The golden light of the sun gently illuminates my body. Once again, the darkness of the night fails to kill me. Since I woke up from the coma a few days ago, I only sleep when my body forces me to. Closing my eyes before that brings the images back.

  The white wool bed is comfortable, and the surrounding room is well decorated, almost luxurious. Spacious, there is a door to the bathroom on the right and one to exit in front of me. On the left, a balcony overlooks the rest of the village below the hill.

  Before leaving, the Golden Hero guided the rest of the population of the destroyed village of Dufae and united it with the village of Fliori. With his prestige and presence, no one dared to refuse. Some considered this a blessing and used the tragedy to exercise mercy and camaraderie. Others considered the people dirty because of Aldwyn's presence, a curse.

  Regardless, with the power vacuum created by the fairy's death, the beastmen joined forces with the underground trolls and enslaved creatures of lesser intelligence. With a battalion of beasts, they subjugated smaller tribes and groups and placed them under their command, taking control of Floria's trade routes and directly challenging its political sovereignty.

  With help from the capital, the remaining warriors of Dufae, and the new ones from Floria, I set up an ambush to lure them out of their camp and let the rest of the battalion surround them from behind. The result was a success. Organom is dead.

  So why don't I feel better?

  My stomach hurts. I regenerated a little before collapsing, and the healers did their best to save me, but the pain still remains.

  From what I've studied, magic loses its effectiveness the further away it is from you. I don't know if I can put it into words. In itself, it works. In the world around you, its effectiveness diminishes, and in others, it is as low as possible—especially if the target resists you.

  “…”

  Why am I talking to myself? I'm wasting my time. Lying down all the time hasn't helped my head. I'm starting to become like him.

  I frown.

  Is that how you felt?

  I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.

  “Shut up.”

  “Really? But I haven't even started yet…”

  I look at the door. Cloud sits in a chair backwards and rests his arms on the armrests. Since the destruction of Dufae, his dark hair has grown a little and he has grown a scruffy beard. His weird smile and vagrant face remain the same.

  He sways from side to side like a child as he stares at the surrounding furniture, then whistles.

  “You're rich, huh?”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Is this mahogany? Where did your father get the money for these things? I thought being a politician wasn't a big deal around here.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Money and women. Especially, stop stealing women from me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You're a hero now. You must have a dozen pretty girls chasing after your ass—or rather, what's in front of it.”

  “I'm going to throw you out the window.”

  “Boo, you're not funny anymore,” he says. “And I'm still faster.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Unfortunately, I say, because I wasn't born an heir! Look, I'm limited, my smooth talk isn't enough to knock down a tower, you have to help me help you!”

  “We're at war.”

  “And you did your part, and now you need to rest.” He smiles. “I know the perfect fruit for that, and I know a patient who has never tasted it.”

  I spit out a laugh. “I'm going to laugh in your face when some father beats you up.”

  “He'll have to catch me first.”

  I smile. “You can't run away from responsibility forever.”

  He shrugs. “It's worked so far.”

  “What if you catch something?”

  “I'm not that desperate.”

  My laughter echoes through the room, and along with the pressure, pain spreads from my chest to my stomach. Cloud gets up to try to help me, but I raise my hand and stop him with a signal. I hold my body and grit my teeth, then lean on the headboard.

  He sits back down in the chair and rests his chin on his arms. “Sorry,” he says.

  “It's okay.”

  He nods. “Good job with Organom, but you shouldn't have run like that. I've never seen you use so much mana, your body must be rotten inside.”

  “On the outside, too.” I inhale. “But I won.”

  He looks away. “… You could have died. There were soldiers on your side who could have helped you. They're there precisely so you don't die. Taking that away from them is almost disrespectful.”

  “I didn't expect you to defend honor among knights.”

  “I have a heart of gold.”

  I make a point of letting out a single, loud laugh that makes my ribs throb. It was worth it.

  Cloud grimaces. “In my face? Like that? That's it, I take back what I said, may you break all your other bones.”

  I smile. “They'll have to send someone stronger than Organom for that.”

  “Right, that—That's the Elron I want to see.”

  “I thought you wanted me to stop stealing your glory.”

  “Oh, you don't look like you're going to do that anytime soon, so I'd rather you not lie there with a sour look on your face forever.” He smiles. “I can steal some fame if I'm on your side next time.”

  “You change sides pretty quickly, huh?”

  “I play with what I have in my hand.”

  “I know, I know.” I scratch my hair. “Thanks.”

  He shrugs, then takes a breath and looks back at the balcony. “Zherdos is here.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “…”

  “I tried to calm him down, but it didn't work very well.”

