Chapter 85: Nevermind the Darkness (Part 3!)

Yes. The Oligarch, who had previously been walking the same plane as Skaldi, ceased to be seen. As if the man he saw was an illusion, a lie conjured up by unholy purpose.

The hall had no markings or warped structure, which might have suggested that Graham slipped through an unknown door or hidden passage. Pressing his hands around the cold stone of the hall, Skaldi found no lines or bumps. Graham truly escaped his sight.

“...I was not expecting this today.” Speaking with a quiver in his throat, Skaldi searched and searched for some mistake he had made, an action he took that made things wrong.

“Okay. This is fine… this probably a test or something. I don’t fucking know.” Calming his thoughts and slowing his breathing, Skaldi began to enhance his senses. Depriving himself of color, shade, taste and feeling, the elf aimed to hear Graham. Maybe his footsteps could be detected where he was not.

Closing his eye, Skaldi pushed out his arms like makeshift antennas, trying to sense the shift in the air. And luckily, he did.

Right behind him.

In a fraction of a second, all of his senses returned to him as he threw several daggers at the wall behind him. Most of them bounced off the stone, but one managed to break through the glass, sending transparent shards all around. The sudden noise made Skaldi’s head shake and ache, as he bent forward on one knee.

All around him, the light became a cloudy indigo, like a storm was passing through the hall. Momentarily rising, Skaldi went over to the window, feeling that there was something incredibly wrong.

As he looked through the window, he expected a small garrison of soldiers, practicing their drills and orders. They’d be in the valley, just underneath the many bridges from the adjacent buildings. Those would have wisemen and adventurers passing by.

But Skaldi saw no one.

He saw the valley, the bridges, and the other parts of the facility, yet with no one walking them. As if the entirety of the population collectively ceased. Not ceased to be seen, but ceased.

“...oh fuck…” Backing away from the window, Skaldi went into a full run, running back towards the arena. He was hoping, hoping that there would be someone. Anyone who could explain what was happening. Driving his shoulder into the door, he bashed it open, looking for anything.

The overlook was abandoned. The desks were left with papers and documents, cabinets were left open with research, even the very clipboards and pencils laid on the ground. Stepping slowly to the lip of the overlook, Skaldi saw that the arena had no one there.

But the arena was strange, for two things. Some of his friends' belongings were left there. One of Amir’s many journals, with its pages kissing the floor, remained. The rock bullets and Valiato’s sling too stayed. Yet anything relating to Bolato was not.

However, the strangest thing was what had been repaired.

The fake Vega, the one that had been previously broken into several pieces, was fine! It even had a stupid smiley face drawn onto it.

“...right…” Because of its incredibly fucking stupid face, Skaldi felt a wave of relief pass by. That whatever was in store for him had a least a little bit of humor. Whether or not that humor would be to his advantage, he would not know.

Using one of the service ladders, Skaldi slid down into the arena proper. His eyebrows pressed together, and his eye shook. He approached the scarecrow, looking back and forth to the ladder just in case he would need to run. Giving its nose a quick tap, he waited for a response.

Nothing.

“Whew… by the gods, I thought you were going to scare me for a second there.” Turning his back on the scarecrow, Skaldi went over to the other objects in the arena.

Picking up the journal, the elf saw many of Amir’s notes, written in either a fancy form of Tripolian or a formal one. Of which, Skaldi did not know. Regardless, he could tell that it was real, since there were several pages dedicated to what seemed to be cheese.

“I know the guy’s a vegan or whatever, but he is real weird.” Putting the journal back down, Skaldi went over to the sling.

Flicking some of the bullets into one another, Skaldi played around with this. He almost felt like a kid, throwing rocks in a pond. Although his aim compared to Valiato was pretty bad. He laughed as he missed the scarecrow, letting his nervousness subside.

“I never was any good at this. But, that’s all right.” Letting the sling fall from his grip, he saw something in the peripheral of his vision.

The scarecrow was waving.

“...hi?” Terrified by the gesture, Skaldi gave a pitiful wave back. He tried to calm himself down, telling himself that he had met a living scarecrow before. Despite this, there were parts immensely off about it.

Its movement was smooth, too smooth, like each part of its action was equally spaced. There weren't the jerky and erratic jitters of Vega. And its smile nor eyes didn’t move, blankly looking at Skaldi.

Where he moved, the scarecrow turned to follow. As Skaldi went over to one of the gates, he heard a crunching from the scarecrow. It had started twisting his stick foundation, gradually cracking it. And within a moment, it tore itself off and had begun to crawl towards Skaldi.

“Fuck this!” Lifting one of the barriers of the gate and throwing them aside, Skaldi pushed it open and started to run. When he ran inside, he discovered only darkness.

And that there was no floor.

“No! No!” His voice breaking, Skaldi felt the terror of weightlessness. That he was no longer in control, now going into freefall, surrounded by a choking shadow. All he could see was the light from the gate, becoming smaller and evermore distant.

