In the aftermath of our harrowing flight to freedom, we found ourselves in a tranquil moonlit clearing. This ephemeral sanctuary, while openly exposed, offered a vast expanse that allowed us to detect any approach from the enclosing forest. The elves, recently unshackled from their grim fate, congregated around a small, flickering fire. Its capricious flames cast a warm, dancing glow, creating a comforting, if fleeting, sense of security amidst the uncertainty of the night.
Cirrus, in the midst of this serene assembly, reveled in the attention lavished upon him by the elves. Their interactions with him were tinged with an almost sacred reverence, as if he were an emissary from a forgotten folklore. To them, he was evidently more than a mere creature; he was a symbol of hope, an embodiment of the myths and legends woven into their culture. In contrast, to me, Cirrus was simply a faithful companion, reminiscent of a beloved dog from my past life on Earth, yet possessed of a consciousness that seemed to transcend mere animal instinct.
Meanwhile, I sat removed from the group, lingering at the fringes of the firelight. My gaze was ostensibly fixed on the shadowy depths of the forest, but in truth, I was lost in the murky depths of my own conscience. This day marked a somber first in my life – the day I took a human life.
My previous encounters in this world, with its monstrous denizens and malevolent goblins, had felt almost surreal, like being thrust into an unsettlingly realistic video game. Their grotesque forms and overt hostility had rendered each battle a clear struggle for survival. But the confrontation with the bandits had painted a starkly different reality. These were humans, beings with connections, histories, and lives that extended beyond the confines of their misdeeds. Could there ever be justification for snuffing out their existence, regardless of their actions?
Back in my own world, justice was an intricate process, a system designed for impartiality and fairness. No individual held the omnipotent power to judge and sentence. Decisions, particularly those concerning life and death, were deliberated upon collectively, the weighty responsibility shared among many. The finality of a death sentence was a rare and gravely serious outcome.
Yet, in this world, I had found myself in the role of arbiter and executioner. My infiltration of their camp, under the guise of a noble mission, had culminated in fatal retaliation. In the cold light of my Earthly values, this act painted me not as a hero, but as a murderer.
Sitting there, enveloped by the night, the crackle of the fire and the subdued murmurs of the elves seemed to fade into a distant background, muffled by the turmoil churning within me. As the fire’s flames danced and writhed, casting elongated, quivering shadows around us, I found myself wrestling with the harsh realities of this new world. The moral compass that had guided me in my previous life was being relentlessly tested, its needle quivering under the weight of actions taken in moments of life and death.
This new world, with its blurred lines between right and wrong, was reshaping me, challenging the very core of my identity. As I grappled with these troubling thoughts, the night around me seemed to grow denser, as if echoing the darkening of my inner world. The path ahead was unclear, shrouded in the complexities and moral ambiguities of this strange, new existence.
One of the elf warriors, an elder whose scars whispered tales of countless battles, approached me. Despite his injured leg, his steps were as silent as falling leaves. He sat beside me, a respectful distance between us, his gaze lost in the twilight of the forest. His relaxed posture belied the weight of his experience.
Lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts, I was still acutely aware of his presence. I longed to retreat into my own mind, but before I could, his voice, soft yet laden with the gravity of experience, broke the silence.
“One should not keep solitary vigil when the heart is clouded by tempestuous thoughts,” he said gently.
His words, steeped in wisdom, seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
“I’m alright. Just needed space to think,” I replied, my voice a poor mask for my inner conflict.
“Do your thoughts dwell upon the deeds of this day?” His query was a gentle probe, his voice layered with empathy.
My hands, resting on my lap, felt foreign – like tools that had performed actions beyond my comprehension.
“I lived a peaceful life until a few days ago. Today, I...” My voice faltered. “I took a life. It feels like a line has been crossed, a boundary I can never return from.”
The elf warrior’s gaze met mine, eyes like ancient pools of wisdom.
“To take a life is a heavy burden, one that never grows lighter,” he began, his voice a somber melody. “But know this, young one, the path of a warrior is strewn with such burdens. It is our duty to bear the weight of actions that others cannot, to ensure the tranquility of peace is not shattered by the clamor of war.”
His words were like a balm, yet they stung with truth. “In… where I come from, life is sacred. Killing... it’s the ultimate crime.”
