.”
It wasn’t an order, just a simple statement of truth. But the moment he heard Miles’ voice, Galen, lover of Bronson and look-out boy for the crew, quit his whining and pulled himself together.
His composure lasted little, as when he caught sight of Elena, his face began to lose its luster. “Oh, and what do we have here, a new client? Welcome to the Axe’s Blade, you may have a seat.”
Miles and Bronson exchanged glances, while Elena found herself simply muttering “Ummmm,” unsure what to reply.
“She’s Elena, she’s the girl Miles met last week.”
“Huh?” Galen could not hide his shock from coloring his face. He then whispered into Bronson’s ear, “But she fell on the Dead Sea? Even the best of swimmers drown on those waters. How on Earth is she here?”
Despite his attempts at being subtle, Elena overheard the question. This caused her to freeze in place; she had no response to such an inquiry.
The truth was that she had died; yet, the fact she was standing there acted as irrefutable evidence against that truth. It was unlikely she’d be believed if she made such a claim, regardless of its veracity.
As a gulp traveled down her neck, Miles took the weight off her shoulders, answering in her place. “That doesn’t matter. She’s here, and that’s something worth celebrating. Go fetch her a drink.”
“Y—Yes sir!” He turned to Elena. “What may I get you, milady?”
“Umm, is milk alright? I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Of course!” He bowed, several times in quick succession. “I’ll make sure to pick only the freshest milk for the most exquisite of tastes. You can place my faith in me!”
As he said that, Bronson blanketed him with the warmth of his gaze. The burly man then closed his eyes and shook his head, while carrying a wide smile. It was clearly the face of a man who was thinking of his lover, simultaneously wanting to kiss him and strangle his neck.
Elena knew only pieces of the relationship those two shared, but it proved enough for her to fill the remaining holes in her head. She began to bit the nails found on her index finger, as her gaze flipped back and forth between Galen’s back and Bronson’s tall shape; the mental equivalent of fan fiction was what went through her mind.
Yeah, I bet he DOES know a thing or two about milk, ifyouknowwhatImean.
She was prevented from sinning further, as the sudden wail of a woman called for her attention.
“WHYyyyyYYyyyY!”
Sitting by the nearby table, a woman drowned her sorrows in red liquor. The skin of her face was bathed by her own tears. The blonde hair that adorned her head was disheveled, each strand wandering in its own separate direction.
“Whyyyy did you have to leave me—Elena?”
Her drowsy head spun wildly, as she howled her screech of woe. Yet the moment she placed her eyes on Elena, her head halted in place, as if she’d regained clarity.
“Hey, remember me?” Elena raised her arm as a way to greet Leila, whom she’d met during her stay on Miles’ ship. The perception she had of Leila was of a mature, badass pirate lady who always kept her head below the clouds. That image was betrayed by the shameful display in front of her, whose dopey expression seemed straight out of a cartoon.
“Yes… I remember you…” Leila scratched her chin rapidly, a thought sneaking through the alcohol inside of her and reaching her brain. “You… you are the one who stole my cookies the other day!”
“H—Huh?”
“I’ll show you a thing or three you ruffian. Let… me… show you…”
Leila’s voice increased in intensity, to the point of sounding like a threat, before losing force as she continued to speak. Her remaining energy fizzled out alongside her words; her head came crashing down onto the table.
“Is she ok?” Elena asked with raised eyebrows.
“Define ok…” Miles replied. “It’s probably bad for her, but this is how she always acts when she gets drunk.”
Miles' expression showed exasperation, as if begging for someone to kill him. Elena hid her giggles, but she couldn't deny that it was amusing, that the seemingly mighty Dead Sea Pirates were all a bunch of dorks when outside battle. It was a group of ruffians consisting of a drunk, a hunk plus twink couple, and with a shy, awkward art nerd for a leader.
“Please…come back…”
Those slurred words were the last Leila could muster, as she seemed to pass out. Elena could barely make them out, however. Not only did Leila say them with her mouth kissing the table’s wood, but there was music that fuzzed their sound.