He tried to reach out for it, in a futile attempt to save his life. As he did, he saw the faint frame of the scarecrow, waving him off as he plummeted.

And plummeted.

And plummeted.

And-

“Skaldi!” A hoarse voice yelled, followed by a quick slap to the back of the head.

“Huh?!” Rising from the wooden stump, Skaldi shot his head up and looked around. He wasn’t in the facility anymore.

The environment was lush, and expansive. He was surrounded by trees, round and with green needles instead of leaves. There were people here, people he hadn’t seen in a long time. His tribe, the Galtian elves. Living and working, practicing and fighting.

Lifting his head, he saw someone he knew was dead. At least, in the present. It was his father.

“Get up. Get up and get ready.” Squeezing hard on Skaldi’s arm, his father began to drag Skaldi from the stump, where he had just been resting.

Wiping the drool from his mouth, Skaldi noticed how small his hands were. Along with his arms, and his legs. Then he realized what was happening. He was a memory of childhood.

As he stood up from being dragged, he looked all around, searching for any landmark or significance in the area. But nothing stood out, no image or action, all of it was no different from other memories.

“Boy, are you listening?” His father called him again, which took Skaldi out of his thoughts.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

His face. His father’s face. It had been so long since he had seen it. He was very masculine, with strong features and scars over his forehead and jaw. Composed into neat and combed waves, his hair was short and trimmed. With a big moustache, it looked like he was breathing fire from his nose.

His body was nothing like Skaldi’s wide and fearsome, with a long purple wound traveling on his ribs to his neck. He was everything Skaldi couldn’t be, the man his father and his people wanted.

“...sorry.” Skaldi was surprised by his voice. It was so puny. Not just because he was a kid, but because of the situation.

He felt a worry, an ancient worry returned to him. That of wanting his father’s approval. The disappointment in his father’s eyes hurt him more than any blade could.

He felt half a man. He felt less than enough. He felt like he was a failure.

“Gah! In ten minutes, come to the fighting grounds. There, we will fight. And you can’t back out…” Walking away into a nearby grove, his father left Skaldi. For a moment, Skaldi stepped out to reach for him. But he realized it was a futile effort, that he couldn’t explain what was happening.

He was a ghost in a land that didn’t exist anymore.

Wandering over to a small, earth hut, Skaldi noticed that it was his old home. Tea leaves were placed over the entrance, half for spiritual blessing and half for the sweet smell. He knew that going in would only cause some more grief about himself, but there was something calling for him.

As he entered, he felt the air becoming cooler, more undisturbed. Tiny beams of light came through the holes in the walls, falling down on the hearth at the center. The entire hut was two circles, the inner being the kitchen and the outer where he used to sleep. All they had were soft reeds, none of the blankets or pillows of Iozians. There was little here that reminded Skaldi of his future.

Skaldi stood there a while, breathing in slowly and deep, as if to take the very air back with him.

He entered his room, small and confined. It wasn’t uncomfortable, he actually felt a little happy when he saw it again. This was the one place Skaldi could have control over. Over his reeds were small stone figures, tiny knuckle bones he’d use as dice, and a single wooden spear.

A smile rose on his face, feeling a wave of childhood trauma. If this room was all that he remembered of this time, he wouldn’t mind thinking about it.

“Son…” A chilly voice called out. He recognized it instantly, knowing the tone.

“Yes mother?” Skaldi turned to see her, fearing that she might insult him again. It was his mom, staring at him in disappointment.

His mother was slim and athletic, the type that could climb a cliff face or a tree easily. Her eyes were stunning blue, ones that could freeze him in place whenever he did something wrong.

Surprisingly, the only thing that he could identify her with the person he was in the future wasn’t her hair or her femininity, but of her freckles and how they glowed.

“You’re wasting time.” She said with crossed arms.

“But I-”

“I don’t care. Either you fight or you die. There isn’t another option.” She marched up to Skaldi, resting her heavy fist on top of his head.

He remembered this, of how his mother grinded her knuckles into his scalp, or simply smacked him aside. Fearing that she might do it again, he quickly grabbed his wooden spear and headed out.

The moment he stepped out he saw his father waiting for him, holding a wooden glaive. His father smiled for an instant before it fell back into a frown.

“Good. You didn’t waste my time again. Follow me.” Waving him to his side, his father brought him to a distant grove.

It took them some time to get there, but Skaldi understood why. Some battlegrounds were sacred, belonging to specific families or even spirits. This battleground, he remembered.

The space was a flat diamond, with bushes and rocks forming corners. There was no one else there. The only one that could save him was himself.

“Now… we will begin.” Drawing a thin in the dirt, his father took a warrior’s stance, holding his glaive high.

“...right…” Gulping, Skaldi fiddled with his wooden spear, struggling to hold it. His father sighed in mild anger, waiting for him to finish. Accepting what was to come, Skaldi grit his teeth and readied himself.

And then, his father stepped forward.