“A realm that can cherish such ideals is blessed indeed,” he reflected, his voice nearly a whisper. “Life’s harsh tapestry often weaves threads of grim necessity. Your actions, born not of malice but of dire need, were those of preservation, not destruction. Those who sow discord and strife choose their path, a path that leads inevitably to sorrow and ruin.”
I glanced at the now sleeping elves, their faces serene, untouched by the horrors we had faced.
He seemed to read my thoughts. “You have shown valor this day, Ethan. Not solely in the heat of battle, but in choosing to defend those unable to defend themselves. You are no bringer of death; you are a guardian, a bulwark against the darkness.”
His words resonated, yet a shadow lingered within me, the echo of a deed that could not be undone.
“A warrior’s hands, etched with the marks of battle, carry a burden unseen to most,” he continued, his voice resonating with wisdom born of experience. “It is a burden that should never be borne lightly. How we carry this weight, how we reconcile it with our essence, is what defines us. It separates the righteous from the malevolent, the just from the unjust.”
His perspective, solemn and unflinching, opened a new realm of understanding within me. The world I had entered was one of blurred lines and difficult choices, and my role in it was not merely physical but deeply moral.
As he stood, preparing to return to his watch, Cirrus, my spirit companion, appeared, his form a comforting glow in the moonlight. The elf warrior watched Cirrus approach me, a soft smile touching his weathered face.
“If you doubt the justness of your actions, consider the company you have drawn,” He said, nodding towards Cirrus. “Your bond with this spirit creature speaks volumes of the nature of your spirit. These beings align themselves with souls that exude purity and righteousness. Their choice is never arbitrary.”
Cirrus nuzzled against me, his warmth a contrast to the cool night air. The simple gesture brought a sense of peace, a reminder of the bond we shared.
The elf warrior, ready to leave, paused and turned back to me. “Remember, Ethan, the path of a warrior is fraught with thorns and shadows. Yet it is also a path of honor, of safeguarding those who cannot safeguard themselves.”
I sat there for a while longer, lost in thought, until I sensed someone else approach. It was Nyxara, her presence almost blending with the night. She had been observing silently, her expression thoughtful.
“You did the right thing today,” she said softly, her words indirect yet affirming. It was a rare glimpse into her inner thoughts, a subtle acknowledgement of my struggle.
Her brief comment, though sparing, offered a semblance of solace. I nodded in appreciation, grateful for her unspoken support.
She turned away to take her place for the watch, leaving me to rest. With Cirrus by my side, I lay down, the elder’s words and Nyxara’s affirmation mingling in my thoughts. The night’s embrace felt a bit less daunting, as I prepared for the challenges of the next day.
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Just as the morning of the following day began to stir me from my sleep, I felt the jab of Nyxara’s boot at my back. Granted, I was wearing armor so it’s not like it would’ve hurt, but it was an unexpected way to wake for sure. “Get up.” She said. “It’s about time we move.”
Still groggy from a restless nights sleep, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Still half asleep I replied, “Rest period is over, huh? Time to load the next level?”
My statement earned me an odd look from Nyxara. One that screamed, “Have you gone mad?” That’s when the gears finally started moving and I realized where I was.
“Ah… don’t mind me. Still half asleep.” I tried to brush it off.
“I can kick you again if it’ll help.” She replied. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if she was trying to lighten the mood or if she was actually being serious. She tossed a neatly folded cloth onto my lap. “Your cloak. I snagged some spare cloths on the way out of the camp, so you don’t need to loan yours out anymore.”
“I see.” I didn’t know what else to say. If I lingered on thoughts from last night, and the way I found that elf, I feared my anger would return. So instead I focused my thoughts on the cloak.
This cloak, a legendary item from the game Everlight, commands an aura of mystique and rarity. Its exterior is a deep, lustrous black, the fabric appearing to absorb light, giving it an almost ethereal quality. The inner lining contrasts strikingly with a rich, dark green hue, reminiscent of a forest under the cover of night. The cloak’s material is remarkably lightweight yet durable, flowing gracefully with every movement and providing a sense of unseen protection.