  “… He'll probably spend hours lecturing me, won't he?”

  “He accused your strategy of being irresponsible and everything else you've already talked about. It pains me to say this, but I agree with him. Look at the state you're in. I was only able to talk to you because I got here before him, and he'll probably kick me out when he arrives. You deserve to be scolded.”

  “I do.”

  He frowns. “… Not like this.”

  “… It's okay. You can go.”

  “It wasn't your fault.”

  “… You can go.”

  Cloud sighs, then gets up, leaves the chair in place, gives an ironic salute, and turns toward the door.

  I inhale. “Cloud.”

  He turns his face. “Hm?”

  “Thank you.”

  He nods and walks to the door, but stops in front of it. “Don't kill yourself, you idiot.”

  “… I'll try.”

  Nodding to himself, Cloud opens the door and hesitates when he sees the figure of the green-haired man on the other side.

  I can't see it, but I'm sure he made some kind of face. He slips out of the room while Zherdos frowns and glares at him. He uses his cane to support himself—his leg had been injured during Aldwyn's attack—then enters the room and slams the door while whispering complaints.

  Before speaking, he stares at me, then walks awkwardly back and forth. “Arrogant and foolish,” he begins. His head has also been affected, in one way or another.

  “Good morning to you too.”

  “… Are you eating well? How is your recovery?”

  “Stable.”

  He nods to himself. “I see.”

  “If you're here to complain, I already know what you're going to say. Before you start your speech, I did what I thought needed to be done. The decision worked out. Don't bother me too much with what's already in the past.”

  “Do you think this is a game?!”

  “No. I think the village chief should do what he can to save it.”

  “A chief who doesn't understand his place is nothing more than a lunatic with a crown on his head.”

  “I don't have a crown.”

  “Thanks to Trine Flame, not yet. And with Its grace, you won't.”

  “Arlong didn't leave me a crown, but a sword. I used it. Simple as that.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Arlong would never have wanted you to do what you did. He would have been proud, of course, but more concerned about the hole in your stomach. If you die, the lineage ends. We are doing everything we can to find a suitable wife, and you are throwing yourself into the midst of the enemy. Do you really want the council to have to decide on a new chief? Do you want Aldwyn to destroy our tradition?”

  “How is Aldwyn involved in this conversation?”

  “You know very well how.”

  I frown. “I don't like your tone, teacher.”

  “Good. There's nothing to like about this situation. When I was chosen to participate in the provisional council that would support you, I believed that Arlong's son understood his position. I defended him. The Council makes almost all the decisions because you are still very young, but I fought for some of Arlong's authority to remain with you. And how do you thank me?! By disobeying my wisdom and throwing yourself into the clutches of the enemy?! How will I defend myself? How will I defend you?!”

  “Tell them it's hard to kill someone without getting close,” I say. “Should I have let Organom take another route and surround our village until we starved to death? What do you think I could have done?”

  “No, you know very well what you could have done. You could have not nearly killed yourself on the front lines as bait for a bunch of brainless beasts. You could have not fallen into a coma. You could have not nearly died of multiple organ failure.”

  I inhale.

  He talks. And talks. And talks. And talks. And then talks some more. And then he talks even more, of course, why not?

  Time flies when you're having fun. I let him express his discontent while I stare at him for long, long minutes that feel more like hours. At the end of it, however, all I can do is interrupt him with an order not to use the sword.

  “Enough, Zherdos.” I say with a raised hand. “This isn't you. The Zherdos I know is calm, reserved, and competent. What I see in front of me is a desperate and enraged man.”

  “I want you to realize your terrible decisions and pray that the Flame will purify your heart. Dufae has been destroyed. You are an orphan, boy. You need to leave your obsession behind.”

  “What? Obsession? I thought you wanted me to be a less reckless chief. Are you telling me to abandon my people?! What about our agreements with the chief of Fliori?!”

  “… All that remains of Dufae are a few dozen people in a village of hundreds. Fliori is almost a city, Elron, the legitimacy of the Council that represents you is almost nil. Segregating your population by placing them under the command of another would only harm them.”

  “I don't understand. You fought for me to keep my word in the Council. We made agreements with Fliori! How can you tell me that our authority doesn't exist?! Weren't you worried about defending me a few seconds ago?!”

  “You're fourteen, Elron!” The shout echoes through the wooden room.

  He lowers his head and inhales. One, two, three seconds, then he composes himself.

