Ardler pulled out a pocket-sized, leather-bound notebook from his pocket, setting it down on the rickety wooden table where Rafa sat, scarfing down a bowl of rabbit soup, his painful, bandaged arm limp at his side.

“This here—peculiar, I tell you. I didn’t take a look inside, but it was next to your body while you were asleep,” Ardler said.

Rafa let his spoon fall into the bowl. “While you were attempting to drown me?”

“Please pardon,” Ardler said, pushing the notebook closer to Rafa. “If I had known you were Inis’s own, her beloved, I would have never.”

A few pieces fell into place amongst a large puzzle in Rafa’s mind—the white-haired woman had to be Inis. He pondered on how to get more information out of the man without appearing ignorant, or giving away that he’s an imposter. His stomach turned, ruining his appetite the longer he dwelt on the matter.

Ardler pranced around his one-room cottage, stopping in front of a lofty bookshelf. The bottom three shelves were the only ones filled with any books and assorted knickknacks, as the five shelves above him were too tall to reach—so there they were, empty.

Rafa held up the handheld notebook to the light burning behind him in the fireplace. There was nothing on the cover but dark, solid brown leather. Spotless, as though it hadn’t existed long at all, feeling smooth to the touch. Opening the book, the first page had nothing but a name in extravagant handwriting: Rafa Azour.

“What.. why does it say—”

“Speak up, son,” Ardler said, catching another of Rafa’s whispers. “Excuse my tone.” He shook his head, closing a random green book in his hands. “What was it you said?”

“This book—it has my name. Did you write it?”

“Oh, I’ve never seen that little beauty in my long life. No, no. I’ve never seen such a small print of literature. Who else could have written it, I might ask?”

Without answering, Rafa rifled through the first couple of pages. The makeup of some pages was simple: a grid with empty framed squares, another page with but a few words, followed by many rows of question marks.

This peculiar page read like this, with each entry in a separate row: Quarterstaff 4. Reflex 4. Hand-to-hand 2. What came next stumped Rafa for a moment. ‘???,’ rows upon rows of them laid underneath—then the idea came.

Skills. Attributes. He could see them all written out in this book, realizing there were dozens more undiscovered.

An odd inclination arose, an unfamiliar curiosity. What would happen if a skill reached five? Ten?

“What’s inside that there, um, book?” Ardler said, standing on his toes, hands clasped together.

Rafa cleared his throat. An overwhelming sensation came over him, as if he were holding something that didn’t belong to him—however, it was clear, by the name on the front, it belonged to him. “Nothing. The pages are blank,” he said, immediately regretting his decision to lie.

Personability to 2

“What—” Rafa said.

“Hm?” Ardler said, eyebrows raised. “I said nothing.”

Rafa shook his head. He felt this subtle tickle in his brain before, when the old man and himself were being attacked. Looking down at the book once again, just there, some distance below the hand-to-hand skill, he read the words: Personability. That wasn’t there a moment ago.

“You are quite a freakish young lad, aren’t you? You are.” Ardler said, eyes squinting. Tension manifested itself in the old man’s stance now, revealing that Rafa’s words were most likely not taken well at all. “But, you being the favored one, it’s not for me to say this or that.” He turned to face the bookshelf, then shuffled through a few of the assorted leaning books.

Rafa’s breath trembled as he exhaled. With a finger slipping underneath, he turned the page, grating paper against paper.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The next page revealed a map, showing only a small general area, some mountains—the rest lost, unnamed. Would it unveil more information as he traversed the environment? The roads? Rafa recalled the old man mentioning literature, printing. Could there be cities somewhere?

“Oh good! You have a map.”

Rafa flinched as the voice blasted into his ear. He’d become so entranced by the book in front of him, he didn’t notice the little sneak come up behind to peek. “Please,” Rafa said, half shutting the book.

“Um-hm. But of course.” Ardler slinked away.

“But wait.” Rafa said, raising his left arm, forgetting the ache. With his elbow now in agony, he kept it still, waiting for the sting to stop. “This forest.” He set his injured arm down on the table.

“And what about it?” Ardler said.

“Where are we?”

Ardler showed disdain toward the question. “You are to lead, but you don’t even know where you are? How to use a map? This is Galora Wood, you half-wit.”