Its rarity is reflected by its incredibly low drop rate in the game – a mere 0.01%, making it a prized possession among players. It symbolizes not just in-game achievement, but also dedication and persistence, representing countless hours of battling formidable monsters for that one elusive victory. This cloak is more than just an item; it’s a trophy of perseverance, a testament to the wearer’s gaming prowess and patience.
And, unsurprisingly, the grind was worth it. As a magic item it was kind of broken. It boasted high resistance against elemental attacks, 10% reduction to mana cost when casting spells, extremely high durability, and a nearly 100% boost to stealth if crouched and not moving. I always imagined that stealth bit to be not unlike a certain cloak from a classic fantasy novel – the one that made the wearer appear like a boulder.
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Needless to say, I was grateful to have it back in my possession.
By the time I got to my feet and clasped the cloak back to my armor, the elves were ready to move out. It made sense, the only luggage they carried was the cloths on their backs and several weapons we procured from the bandits. Our morning ritual was simple: extinguish the fire, cover our tracks, and tend to any lingering injuries.
I was concerned about starting off without the elves having any form of meal – I assumed they did not eat well in captivity. But Nyxara brushed of my concerns without hesitation. According to her, elves don’t actually need to consume food anywhere near as much as humans do. In fact, they can go several months without eating to no major side effects.
From my understanding, humans back on Earth could survive two to three weeks without food, but that’s with significant and painful side effects. I wasn’t too concerned for myself on that front, though. It had been less than a day since my last meal. Not to mention, I packed for only a few days. It would be smart for me to ration what I had left. With everything in order, we set out, continuing our journey towards safety.
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The forest around us was alive with the sounds of nature, a contrasting backdrop to the tense silence that hung over our group. We moved as one, a tentative alliance united by a common goal: freedom and safety.
As we moved through the thicket, I couldn’t help but feel a certain… uneasiness from the elves. Whatever bad blood existed between them and humankind – not at all helped by the slavery – seemed to run deep. I certainly didn’t blame them. Realistically, they had no reason to trust me.
A few of them, mainly the elders and a couple of the fighter-types, were relatively friendly and seemed at ease around me. The elf I found tied to the bed, however, kept her distance from me and seemed to be avoiding looking in my direction. I’m sure she had a very… negative opinion of human males.
Thinking about it, the anger I felt when I saw the state she was in, I think fueled my fight against the bandit leader. That really didn’t sit right with me. It felt like I killed him, not in self defense, but in retaliation.
I shook my head, loosening the thought from the forefront of my mind. Right now was not the time or place to dwell on such thoughts. At the same time, Nyxara nodded to the right, indicating we needed to turn.
Leading the group, despite my unfamiliarity with the terrain, felt ironic. Nyxara’s quiet directions provided guidance, but I sensed this was also a test of trust
I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one fell behind. Then, Nyxara asked me a question. Her voice was soft, unsure.
“Why? Why extend yourself so far for these people?”
I took a moment to reflect on a truthful response.
“Honestly? I don’t know if I have a good answer for you. Despite the circumstances of our meeting, it’s just the right thing to do. As I said before, where I come from slavery is appalling. As far as I’m concerned, it is disgusting. It violates the basic right to exist. No law, perhaps even punishment for crime, can justify such infringement.”
Her next question was almost a whisper, a curious murmur amidst the rustling leaves. “Where is your home? A society as you describe seems... unimaginable.”
I paused, feeling a pang of nostalgia. “It doesn’t exist anymore. My memories of it... they feel distant, like from another lifetime.”
Realizing the need for discretion, I gently steered the conversation. “My ideals are my own. I don’t intend to impose them on anyone, but I can’t ignore those in need. I would rather lose my life failing a good cause than to succumb to the weariness of old age and regret.”
Our conversation ended there leaving Nyxara seemingly lost in thought. Perhaps trying to determine if I was being truthful or not? From what I had gathered so far, her mistrust ran much deeper than general misdeeds. She even regarded her own kin with discerning eyes.
Our journey continued with cautious speed, our path a constant balance between haste and vigilance. The forest’s inherent dangers loomed, an unspoken threat shadowing our steps.
A welcome break came when we stumbled upon a serene stream. The clear, cool water was a blessing, and the elves drank eagerly, their expressions softening in the momentary peace. Nyxara remained alert, her senses attuned to the slightest hint of danger, but even she allowed herself a moment of respite.