It was then that Elena took notice of said surrounding music. Surprisingly, it was quite familiar to her ear in terms of genre; despite it originating in this foreign world, it could safely be classified as pop. In the center of the tavern, as Miles had said, was a small dance floor; just from giving it a glance, it was evident that Bronson’s bar gathered many folks from different backgrounds. Some were burly men with tattoo galleries for arms. Others were ladies in pompous dresses, likely noblewomen sneaking into the slums for a night of fun.
The lyrics of the currently playing song were primarily in English, but random bouts of meaningless Spanish seemed to be spiced in, gatherings of disparate words that failed to form coherent sentences. This mixture of languages briefly raised Elena’s suspicions, but her mind, which was ever-quick to change its focus, prioritized what her eyes were now seeing.
Miles was standing with his back to the wall, tapping his left foot eagerly to the beat. His gaze was scattered, shifting wildly between the ceiling, the dance floor, and Elena herself. Whenever his eyes clashed with those of Elena, he’d quickly cast his gaze aside, as if he was ashamed of even having said eyes. His hands were in constant motion, scratching random spots of his body,
A black wind seemingly crashed against her skin, carrying with it recollections meant only to displease. Such motions were not unlike those of the girl she once was. This girl, many moons ago in a world roofed by a different sky, would display similar body language when placed in a place such as this, intended for social interaction.
Her wish, a simple one; to have someone, anyone, ask her for a dance. She could’ve herself been the one to do the asking, of course, but her body lacked the beauty required for such a hunt to prove fruitful. All she could do was beg in silence, hoping someone would take pity on the lonely girl standing all on her own.
Now, she stood with the fortune of borrowing a beauty she could never dream to achieve. She knew this chance wasn’t one she could permit to slip by.
Licking her pink lips, Elena placed herself before those eyes the color of the sun, reached out her hand and confidently said, “Wanna dance?”
“What? Me? Nononono.” Miles’ sank into his shoulders as he gave his answer, which only managed to make Elena’s smirk grow in intensity. “I cannot dance. Not in the slightest.”
As he uttered his statement, he gave quick glances at Elena, trying to read her reaction. Horror wrote itself on his face, as she revealed no hint of hesitation, not in her face nor in her words. “Stop being so gloomy, come on!”
“Hey! wawawawait—”
Dragged by the arm like a dog on a leash, Miles was forced into the dance floor, unable to form a valid complaint. As they both stood there, surrounded by dozens of others, Miles could not stop giving his attention to other couples there, like a robot trying to analyze how humans act.
“I’m not much of a dancer myself, you know,” Elena said, speaking the truth. “But it doesn’t matter what you do. What matters is having fun. Just let loose. Watch.”
She demonstrated by starting to flail her body randomly, hopping in place like a bunny on drugs. Then, she began shaking her butt, humping the air with its round shape as she bent her knees. Her style (if it could even be called that, as it was just a melting pot of every dance move she’d ever learned in her previous life) stood out when compared to the rest of the crowd, who despite the pop-like music, seemed to take a more traditional, ballroom-esque approach to their movements.
It didn’t help that, on top of her unusual ways, Miles stood there like a statue, simply staring in confusion like a lost puppy.
“Come on now, don’t let me all alone, man. Are you seriously worried about people watching us?”
In fairness, she couldn’t deny she had an advantage in this scenario, a difference between the two of them that affected the way the two could act. Although she’d stated that what mattered was simply having fun, it was a fact that dancing came with a set of unwritten rules. Back in her old world, on the rare times she allowed herself to dance, she knew she could not bring too much attention on to herself; stand out too much, and everyone in town would brand you as weird. She was new to this world, however, and therefore, didn’t know anyone currently in the tavern. This meant she had no problem dancing however she wanted, as there’d be no judgmental gaze for her to care about.
Still, the idea of a mighty warrior being too shy to bust a groove was pretty funny. It was yet another grain of sand in the beach of cuteness that was Miles.
“It’s not that, it’s just that… the only dance I know is—”
“Shut up and dance with me, already!”
He could not finish his sentence. Elena did a twirl right before him, her long brown hair trailing along the motion of her slim body. It was completely sloppy in technique, but it appeared to captivate him, as not only did his words trail off, but suddenly…
“Huh?”
That was her response to him catching her hand, causing her spin to end prematurely.
