Calm down, Anya. Get it together.

I took a breath. What a pretty mess I’d gotten myself into.

Kasamarchi could’ve warned me had he been by my side.

At least it’s all over already.

For my Cammoths too. The broken, black stones laid scattered in the gray dust; they wouldn’t return to the pouch.

Now I only had Asp.

I had no other choice. In any other scenario, I would have been smashed by the Giant’s spiky club while trying to escape the trap I’d fallen into through my own folly.

I just needed some water to drink.

The recent events flashed before my eyes.

***

I had last filled my waterskin three days ago—before we had run into the patrol. No spring or stream had caught my eye since then.

Not that I really knew how to find one; it had always been Kasamarchi who looked for water. But then we parted without saying goodbye—and, of course, without any last-minute advice.

The heat made me constantly thirsty. I emptied the waterskin quickly, despite making a point to save my water. My attempts were clumsy: I would just endure thirst as long as I could, then gulp down the warm water, cursing myself for giving up so quickly.

On the third day, I ran out of water. By then, I would sometimes come across small groups of fragile trees nestled against a white rock formation. For some reason, I decided that it was there that water could be found. So I examined each patch of vegetation on my way, except those too far off my course. I strained my ears to catch the splashing of water breaking through the sound of the wind in the leaves. But the heavenly conductor just didn’t have a bubbling spring performing a part in their orchestra. Maybe that part was on the next page of a score that they were reluctant to turn.

I encountered more and more trees, some of them coming together to form small, shady groves filled with the chirping of birds and whispering of leaves. I hated the moments when I had to leave their shelter, stepping out again into the scorching sun.

In one of those groves, I finally heard a spring. The sound was coming from a small rock, its foot spotted by brown-and-green moss.

I marched to it, leaving the birds chirping behind me. It took me some time to realize that every sound seemed to fade away with each step I took toward the rock. It was as if my movement brought down a giant glass cover over the glade, cutting it off from the world. Even the wind seemed to die, absorbed into the whitish rocks.

My gut feeling screamed “danger” at the trampled grass next to the gaping crevice. But I was dying to feel fresh water on my dried lips. My thirst dulled all the other senses.

Only when I saw the whitish bones scattered at the crevice, did I realize that the silence was dead. No sounds except for the invisible spring bubbling somewhere in the dark, loud as an alarm bell. And a silent shadow creeping over the rocks from behind my back, setting my hair loose and down to my shoulders.

***

I let time go and rolled down in the limestone dust, dodging a blow.

How many times would I have been dead if it weren’t for Asp with his freeze-frame?

And thanks to Kasamarchi. I had to admit that.

In a split second, a club as large as a power shovel’s bucket crashed down to where I had just been a moment ago. The ground shook, literally tossing me up into the air.

Oh shit. It didn’t look this scary in the scenario.

The seconds it took Asp to reach the attacker’s head seemed endless.

Another leap, this time toward the crevice.

Just a moment to steal a glance at the Giant.

Too little.

Or the Giant was too big to fit in. All I could see was a massive toe that looked like an old, dusty, leather armchair topped with a thick, cracked nail as large as a fast food restaurant table.

A roll ahead.

The spiky club crashed into the cave wall, the stone crumbs lashing at my face and neck, filling my hair and collar.

I felt like I was hiding from a bombardment in a trench.

Another leap away.

The long-awaited flash of the Volcano Breath illuminated the glade.

At last, you winged skinbag.

Another moment to take a look at the Giant.

The monster’s tiny head, engulfed in flames, was high over the treetops. Probably as high as a four-storied building.

The echo of a deafening growl, as powerful as an amplified bass guitar in a rock concert, pressed down on me.

Now the Cammoths.

And down to the ground. The lava-blinded Giant put all of his strength into this last, desperate blow, using his Hammer-Strike core.

I fell down at the prescribed spot, covering my head.

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

The Cammoths rose over me with a thundering sound to shield me from the blow.

The next moment, I was tossed up in the air again as though by an explosion.

I was blind. Deaf. Weightless. I was a baby mouse chased by a stick-armed village boy around a shed. One misstep and it would be my bones scattered at the cave entrance.

I could hear again.

I jumped to my feet and saw the broken fragments of Cammoths on the ground.

A freezing breath came from above, then a dry, crackling sound; it was Asp freezing the Giant and then banging its tail on the enemy’s frozen head.

Now it would fall.

Half a second to roll into the safety of the cave.

The thundering sound of the collapsing multi-storied body filled my ears with cotton balls.

I rolled up into a ball, covering my head. I saw stars, my ears ringing. Then silence.

Si-len-ce.

I slowly came to, feeling drained of emotions. I wasn’t at all shaken by the sight of the monster’s petrified body. Instead, I was suddenly thinking about chess.

Had I sacrificed my bishops to save the queen?

That seemed far-fetched. Although the game we had been playing with the Magister over the past three months did have a lot in common with chess. I was only disappointed with my role: not a player, just a game piece—though a strong one.

Kasamarchi was probably having a harder time trying to checkmate the Magister without his queen.

I had to take this ruin’s core. It would be great if Asp acquired even a tenth of the Hammer Strike’s power.

And the water, definitely.

I licked my dried lips. Sand crunched between my teeth.

Drink. Now!

I plodded to the crevice with the spring.

The giant had probably settled there because of the water. How come such a hulking thing hadn’t grabbed my attention right away? He had crept up really, really quietly, almost killing me.

Plunging my hands into the cool stream, I washed my hot face.

***

Several days later, the plains transformed into woods. For a while, I kept seeing broad gaps between the trees. But soon they disappeared, the small, fragile trees giving way to giant pines, mossy rocks hiding in their shadow.