It was there, a scene graced my eyes as if a divine embrace. By the waters edge, a young elf girl engaged Cirrus in playful pursuit. A scene so pure and innocent that the shrouded canopy of the forest seemed to allow more light in. The elder that spoke to me last night approached me, placing a hand gently on my shoulder.
“Young one, this is the essence of your struggle. You fought not for vengeance, but to preserve the innocent of the young and the strength of the old.”
His words resonated within me, dislodging a hidden turmoil and restoring a sense of balance. I watched the scene in contemplative silence, feeling a lightness in my heart that had been absent before.
The moment, however, was fleeting. Nyxara, her expression tinged with a hint of regret, signaled it was time to move. With a final glance at the peaceful tableau by the stream, we continued our journey, each step taking us closer to a hope-filled yet uncertain future.
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Unfortunately, the serenity left from our respite at the steam wouldn’t last. The forest is a tranquil tapestry of gentle breezes, soft sounds, and deadly shadows. As we navigated through the dense undergrowth, I couldn’t shake a growing unease. I could feel my hair standing on end.
Just then, a guttural growl resonated from the thicket. Before we could react, monstrous creatures burst forth. Like nightmares given form, their shape a grotesque amalgamation of predatory features. They stood on four powerful legs, each ending in razor-sharp claws that tore effortlessly through the underbrush. Their bodies were sleek yet muscular, covered in a mottled fur that seemed to shift and blend with the shadows of the forest, making them terrifyingly adept at ambush.
Their heads were the most unsettling aspect. Reminiscent of wolves, yet larger and more sinister, with elongated snouts filled with rows of jagged teeth, perfect for rending flesh. Their eyes glowed with a malevolent intelligence, a deep red that seemed to burn with a hunger for chaos and destruction.
These creatures moved with a predatory grace, each step calculated and silent, save for the occasional snap of a twig under their weight. They seemed to communicate with each other through a series of low growls and guttural clicks, coordinating their attacks with a chilling efficiency.
Their assault was not just a physical challenge but a psychological one, their very appearance designed to instill fear and doubt. It was clear these monsters were not merely beasts of the wild but something far more sinister, possibly even a creation of dark sorcery or some curse.
“Shadowgast wolves!” One of the elf warrior cried out.
As the growls of the Shadowgast wolves echoed through the forest, a primal instinct within me stirred. My hand instinctively reached for the hilt of my sword, a weapon that felt increasingly familiar in my grasp. The creatures charged with a ferocity that sent a chill down my spine.
Countless hours controlling Zephyrian in Everlight never prepared me for the raw intensity of real battle. As one of the wolves lunged towards me, I met it with a defensive stance, parrying its razor-sharp claws with my blade. The clash of steel against beast was a jarring symphony, each movement a desperate bid for survival.
I was holding my own, but just barely. The creature’s relentless assaults pushed me back, each strike a test of my resolve and skill. My movements were still clumsy, the gap between game and reality evident in each exchanged blow.
I swung a heavy, off-handed punch to the beasts snout, stunning it just barely long enough to shove my sword up it throat. But at that very moment, I heard a shrill scream from behind me. My gaze met two more monsters charging for a group of unarmed elves.
In that moment something within me just… moved. With no idea how, I launched myself into a long jump, a skill I had often used in Everlight, but never like this. My body responded instinctively, propelling me forward nearly thirty feet with a force that felt both alien and exhilarating.
I collided with one Shadowgast mid-leap, knocking it off its deadly trajectory, and causing the other to stop in surprise. The impact was brutal and unexpected. The beast recovered faster than I did, latching it’s jaw onto my arm. It’s teeth found a gap in my armor, tearing into my flesh with a searing pain.
With a level of strength I didn’t know I possessed, I flung the still attached beast over my head, slamming it to the ground. At the same moment of the impact I drove my sword into it’s side, dispatching it instantly. My small win was short lived. As I pulled my arm loose, throbbing pain went shooting across my arm.
Before I had a chance to turn to the second monster, Nyxara charged in with lethal grace, her blade a blur as she dispatched the wolf before it had time to see what was happening. She barely spared me a glance before charging off again.
The battle raged on, a chaotic dance of survival and instinct. Nyxara was a whirlwind of deadly precision, her blade singing a silent song of death. The elves, though weary, fought with a ferocity born of desperation, their will to live overcoming any lingering doubt about my presence. Wincing through the pain, I managed to dispatch another beast.