Skaldi didn’t stand a chance. He was too short to properly strike his father. Whenever they got into a bind, he was too weak to wrestle. And each time a blow landed, which was few, they only caused his father to shake his head.

After a few minutes, Skaldi was heaving, spitting, on the ground. Bruises, sores, and scraps were all over his body. He couldn’t get up. He didn’t want to.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He was angry. At what, he did not know.

“Of course you do. You wanted to prove yourself strong? Then you failed.” His father crouched over him, poking his stomach with his glaive.

“W…what?” Clutching his stomach, Skaldi could hardly speak. But he could listen perfectly well.

“You failed because you’re so weak. You lost. We’ll try again tomorrow. And no, I won’t pick you up.” Getting up and already heading home, his father left Skaldi. To savour his defeat.

He hated this. Not hate in the casual sense, but hate in the righteous. He lost? That was a plain lie. A child loses to his father’s brute action? Sure. But he lost? That wasn’t damn true.

Because he wasn’t weak. He was the strongest there was.

“No.”

“What did you say boy?” Stopping in his tracks, his father looked over his shoulder.

“I said no. I… win.” Pushing himself up, Skaldi could feel how much his body was damaged. All the aching and strains, he could hardly push himself off the ground.

And yet he did.

He pushed himself up, rose to his feet, and stood up with all of his might.

“What?” His father’s eyes widened, amazed that his son was already up.

“I didn’t win because I beat you. I won because I tried. And I won’t let no one tell me I lost.” Holding out his fist, Skaldi began to limp over to his father. And then walk. And then run. And then sprint.

He sprinted at his father and leapt up, ready to strike him down.

“I… I don’t need to prove anything to you. Only to myself!”

“Skaldi?” A worried, kind voice spoke. Feeling a warm hand on his shoulder, the redhead shook and awoke.

“...hmm? What… what happened?” As his eye settled on the new scene, Skaldi saw Bolato’s face, full of worry. Soon after, he felt a great and soft hug from him.

“Yes. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Bolato spoke into Skaldi’s chest, warming him up.

“I… what’s going on?” His eyes fluttering, Skaldi looked around. He saw nearby tents and tables, with doctors all around. Everything was muted in color and his surroundings were cold. Although he was in several blankets, he noticed that his skin was purple and blue, and not from bruises.

“He’s okay!” Valiato tugged on Amir’s hand, jumping up and down.

“~Really? Well done boy!~” Putting her on top of his shoulder, Amir gave Skaldi a thumbs up. His thumbs up was pretty awkward since that was an Iozian gesture.

“Woah woah woah! What happened? What did I do?” Skaldi swung his head back and forth, asking the team.

“You just underwent the test.” Oligarch Graham tapped on his shoulder, catching him off guard. His smile shined, confusing him even more. “The test that has decided what special equipment you’ll be receiving.”

“Hmm?” Skaldi tilting his head, still adjusting to the world. He noticed that his skin was almost gray blue, suggesting some kind of sickness.

“Ah, a little mild amnesia from the nightmare. Don’t worry.” Graham waved him down, as if nothing was the matter.

“~Here.~” Amir handed him a cup with a green liquid. Motioning for Skaldi to drink it, he gulped down and shivered. Skaldi felt colder, but his headache became a lot weaker.

“Thanks. But uh, what test?” Gesturing with the cup, Skaldi squinted at Graham.

“You asked Graham if you could still train, since everyone failed the arena match.” Bolato got off of Skaldi and rubbed his hair.

“That was real?!” Understanding more of what had happened, Skaldi was astonished that his dream had actually reality in it.

“Yes.” Valiato said all bored, stretching her arms out.

“Yes. I was walking out on your group when you came up to me and asked if you guys could have one more chance. And I came up with this. A test of mental vigour and fortitude.” Impressed with the result, Graham nodded his head at Skaldi.

“If you didn’t complete, we’d know by you vomiting all over yourself. So yay! No vomit.” Bolato squeezed Skaldi’s hand, glad that

“And I agreed to it?”

“Of course you did! I tried to talk you out of it, but you wouldn’t listen. Said that you needed to prove something. Not to Graham or me, but yourself.” Standing up, Bolato exclaimed with great pride.

Skaldi lingered there for a moment, looking at each one of them that had come to his bedside.

He really did that. For them.

For a sentimental reason, a tear came to his eye.

“Thus, you all have proven yourselves.” Announcing with a regal flourish, Graham congratulated them. “And you have proven yourself Skaldi. So now, I would like to provide a high honor for you devotion.”

From out his cloak, Graham held a small silver case. There weren’t many decorations beyond a simple Oligarchic rose on it. Placing it on Skaldi’s lap, Graham didn’t bother to explain it.

Skaldi bowed his head, focusing on the box’s size. He wondered if he should even accept it. Feeling Bolato’s hand on his shoulder, the elf looked up at him. His eyes communicated a love and motivation Skaldi needed.

With one hand, Skaldi flipped open the box.

And inside was a Soul Gem.

One attuned to Skaldi.