5 : 272 : 15 : 24 : 22

The worst part about being a hero: it's a job defined by early risers.

I roam around my dark room at the crack of dawn, deeply drowsy and disoriented, and try to scoop together all the things you’re likely to need for a journey to a forbidden land. Any intelligent person would've packed yesterday, or the day before, but the lion's share of my yesterday was spent in a flashy send-off party in town, and the day before I was not interested.

Let's think. Toothbrush is an easy one. Deodorant. A comb. A towel. My own soap, in case the natives don’t use any. Born drop-dead gorgeous, I never got into makeup, which shortens the list by a lot. Swimsuit? Phone charger? Oh yeah, don’t have a phone. Camera? Don’t have one either. Laptop? Nope. Is that all? What the hell, isn’t medieval travel super easy? Oh! A set of ‘battle’ lingerie. Who knows, I might get some bedroom action in this part. Never say never! Do I take the black set, or the white set? Is my future partner into angels, or devils? At moments like this, I wish I had clairvoyant gifts.

Master Teresina coughs, following my preparations from the open doorway. Did she come see me off? Or did she just want to make sure I don't oversleep and show up late?

Since she happens to be there, I depend on the senior citizen for advice.

“Granny, would it make me look pathetically desperate to customs officers, if I took both sets and they checked my bag? I just can’t make up my mind.”

How do elves handle the border procedures? For some reason, nobody ever puts important things like this in a book.

The witch is still coughing. It doesn't sound like the diplomatic kind either. I stop and turn to look at her.

“Granny? Are you dying? Could you please not die on the day I’m supposed to ship out on a big mission? It would leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Oh shut up,” she says and wipes her lips. “It’s the same damn coof every year. And this is a terrible idea.”

“Then what? Just the white one? Or you want me to go commando? Now that's what I call desperate!”

“Not talking about your rags; the so-called mission!”

“Oh. What? Why?”

“Because Amarno is a land of immortal beauty,” she answers. “And you’re a horny idiot.”

Rude.

“The emiri may look a lot like us,” granny continues, “but everything about them from their values, ideals, and general life philosophy is completely alien to us humans. Some might go as far as to describe it as horror. And you’ll have to learn it the hard way, without anyone there to hold your hand.”

“Master Endol's there?” I remind her.

She snorts. “Another reason to be worried. That chap has come a long way since the day he first joined up, but it'll be another lifetime or two before he'll make a babysitter you can rely on. If ever. His expectations for us lowly mortals tend to be...not from this world.”

“Gods, granny, I'm not a baby. I don't need anybody to wipe after me, I’ll manage.”

Somehow. Not saying I’ll do great, but I’ll—manage.

“Also,” she adds, grimly, “you must never come face-to-face with Yaoldabath. Not even by an accident. You least of all people. It’d be the end of you.”

“What are you talking about?” I say, rhetorically. “I’m personally looking forward to meeting Mr Y. The sooner the better. Got something of a bone to pick with the guy. And I didn’t train like crazy all year for nothing.”

“And that attitude is precisely why you're not ready. One of these days, you'll have to recognize there are opponents out there that are beyond training. They’re a wall you can't cross and aren't even meant to. So, whatever you’re going to do, please do it like sensible people; go around the wall. Don’t run into it head-first.”

I close my bag and swing it over my shoulder.

“Granny, sometimes I have to wonder if you think I’m completely braindead—And don’t say it!”

“I do.”

“I said, don’t say it!”

Fuck.

I stride to the doorway and stop to pat the old crone on the shoulder.

“I was made to do this. At least for this once, believe in your student.”

“I do believe,” she answers. “In the other one.”

I exhale slowly and deep. Man, that stings.

“But...” granny then continues. “You may be a pupil no teacher could ever want, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to live.”

“Can I get that again without the double negative?”

She stares back at me, her face hard. “I’m going to miss you, runt.”

“And I’ll miss…your tea? Want a hug?”

“Get out of here.”

I gather my courage and go. Go without looking back, like I'm brave Orpheus on my way out of the halls of Hades.

It’s fine.

It won’t be the last we see each other. I won't let it be.

5 : 272 : 11 : 13 : 20

Clear, pale blue skies. Tall, snow-capped mountains lining the broad horizon. Emerald pastures untouched by the boot of man, colorful butterflies fluttering here and there over them. A pack of brown-spotted cows grazes a stone’s throw from the road and stare curiously at the passing travelers.

No, it’s not Amarno. We still haven't left home.

The worst part of medieval travel is, it doesn't happen very quickly. Half an hour into the trip, I’m already bored out of my mind. Bored enough to try and strike up small talk with Master Endol.

Yes, that bored.

I steer my steel-gray mule closer next to the Sage’s pale white mare and raise my voice in an innocent question.

“Say, Master, are you married?”

I almost crack up, just hearing myself say the words.

Please. This guy’s a “wizard” if I ever saw one, and it’s pretty damn obvious he has no game. But hey, anything’s possible. He might be unexpectedly smooth outside the office hours. Maybe I’ll at least get a funny reaction, if nothing more.