It was the same forest I had entered three months ago. Then, I had been barefoot, scared, and dressed only in my nightie.

The smell was the same, as were the sounds.

But no sea.

But I knew I was moving in the right direction.

The next day, I crossed the Lizard River by the slippery stepping stones, remembering Twina-Twin. The crocoboat might be somewhere nearby. What would it do if it met me alone, without Kasamarchi?

Hopefully, it wouldn’t devour me.

I walked along easily, my thoughts flowing smoothly and effortlessly through my mind.

It took me some time to realize that a bearded man had popped up from behind the bushes, like a jack-in-the-box.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he boomed, blocking my way.

“Why the hell are you here all alone?” Another male voice came from behind, giving me a start.

My escape route was blocked by a young man barely of age, short but stocky.

“Lost in the woods?” The third man, a tall, stooping senior with very long arms, grinned with his toothless mouth, then looked over my shoulder to confirm that the path was indeed empty. “She is alone.”

***

The sun was setting, accompanied by the loud buzzing of cicadas. The sweet aroma of death was spreading in the hot, still air. Fat, green flies droned as they circled over the site of the massacre.

I looked into the old man’s clouded eyes, which were sitting abnormally far apart in his cracked face. As my gaze slipped down to the tongue hanging out from his open mouth, I whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, mimicking him. “Of course, we’ll trim your tongue. Just a little bit. So you won’t tattle. Heh.”

I didn’t actually sound like him. Too much time had passed since I’d done any talking.

Going around the bearded man’s body sprawled on the ground, his neck unnaturally twisted, I continued on my way.

Another day passed.

The encounter with the three robbers was not really very exciting. They had mistaken me for easy prey and paid for it; that was all. I only felt some pity for that stupid boy, barely older than myself. He’d died an ugly death. But that was his own choice.

In the evening, falling asleep by the dying fire, I realized that I had not had any nightmares in Crealia. My whole past life seemed a half-forgotten dream. I hardly ever thought about it, my struggle for survival in this world taking all of my attention and strength.

But that day, after getting attacked by the three robbers, I remembered the Demon for some reason. And my mother.

I felt no fear. Just the calm realization that I was ready. And that Mom was all right.

Barely surprised at why I was so sure about it, I fell asleep, my heart light and cheery. I seemed to hear the faint sound of the surf.

The next morning, I woke up early, before dawn, and headed off.

Several hours later, the trees grew further apart, showing a smooth leaden surface beneath the gray, dawning sky. In the elusive early morning light, I was not sure whether it was the same place where I’d been attacked by the Hawk while hiding from the Budrahs.

It could be.

When I found the familiar way down and, trampling the cones down into the sand, began to descend, I lost any doubt that it was.

I looked to the left, searching the beach for the eight red-haired bodies.

Of course, there were none, just the white spots of gulls gliding over the site where the massacre occurred.

I went down to the water and, taking a brief walk along the shore, discovered several bones lodged in the sand and several dog skulls colored pink by the first rays of the sun.

Yes. It’s the place I need. And at the same time, I thought, looking at the golden disc coming up over the sea.

I took a step towards the water.

With a muffled clap, the familiar ring of fire blazed up around me.

The coast disappeared. I was back in the room where I had parted with my mom such a long time ago. In my—or maybe someone else’s—past life.

I remembered everything that had happened that night, except this time I felt no fear.

I stepped out of the smoking circle.

“Mom! Mommy!”

She stood where I had left her ages ago, staring at me with wide-open eyes and struggling for words.

A deep growl brought me back to reality.

The demon outside the door sensed my presence, and his fiery minions stormed in, breaking the door down.

My hair fell to my shoulders. I backed up a step, keeping my eyes on the monsters, and took Mom’s warm hand.

The demon stood in the doorway, his minions creeping up to me like those red dogs on the shore.

The demon’s red eyes found me. Then he bared a blazing sword and attacked.

Asp sprung up from beneath my feet, casting the fiery minions away to the walls and breaking the Demon’s mirror shield.

The stunned Demon gripped the sword with both hands and, bearing his teeth, charged at Asp.

They began a dance of death: the Demon and his surviving minions against my Asp, who had absorbed the souls of his defeated predators, monsters, and assassins.

Luck was not on the Demon’s side. He had come here for a little girl but had found Asp.

The fiery minions’ bodies were smeared on the walls. The demon limped, his sharp-clawed paw closing the wound in his side.

Asp was dancing in the air, coming closer and closer toward the enemy. The red gleams from the fiery sword sometimes illuminated the serpent, his winged shadow darting over the walls like a bat.

Goodbye, my nightmare.

The serpent coiled like a giant paper streamer and, cleaving the air with his broad ax-like tail, swept the horned head off its shoulders.

The beheaded Demon crumbled into a pile of fading coals that turned black rapidly, then crumbled to ashes, then disappeared, leaving no trace on the carpet. No blood splattered the walls either.

I put my hair up, noting the surprise in Mom’s eyes as she watched me use my leather hairband to tie it.

I ran up to her and hugged her tightly, tears running down my cheeks. “How long have I been away, Mom?”

“Two…two hours, maybe. You look older, Anya.”

“I bet. Do we have any food? I’m starving.”

“Oh, sure. The cupcakes from the party. Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t. Any meat?”

“I’ll check,” Mom said, still staring at me. “How was it, Anya?”

“Er…I’m not sure.”

I still struggled to believe I was home.

Anya. It was my name pronounced this way, softer than “Ana,” the Creali version, that made me finally believe it.

This world seemed strange. Too small. Too smooth. Too neat.

Some toy world. A poor excuse for reality.