Words in white appeared to write themselves toward the north-west of the map, as if a ghost were amidst them. The words Galora Wood were now readable above a large patch of green.

Rafa slammed the book shut. Leaning forward over his soup, elbows digging into the table, he clasped a hand over his face. He’d truly, truly gone away. Family, friends, they were all lost to him.

“I’ve never had to check on one person more in such a short time. Are you alright, son? Is your duty too much for you to bear?” Ardler said, a crooked smile emerging, obviously lost in some thought of gratification. “If you were to pass the favor onto me, then you wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. No.”

Rafa sensed hostility, oh so subtle, within the old man’s scraggly speech. Would he try to take whatever he means by force? “Where did that come from?” Rafa said in an even tone, patience lost.

Ardler recoiled. “Well, I, I never would have asked such a thing, if you were not in so much pain—eh, what is your name?”

Without hesitation Rafa replied: “Brell.”

“Brell, oh Brell it is!”

Personability to 3

Ardler’s tone retreated. “As I was saying, I would never have even cracked open the thought in my noggin if I didn’t see you in so much anguish, young Brell.”

Rafa felt the instability of the old man, along with his own—any more angering this hermit and life would get a lot more difficult. But where else could Rafa go?

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Rafa said. “Truly.”

“My life is to serve Inis and her child,” Ardler said with a grin. “I’ve been waiting for my beloved Inis’s return for so very long.”

Many questions bubbled up in Rafa’s mind. Every time the man spoke, it elicited more and more unanswered inquiries, along with flourishing unease. “I’m overjoyed that Inis would choose me.”

Without notice, Ardler hopped in the air, a squeak escaping through his lips. “That’s more like it! It’s an honor, isn’t it?”

“Now tell me more. What do you mean by her ‘child?’” Rafa said.

“Inis has always wanted a kiddie. She has walked the spirit plane alone—oh, how terrible—and now she can have someone she calls her own. Presented by me, of course. For I’m the one that found him, mind you.”

“So, Inis just wants companionship?” Rafa said.

“Is that not what everyone wants, young Brell?”

Rafa closed his eyes, attempting to process the information given to him by this four-foot recluse. This doesn’t sound too terrible—this at least gives him some time to work out how to get home. He took hold of the wooden spoon, filling it with broth.

“Eventually, you’ll be powerful enough to merge with her, allowing my Inis to materialize and walk the land once more,” Ardler said, radiating cheer.

Rafa dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a splash. His stomach wrenched as he turned back toward the old man in his rickety wooden chair. They exchanged no words for a few moments, with only a happy stare from Ardler.

“Isn’t that exciting?” Ardler said, breaking the silence. He ran over to the bookshelf, grabbed a book with a scarlet cover, and opened it. “I’ve waited so very long. Oh, yes, I’ve waited too long for this moment.” He scrambled through a few of the front pages, then held it out, opened.

Rafa couldn’t hide how he was feeling about the old man’s words.

Ardler pointed to a large paragraph on the page, attempting to show Rafa, despite him being far from within reading distance. “See here? It says for a deity to return to our realm, it requires an adequate host. Her child, you see.”

Rafa couldn’t take his focus off of Ardler, the book, or the thought of Niklas. He stood to his feet and walked toward the door with a heavy breath.

“Where are you going, young one?” Ardler said.

Rafa pulled the door open, stepping out into the darkness. His heart thrummed with great speed and power, as if a wild sabertooth had taken hold of his arm once more. How could he trust anyone, ever? Even this man, who appears to want the best for him, only feels this way because he’ll be some sacrifice. And his friend, Niklas, he’s ensnared in a trap like a doomed rabbit—if only he could have talked more sense into him, or attacked that putrid thing in the water.

The sound of a few footsteps came out into the grass. Ardler. “Brell, I understand. You must be so nervous to meet her, to fulfill your purpose. This is important, yes, very important, to oh so many of us. I—I understand your fear.”

Rafa tried and failed to maintain an even breathing pattern, falling to one knee, hand over his chest. With trembling words, he spoke: “Where is the wrong one?”

“Come back inside so we may discuss more, hm?” Ardler said. “I’ll tell you the location of that wretched boy’s entryway, so we may destroy him together.” He waved his hand and turned to step back inside the cottage. “I saw it in our vision, bestowed upon us by Inis herself.”