When the last of the Shadowgast wolves lay defeated, the forest returned to a deceptive calm. The elves gathered, their eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and newfound respect. The barrier of mistrust had been visibly weakened by our shared fight for survival.
After the fight, I did my best to hide the pain in my arm. The last thing I wanted was for the elves to feel guilty or indebted. Besides, I had some basic potions in my bag. As the elves reveled in the victory and safety of everyone, Nyxara approached me.
“That was reckless,” she said, though her voice carried a hint of admiration. “But brave. You protected them.”
Before I could respond, one of the elves I had shielded – a young woman with eyes wide with worry – hurried over. She gently but firmly took hold of my injured arm, inspecting the wound with a practiced eye.
“This needs to be treated right away,” she insisted.
I attempted to brush off her concern with a nonchalant wave of my hand. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve got some potions that should do the trick. Besides, we shouldn’t linger longer than we have to.”
Nyxara observed the scene, her usual stoic demeanor giving way to a hint of concern. “Ethan, let her tend to your wound. We can afford a moment’s pause for proper care,” she said, her voice softer than usual.
The young elf, determined to offer her aid, rummaged through my bag with a frown. She pulled out the potions I had, examining them with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “These are your healing supplies? Just potions?” she asked, her tone a blend of surprise and mild reprimand.
Nyxara leaned in, examining the assortment with a skeptical eye. “Is this common among adventurers in your... experience? To rely solely on potions for healing?”
I hesitated, aware of the gap between my gaming knowledge and this world’s realities. “Well, yes, I’ve found them to be quite... efficient,” I replied, trying to mask my lack of practical medical knowledge.
In games, potions were straightforward solutions – low health meant a quick gulp of a healing potion, and low mana called for a mana potion. Efficient, yes, but my experience was evidently not grounded in the realities of this world.
The two elves exchanged an exasperated look, shaking their heads slightly. The elf tending to my wound, with a troubled smile, explained, “Some potions can heal simple wounds within minutes, yes. However, these are more like supplements, enhancing your body’s natural healing rather than instant remedies.”
Nyxara retrieved a small pouch from her belt, handing it to the elf. “Here. It’s not much, but it should help stop the bleeding and prevent infection.”
The elf pulled out a cloth-like leaf, peeling it like an onion layer. Noticing my interest, she shared, “These leaves contain a sap effective against infection, and the leaf itself helps cauterize the wound.”
As she spoke, Nyxara removed my vambrace and rolled back my sleeve, revealing the wound. She then took one of my healing potions, pouring half of it over the injury. I winced as it fizzed upon contact, reminiscent of hydrogen peroxide on a fresh cut.
Nyxara then thrust the potion bottle towards me. “Drink the rest,” she commanded firmly.
The elf chuckled softly, adding, “The potion will clean the wound and slow the bleeding. Drinking the remainder will aid your body’s natural healing process.”
Her explanation shed light on the nuanced approach to healing in this world – a blend of natural remedies and magical aid. As I took a cautious sip from the potion bottle, I again realized the depth of my ignorance in this new world and the importance of adapting to its ways. The kindness and expertise of these elves were teaching me more than just survival; they were lessons in humility and learning. Her movements were deft and gentle as she dressed the wound. Wrapping it in the leaf, which slowly worked it’s way into the wound – almost like it was replacing the missing skin. Despite my best efforts, I still winced in pain a few times. Earning me sympathetic looks from the other elves and concerned nudges from Cirrus.
After she finished bandaging me up, Nyxara gave a nod of approval. “Well done. We should keep moving now. Time is not our ally.”
I made sure to thank the elf. It wasn’t just the hands-on healing I benefitted from, but a lesson in the importance, and supplies, of being properly prepared.
As we continued our journey, I noticed another change in the elves. They were now acting openly curious and less guarded against me. I had a strange feeling, almost like these were old friends I had spent a lot of time around.
Nyxara’s demeanor, though still marked by a guarded caution, subtly changed in its intensity towards me. Her shift felt less like a tentative baby step and more akin to cautiously lifting one foot, but hesitating to place it down. Like she expected a trap to be lying in wait.