Master Endol gives no sign he even heard the question. His gaze is somewhere over the green sea of mounds as it lays ruffled by the mountain gale, his expression stoic and unreadable, as always. He’s sure got a good poker face, this guy—though I don’t think he’s capable of bluffing. When I’ve already almost forgotten the question, a sudden answer arrives.

“I was.”

I raise a brow in open disbelief. “You were?”

“Yes. A bit over three thousand years ago now.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Wow. Three thousand? That’s insane. And here I thought breakfast was long ago. I strongly feel that going dry for over three millennia practically qualifies as having never scored. Honestly, there must be a time limit after which you restore the virgin status, and three eons is kind of pushing it.

“So, what happened with the 'were'?” I cautiously ask. “Did you...drift apart?”

“You could say that,” he answers. “We were together for eight thousand, six hundred and thirty-four years, elven months, and eighteen days. Then, in mutual agreement, we deemed the time ripe to move on.”

“Hang on a second. Eight thousand…” I repeat the absurd numbers in my head.

I’m thinking all those couples who swear eternal love to each other don’t have any fucking clue what they’re talking about.

“Indeed,” Master Endol nods. “We grew to know each other and our thoughts to the point that we were practically one and the same. Not only completing the sentences of the other, but answering questions before they were even voiced. It was an enjoyable experience, for a time, but eventually began to seem... stifling. Conversations went from organic outlets of self-expression to a rigid formality, a ritual of mundanity, a contrivance, the contents of each exchange known long in advance. We ultimately began to long for the experience of separation again. The illusion of individuality. The unpredictability—the adventure—of not knowing the other.”

Understandable. I guess.

“But, you didn’t take anybody else after the ex?” I ask.

Observing him from such a close distance, I’m confident I spy Master Endol’s silvery brow twitch just a bit, no matter how well he tries to hide it.

“Parting with Mirina was…a conflicted experience,” he articulates diplomatically, not meeting my gaze. “Rather than regaining my former individuality again—or, shall we call it, ‘freedom’?—I only felt like I lost a part of myself that day. Perhaps a part too essential to function as a whole again. I would rather not go through such an experience a second time. At least not yet. Moreover, I’ve…”

His voice drifts off into silence and he leaves the sentence unfinished.

“Hm?” I lean forward. “You what?”

“...No, it is nothing.”

“Hey, don’t leave me hanging! What were you about to say?”

“Nothing so important. For a moment there, I fell under the illusion I was talking to someone much older.”

What the hell dude? I may be under five years, but that doesn’t mean I’m not even worth talking to!

“Anyway, what brought about such a topic?” Master Endol asks in return. “I’ve never seen you exhibit such interest in my person or past before. Did you find the amusement you were looking for?”

I shrug and look away. “Nah. That was...for research. Reference, for the future. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole love thing, how it works. Because right now, it’s still all Greek to me.”

“In other words, you perhaps wish to use this experience to cultivate your infatuation with Lady Irifan?”

I almost fall off my mule.

“What the shit!? Are you reading my mind too!? You people are almost as bad as Google! Knock it off, it’s criminal!”

I thought I'd improved my mental guard too!

Master Endol sighs.

“I doubt there is a soul left ignorant of your feelings anywhere in Orethgon, whether they be in possession of telepathic abilities, or otherwise. You have made the matter rather plain through your conspicuous behavior as of late.”

“You mean, everyone knows?” I stare at him. “Literally everyone? No way! And what do you mean, ‘conspicuous behavior’? What gave it away? Was it the flowers? It was the flowers. Jesus Harold Chirst, can’t you even give lilies to a gal without looking like you want to scissor? All gods damn Penlann and his tips! Just kill me.”

I look away, searching for a ditch to sink into, too embarrassed to keep living.

“Rather than the quality of it, I should say it is more an issue of the quantity,” Master Endol tells me. “That mountain of flowers reflected a level of desperation above and beyond camaraderie. And it was not the only sign.”

“What? What else was there?”

“Perhaps the way you always stare so fixedly at her grace while sighing forlornly; how you distinctly tidy up your language and conduct in her presence; how your peculiar ears begin wiggling whenever someone mentions her by name. Or, the mess you made in the castle courtyard with dandelion petals, clearly in the wake of the ‘loves me, loves me not’-game that is so popular among human children. These and several other anecdotes collected by the Order members leave precious little doubt of the matter.”

“...”

That’s the problem with these tiny-ass inbred communities: nothing stays a secret for long.

I’m so super embarrassed now.

It’s like finding a hidden camera in the ladies’ room—except, instead of connecting only in a random peeping tom’s personal lair, it’s streaming live on the internet. It’s like, you let your best friend borrow your shoes, but realize you forgot to tell her you stepped on cow dung, and she doesn’t notice until she’s gone home and passed through the house upstairs, and—that’s actually hilarious, and I have no regrets, ahahaha!

But, seriously, what galls me most is how even this nerd lord somehow noticed and has more experience than I do.

“...Think she knows too?” I glumly ask.

Did Irifan know all along how I felt about her and was just acting considerate? Was she gently brushing me off and I was too dumb to see it? Have I been only making a huge clown of myself this whole time?