  “It's true. I fought for you to have political power. I didn't want you to feel excluded after everything that happened. I don't want that. But I'm not an idiot. I never wanted you to take control of Dufae. I never thought this conversation would even happen. One day, the Council would see that it couldn't continue and would cease to exist. No drama. No confusion. The people of Dufae would be the people of Fliori, I would go back to teaching my classes, and you would go on with your life with a decent woman I found to distract you.”

  He nods to himself. “And all the death, all the pain, would be forgotten. Slowly. Eventually. But forgotten.”

  I clench the blanket covering me and grit my teeth.

  “What are you talking about…?”

  “Boy, it's time to leave the past behind. Dufae doesn't exist. Your father is dead. Is fighting for something that doesn't exist until your death your destiny?”

  “… If not, then what is it?”

  “What?”

  “If I'm not anyone's boss or son, then what am I?”

  “… Elron… I-”

  “Enough. I understand your anger and I will take it into consideration, but if that's all you have to say, then we're done for today. Yes, and that's a direct order. Even if your advice were useful, it would be impossible to follow. Leave the matter behind. If there are no remaining issues…”

  The bed shakes. The wood creaks. People scream. A rumbling spreads beneath the floor.

  Zherdos frowns and goes to the balcony. “You… You killed Organom, didn't you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then why…?”

  For a moment, my heart skipped a beat. I honestly thought that somehow Organom had come back to life. I forced myself to get out of bed and leaned on the walls until I reached the balcony, then I did so with the wooden railing.

  No. I would be grateful if Organom had survived. It would prove that, at least, we could defeat him again.

  She arrived suddenly. The winds change direction. Rain begins to fall, but it falls backwards. The air, however, is dry. Like a parasite sucking your blood, you don't notice the change until you are well below it. Beneath the heart of the storm that surrounds the horizon, orcs, and trolls kneel before strange, shining creatures; the veil that separates the worlds is broken.

  Fairies.

  I frown and jump out of bed.

  “By the Flame, this… It's like before…” He turns to me. “No, Elron, don't go! You're still injured, you need to recover!”

  I intensify my body's regeneration and feel the wounds being burned by the heat of flesh being created. I don't answer him. No words we exchange will prevent the next actions. He will shout, and I will ignore him. If not, we will fight. The result is the same.

  I remove the paper bandages and put on the first cloak I find. My regeneration is weaker because of how much I used it in combat and during the weeks of recovery. I put on my armor and walk out the door, even though Zherdos warns me that I'm still vulnerable.

  He tells me not to underestimate the monsters or the soldiers who want me dead. He tells me not to be influenced by evil and vengeful minds, that I should leave what happened behind, and that Dufae needs a living leader.

  Fool. Doesn't he know that a king cannot hide behind the very people he swears to protect? Isn't a king who fights his own battles a king to be glorified?

  He stands between me and the door at the end of the house.

  “I forbid you!” he says.

  I take a breath, then stare at him. “Try it.”

  Zherdos frowns. “You're becoming like him.”

  “Great. Maybe I could kill Aldwyn if I were.”

  Zherdos' shoulders slump. “Don't say that.”

  I step past Zherdos and walk through the door.

  “Elron! Don't go! Please! ELRON!”

  Wet footsteps on rain-soaked earth. She falls backwards. The moisture from the ground is sucked up by the clouds, which hang heavy and black as coal over what lies hidden on the horizon.

  I climb onto my horse and gallop down the main street. Villagers close the windows of their houses, some cursing me as they do so. Others pray, asking the Flame for mercy. Most remain silent, and a minority prepare to ride alongside me.

  Fliori was more of a city than a village. Larger than the districts of the capital, it was through it that part of the kingdom's goods passed—which is why they were so quick to help us with more soldiers against the Organom camp. Its houses were tall, some with more than one floor, made of solid stone and polished, reinforced wood. A baroque structure follows, with colors that resist the passage of time.

  We were their brothers before. Now we are strangers who brought monsters to the village, those who suffered from Aldwyn's prophecies. I see the hatred in their eyes, fearful that some other fairy will appear to capture their children or sacrifice their home.

  I cannot blame them.

  I unite the warriors, and we ride to the edge of Fliori, its great gates opening with complex mechanisms and releasing the army. A drop of sweat falls on the side of my face. I have felt this before.

  The ground shakes. Abominable creatures emerge through them, taking advantage of the wounds between the veil of worlds that the demonic struggle between Aldwyn and Sieghart left behind. An army. Greater than anything I have ever seen. Unlike anything I have ever seen.

  Creatures that do not belong to this world.

  Soldiers tremble, and fear settles in the heart of their leader.

  Still, I wield the pristine blade and brandish it toward the sky.

  “Charge.”