Like before on the bridge, time stood completely still. The sound of the music vanished, the sounds of surrounding chatter disappeared, even their own ability to speak was not there. All that remained were their eyes, a window to each of their souls, which now lay bonded through their intertwining fingers.
Then, time began to run again. Elena could tell it did, because she spotted a faint, slow, nod of Miles’ head. It was subtle, but it meant he accepted her invitation, to be dragged into her world.
Elena responded the only way she knew how.
With a grin worthy of a demon, she pulled his arm like she was playing tug of war. His body was launched forward toward her, but before they both could crash into one another, she stepped aside and released her hold on his hand.
Miles’ body began spinning from the force of Elena’s pull. Once he stopped, Elena met him with a smile. A similar smile displayed itself in Miles’ face, a sign that he finally understood.
He stretched both arms to the side as he tapped his foot. He did a twirl, then halted, then did another, ducking on the second one while striking a cocky posy. One that lasted little, as he burst into laughter.
“Yeah, you got it!” Elena cheered him while clapping, pleased with the result of her stubborn insistence. The man who just before was too nervous to show a hint of his self was not only grooving carelessly to the beat, but was also laughing at himself. In fact, this might’ve been the first time she’d heard him laugh.
He continued with movements that were swift and full of grace. He hopped around the dance floor, mixing in kicks to the air. Each time he crouched, he covered his head with his hands. It was clear his dance was one influenced by his time in the battlefield, a reminder that no matter how upbeat, this man was still a warrior of unlikely ability.
Maybe it could seem a bit uncanny, but so long as he was enjoying it, Elena was not one to reproach. It did make her look lame in comparison, but again, she cared not about anyone’s opinion.
As she thought her thoughts, she stood still, too occupied with observing him. Suddenly, her hand was gripped.
“Come on, now you are the one just standing still. That’s not really fair, don’t you think?”
Elena blushed, overwhelmed by the gold emanating from his eyes. It felt chilling, to be the one being teased for the first time.
Hand in hand, the two danced. It was not sloppy, nor was it graceful, but rather something in between, something born of the ways each of them lived. It was the dance of two people, born from different worlds, coming together as one. Their hands were the rope that tied them together; neither pulled harder than the other, for neither wanted this game of tug of war to end.
And yet, without knowing it, Elena would still bring it to an end. Each peek of his eyes she got slowly built her yearning for the perfect closing act for the night. So, she pulled herself toward him like a magnet, then swiftly placed her left arm on his left shoulder, and then—
“Catch me.”
With that whisper to his ear, her body began to fall backward, as if to meet the ground with her back.
While at first, he could only raise his eyebrows in confusion, the first glimpse of her tender body descending like a leaf in fall was all it took for Miles to comprehend the meaning of her whisper. His instinct as a man took over, and he placed his hands to prevent her fall.
All the stares of curious onlookers had surely morphed into ones of envy. But those stares mattered not, for they no longer existed. Neither did the music nor the walls of the club.
All that mattered were the two of them, stranded in a world where time did not pass. Elena, suspended by the grasp of the beautiful man’s firm arms, had her lips only a few centimeters removed from his.
The perfect finale she’d foreseen to her night had already arrived. So perhaps it was nothing but greed to ask for more. To reach for that which she always yearned for. For all her wishes to be satisfied, to seal it all with a kiss…
Please… let this be…
They were covered in sweat. But it didn’t matter. They barely knew each other. But it didn’t matter.
So long as she could live this fantasy, nothing else mattered.
Everything, her many deaths, her time in the castle, all would be worth it, so long as she could finally…
“Everyone, halt right there.”
That voice. It broke through her ecstasy, and brought her soul plummeting back down to the world.
The voice was then joined by dozens of others, which blended together into a surrounding hubbub. All of them showed concern with their sound, evidence of something being wrong.
Elena stood back properly, and looked squarely at the origin of the voice. Standing by the pub’s entrance was a tall man, clad in armor adorned with medals. His hair was gray, and a sword awaited hungrily on the scabbard by his waist.
“Hand over the girl, and all of you shall be allowed to walk free.”
“It can’t be…”
The one gracing them with his presence—none other than the greatest of the kingdom’s knights, Thales.