“I wonder. Her grace has not shared her thoughts with me,” Master Endol curtly replies.

Does that mean he actually doesn’t know, or that he just doesn’t want to tell?

With hesitation, I ask the other heavy question that’s been haunting me,

“Do you know if she’s already got somebody...?”

Irifan's still pretty young and there’s no Duke in Orethgon. No ring on the finger. She’s never mentioned being in a relationship, and I’ve never seen her get frisky with anybody in plain view, but—come on!

I can buy elves. I can buy dragons. War of the Gods, ancient world engines, immortal wizards, no big deal. It can happen. Entirely plausible. But a beautiful, smart, gentle, top-class lady like Irifan being still single at close to thirty? No fucking way. That's ridiculous.

Back before, when the meeting ended, I heard Irifan ask Sephram to stay behind. I didn’t dare to stick around to eavesdrop—he would’ve noticed—but were they actually talking shop at all? Why couldn't they share it in the meeting itself? You don’t think it was personal?

A noble lady and her goddamn scruffy-looking knight. Fucking hell, they looked so good standing close together under the warm chandelier light. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a thing. No, wouldn’t it be a lot weirder, if they didn’t? It’s like a law of nature, or something. Certain people were just made for each other, as cheesy and icky as it sounds. Like hormone-powered magnets.

God! This is how super villains are made! All those times I made fun of Sephram, questioning his sexuality and whatever, and he was actually dating our smoking hot boss in secret? Aah, I’m getting so mad just thinking about it! Mad, and kind of aroused. Do you think it’s possible to masturbate when angry? I’m going to find out.

Master Endol grants me no closure.

“I believe whoever she bonds with is milady’s private business. I would be overstepping my boundaries and common decency, were I to discuss her personal affairs with others.”

“So Irifan can have a private life but I can’t? How’s that any fair?”

“You are not expressly prohibited from having a ‘private life’, or relationships, and keep them to yourself, if only you could keep them to yourself. I will not speak of Lady Irifan’s circumstances simply because she has chosen to keep the particulars to herself, and does not share them with anyone willing to listen, unlike someone else I know. If you wonder why you are having such a hard time keeping secrets, I would point the accusing finger in the mirror, first and foremost.”

“Man, we’ve been out on a job together for less than an hour and I already want to rip off your eyebrows. Why do I only ever get paired with jerks, and never anybody cute and lovable? Can I still cancel my participation? I haven't put my name anywhere.”

“Trust me,” Master Endol replies, “bringing a character such as yourself on a mission of such paramount importance was not out of personal preference. My kind has never harbored special fondness for humankind, and I strongly doubt you are going to change their views—as questionable as the subject of humanity is in you. We require exceptional tact and eloquence to secure Osgonnoth’s support against Elevro, neither of which you have in abundance. Thus, I propose you put earnest effort towards mastering your eccentric nature on the way there.”

“We should go see old Yaldie instead,” I answer. “I’ll let you do all the talking and he’ll kill himself in under forty minutes. You'll have yourself a worthy listener, and the world gets its peace. See? Everyone wins.”

“You are not off to a brilliant beginning,” he retorts with an admonishing scowl. “That is precisely what I'm talking about. No more comments of that variety when we are there, Zero. I assure you, you will not find a fan of such humor in Commander Lebennaum. Anger her lordship, and in place of a powerful ally, we will find a nemesis deadlier in more obvious ways than Yaoldabath.”

Geez. I'm starting to understand what granny was warning me about.

Take a moment to picture it: a whole continent out there full of ancient, stuck-up sociopaths like this guy. I wouldn’t have joined this trip either, if it weren’t a direct request from Irifan. Well, my stock should soar quite a bit in her eyes, if I somehow pull this off, right?

Aw, how many weeks until I get to see her again? I’m already homesick and we've hardly left yet.

“By the way,” I begrudgingly turn back to my travel companion. “Amarno—it’s on the other side of the ocean. We’re not getting there on a mule, are we? So what’s the plan? You know a ship that’ll take us?”

I’ve seen the map and the ocean looks pretty wide on it. Even the speediest frigate would take weeks to cross over, maybe months, depending on the winds. Think I’d make a good sailor? Yarr, shiver me timbers! And scrub my deck.

“Worry not,” Master Endol answers. “Once we are outside Master Teresina’s boundary field, we shall use the Gate to move to the coast. Our destination there is the port town of Bendehol. An old friend awaits us there. He will help us cross the Numén aboard his airship.”

“Airship?” I repeat, astonished. Did I hear that right?

Knowing our brotherhood’s financial state, I expected a leaky fish boat with somebody’s long johns for a sail.

But really, an airship? Forbidden technology?

No, of course we’d have an airship! What was I thinking? Geez! Elves have some, cruleans have some, why wouldn’t we? Makes perfect sense. Futuristic know-how is the only real advantage a tiny, pathetic group like ours could have against the super villains in the world. Gadgets lightyears ahead of the competition. Why would you even start a secret organization, unless you had a nifty toy, or two? So they were just hiding their aces, until they judged me ready?

Feeling just a little proud, I urge my farting mule on.

Hell yeah. This is where it gets good.