Raiten:

  A twig snaps. The deer runs off again.

  I curse and pursue my prey, moving slower this time. My feet tiptoe across the tree roots, plodding through the brush. My breath lulls into a rhythmic tone—eyes discern the white flecking spots of the deer from the drab browns of the forest.

  I’ve been moving South for a week now, gaining my strength back. Going back West didn’t make sense. Havenmarch and the Catolican fortress are probably lost.

  I gathered that much from Sorina’s condition.

  Besides, we have the cure now. Even if Dandy is dead or Takemeadow is rotted out, I still have to try. That’s become my new horizon in the past few days—reach the village, then decide what I actually have to do. A rivulet runs downstream nearby, allowing for some noise cover. I crouch by the bank and pick up a sharp looking stone.

  The deer is maybe thirty steps away. It reaches its head down and closes its eyes, feasting upon trampled yellow grass. I extend my hands and focus, emanating Aether from my fingertips. Then, I draw out a line of the magicks and wrap it around the stone.

  The deer’s ears perk up. I pause, halting all movement, hitching my breath.

  The animal relaxes. Dips its head down once more.

  I nearly let out a sigh of relief before realizing how stupid that would be. Hunting big game is still new for me. Rabbits and foxes may be easier, but I’m tired of surviving off of their meager meat. And I need to build back strength.

  No, not only build it back.

  I must become stronger.

  Never again. Never again will I be outmatched. No matter how many enemies I face, I must surpass them.

  And I’ll do whatever it takes.

  Even if that means wasting a bit of time floundering to kill a stupid deer. I narrow my eyes and slowly start spinning the rock. It reminds me achingly of the weapon I lost in the battle—Meteorfang. I duck-walk forward. The deer picks its head up and looks directly at me—pausing. The perfect opportunity for me to strike.

  I let the stone fly. It pierces the side of the neck, squelching blood. The animal whines and prances off, fleeing with whimpering cries of pain. I run after it, following the trail of blood for some time. A sense of pride wells up within—this is the third time I’ve tried hunting the damn thing and also the first time that I actually got a hit.

  I bound over the twisting roots and duck under overgrown branches, feeling free once more. Rounding a bend, I find the deer limping, hanging its head low. The poor creature collapses to the ground before I can pounce on it.

  I stalk forward. Brandish the crude stone dagger I made a few days ago. The black of it shines in the few rays of sun that break through the canopy. The deer’s legs kick wildly on the ground, as if trying to right itself. It can’t. It knows death is coming.

  Saegor is a bastard, but at least he taught me one thing: cut the throat. Drain the blood. Then skin it. Dress it. I step over the deer. The animal’s black eyes stare up at me. The body convulses.

  Fear.

  I lean down and perch the blade against its throat. Time slows. The woods around me go dead quiet. All else is forgotten except me and my prey, whose breath becomes ragged and whose eyes begin to gloss.

  Suddenly, I’m no longer looking at the deer.

  A sharp pain drills through my skull. A ringing. Projectiles fly, elements bloom and burst, lightning clashes against lightning, against fire, against steel. And my friend’s blood blossoms from his throat as Masaru drives the blade deeper. Kiren’s eyes go wide before he steps towards me. Trips. Tries to reach his hand out, only to trail bloody fingers along my cheek.

  Then he falls. Dies. His eyes also go dull.

  I scramble away from the deer, holding my head in my hands. The pain heightens. Subsides. Climaxes again in a high-pitched migraine. I bite on my uniform to hold back cries.

  My heart hammers.

  Chest heaves.

  Breath comes in short-sprint bursts.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  It's not real. Calm down. The battle is over. It’s not real.

  It can’t hurt you.

  Of course, telling myself that doesn’t really help. Especially when it feels like my brain is about to split in two.

  Eventually, however, the pain subsides. The sounds of war are replaced by the quieter background trilling of birds and the babbling of the brook. The deer breathes just as heavily as me, still laying on its side. Awaiting death. It would be cruel for me not to kill it now. Yet, all of a sudden…

  I’m not that hungry anymore.

  I sigh. Stand.

  And slice the blade against its throat. The hot blood drips down my hands, thumping against the earth like the steady beat of war drums.

  I stare at the dark red liquid beading down my wrist. Then, I start dressing my kill.

  And I do my best to ignore whatever the hell just happened to me.

  …

  I haul the skinned deer over my shoulders, wrap two hooves in each hand, and set off back to camp. The sun dips down. The sky turns pink. The cold whispers with the first frosts of winter. My breath mists with white fog—reminding me of my unfortunate winters spent at the Thunder Tower. Those were always the hardest times. Barely any of the Elders visited. I always ran low on amulets. Food was scarce—had to gnaw on the bones of the monsters I killed.

  Nevertheless, I always found a way to make it. To survive.

  I just have to do that again.

  I spot the smoke from our fire and hasten my gait. A familiar hope rises in my chest—the hope that she’ll be awake, and smiling at me. Hells, I’d even pay for her to call me a dog again. But as always, that hope dies as I reach camp and see her prone form still pale as the moon, sweat licking down her cheeks despite the cool winds.

  I set the deer down. Place a hand to her head. The skin is hot as Baroth’s flame.

  Before even thinking about eating, I go to the river and drench a bundle of my fallen tassels in it—something I had to scrounge together in favor of a towel.

  I come back to find Umbrahorn popping out of the dirt. I don’t look at him. He watches silently as I place the bundle on Sorina’s forehead. I don’t know why she’s still asleep. I think she caught a fever during our trek through the briars. It wouldn’t be so bad, if she wasn’t already so injured. Every time I look at her wrapped up stump, or what's left of her ear, or the missing index and pinky finger on her left hand, my stomach twists.

  And again those words echo in my mind.

  I should never have left.

  After all, what did I accomplish?

  The fire crackles. Umbrahorn tosses another stick in it. I cut up the deer and cook some for myself. Then, I make a stew and drip feed Sorina slowly. The first time I tried that, she coughed it all out. It's like trying to feed a baby—the bodily functions still work, just not in my favor. I wipe her mouth afterwards.

  “Raiten?” Umbrahorn asks.

  My gaze snaps to him and he flinches back. “What?”

  He frowns. Then, the hammerhead’s gaze turns towards the rest of the deer.

  “Can I—”

  “No. Hunt something yourself.”

  The shark is about to protest further, but he thinks better of it and just nods, disappearing into the ground. That’s the most I’ve spoken to him in about three days. Maybe four? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know the anger is a little irrational.

  But then I remember Kiren. And I justify it.

  I sit by the log and stare up at the starless night sky. Clouds drift lazily overhead.

  “Today was boring,” I tell Sorina. “Same old routine. Kick trees. Practice the drills you taught me. You’d be proud—I don’t feel the pain anymore. The nerves in my shins are long-dead.”

  I pause, trying to remember where we last were.

  “Right. Last time I talked about the dream, right? The one where Hypna helped me out. I guess, I can talk about the day before the battle… ah what the hell am I doing, stupid piece of shit dumbass—” I scratch my head and look at the ground. Then at Sorina. “I don’t know why. It's always easy to talk to you. I’ve told you things I told no one else. Maybe it's because you were one of the first people I met outside of the tower who showed me a semblance of… humanity? Kindness? Whatever you want to call it.”

  Hesitantly, I shake her shoulder.

  Her eyebrows furrow. For a moment, I think she might stir.

  Then, her face becomes placid once more—the same, sickly visage of someone who looks as though they might slumber forever.

  I sigh.

  “When are you going to wake up? I…” I chuckle awkwardly. “I think I’m going insane.”

  Of course, the only response to that…

  Is silence.