Epilogue

Sera

The clatter of the stone tower toppling reverberated the silent city of Stratenport into disarray. Hearing the unnerving sounds of limestone crashing into the ground, tensed my resolve to continue with Sink’s plan. Peb, the dutiful stone fae, did his duty against his solace. Pity, my duties were rather superfluous compared to the stone fae. There was an idle feeling in my musings that Sink, my friend---more than a friend, did not want to endanger me; especially, because of my gender.

“Tsk,” I mouthed, displeased at my deduction. ‘Now I’m sounding like Oona,’ I thought. ‘I wondered why she left?’ There was something off with her. I could not pinpoint it, but whenever she glanced my way, I always had this feeling that she was pitying me and our crew; like she knew what the future of our journey will bring us. Adamant to ignore that peculiar fairy’s judgment, I switched to Sink and his rationality with me.

Teka had the same mentality, at least he was more open and direct about it. Instead of silently placing me into conserved roles, thus cushioning me away from the action. Clutching tightly the analog twigs that were neatly wrapped in grass fibers to strengthen and add grip to the controllers, I instructed the armored giant Amelia towards the city gates of Stratenport. When we were exiting the castle gates, the guards did not pay much attention to my departure. Maybe it was due to the fact that I was armored which would signify a different echelon of individuals the guards must take notice and consider. Fortunately for us, they did not take their time to discern why I was leaving their castle and why the metal golem’s voice was feminine in pitch when I asked them to lift the parapets; because one of the castle towers was already tilting to collapse.

Running through the city paved in cobblestone, I glanced around at the sparse people who had swiveled their heads in awe at the destruction of one of the stone towers in the inner sanctum of the city. The tremors jolted the metal golem’s pacing, but I pressed her on, whilst the child Art behind her cackle from the movement. Art’s mood had changed drastically, from a wailing infant into a jolly passenger. Which was fine with me, for I shared a similar emotion. I could not word it, but there was something thrilling about piloting an inanimate armored giant. ‘Mark I Amelia,’ is what Sink named it, or a mecha, in his jargon. There is something dubious about Sink that I have always suspected, even at a young age, Sink was an anathema of the fair folk. Not totally fae, but something different. He did share the peaceful demeanor of a fair folk, but he was always striving for something more. He could not keep his feet in the soil---he always had to go off in some sort of adventure in building his contraptions. And for some reason, I yearn to be there for all of it.

The guards at the outer gates were crowded by citizens exiting out of the city. Barging through the bustle with the metal frame of the golem, I exited the throng into the outer buildings of the outer city. After reaching the tavern and meeting up with the bard and Gan, I notified them about the situation and Sink’s rendezvous location. With haste and provisions, we departed ten minutes later with the bard’s caravan in tow. After reaching the top of the hill where we first viewed the port city of Stratenport, we decided to wait for Sink. Impatient at Sink’s tardiness, I paced Amelia back and forth, scanning the fields and sky for the apparition of Sink. Wink was confident that Sink would arrive no matter what, but for me, I had this nagging notion that Sink was not coming, or was unable to. Ignoring it, I continued pacing and scanning the fields and sky for Sink’s form. Sink was like a stubborn weed, who refuses to bend or break, against wind or storm, he wouldn’t just abandon us like that. ‘Something must have happened?’

That’s nonsense, I’m talking about Sink. Nor giants or rubble will stop Sink from getting out of a situation. “There is always a way.” He told me once, “no matter the situation, there was always a way to get out of it.” ‘Except for that one occasion with Teka.’ My fist tightened, as I recalled the last image of Teka and our last embrace. I caress my lips, evocating the memory of Teka’s firm lips against mine.

The afternoon turned into purple skies and vibrant shadows, crumpling the anticipation I garnered for Sink’s return.

“What if Sink doesn’t return?”

“He will,” I adamantly told Wink as we waited. “He is just delayed, that is all. Just delayed…”

“Did he not tell us our rendezvous location was Ebenfurth, if he was not able to meet us here?”

“We can wait on them. They made sure that there weren’t going to be any human pursuit.”

“Did he kill them all?”

I stayed silent to his last inquiry, recalling the memory of Teka slaying giants in his path to save Sink. “He is doing what must be done.”

‘Teka, my fair man…’ Shaking my head to mop away my fancies of what could have been, I waited with the rest of the gang, for our friends. However, the memory of Teka was at the forefront of my mind, him confessing to me under the blossoming tree in a remote island of a valley undisturbed by giants or fae folk. My hand on my scarf, and a lone tear glistening down my cheek, I waited for Sink and his loyal friend to reach us.

The Squire

Granite stone clattered---ringing the metal in the foggy haze of my mind. Pain, excruciating, indescribable pain assailed the entirety of my body, as I tried to flutter the granite powder that was assaulting my sight from the vague discernment of rubble---all around me. The ashen pallor of stone, with tinges of green foliage, woke something inside of me, a blistering rage of contempt, fueled by the small green among the gray. My eyes widen, in utter comprehension by the new rage I felt for the particular color. “Grass fae!” I snarled, my voice hoarse by coughing the granite that dribbled inside my bloody mouth. “Grass fae!” I bellowed. The echoes of the ravine I was deeply sequestered in, repeated the furious lament I hollered in its stony confines.

“Grass fae!”

The rage was blistering now, tormented by the image of a little small man who wanted to play knight. The gall of such insignificant creature, to brazenly conceit its spiteful origin into a race and class once so noble; now tarnished by the contrivance of a small fae. Disgusted at being deceived by such fraudulency, I scanned my surroundings and person to analyze the situation that reprobate induced me in. It was galling to me how I fell into the machinations of a creature so low and small, that I felt ashamed of myself and the humiliation it would bring if this ever comes to light.

My leg was dislocated with the white bone piercing out the muscles then flesh into the fabric of my pants with my left arm suffering no better with a similar fracture and mutilation. The grievance injury that was afflicted on my person, was so agonizing---that it nearly induced me into an excruciating state of stupor. Fortuitously for me, the blistering rage that was simmering inside me prompted me to act with instinctual intelligence---garnered from years of training and my breed. Using my right hand, I rustled into the leather bag attached to my baldric. Unwinding the string that kept the bag closed, I peer through its contents. Broken ivory bones greeted my pensive sights. The ivory bones had crudely runic etchings carved into them, which bounded a peculiar type of spell into its making. The bones came from the embalmed bodies of the priests and priestess of Freyr, the human Goddess of Fertility. The runes etched onto the skeletal fingers allowed the user, if broken, unleash the healing effects that were bound through the making. Parsing through the broken bones, I found a few undamaged by the fall. Reflecting later, I must have survived my tumble down the ravine, by the accidental snapping of my healing enchantments.

Cursing, Tyr, the god of war, I crushed the last remaining unbroken finger bones into powdery ash. Those enchantments were expensive, so expensive in fact, that it took me two months of my father’s monthly stipend to acquire such small magical charms. A white mist began to transcend out from the ivory remains to then spiral up from my arm and into my whole body. The magical coils began to bridge into my right leg tempting my protruding bones to settle back into my flesh, with the excruciating callousness of undirected magic. Once my arm and leg were tolerable by sight and feeling, I pushed myself up from the stony indented deprivation I had settled upon after many hours or days of stupor. I did not care so much of my person at the moment, I just wanted to get up and get moving towards the newfound rage that built and molded upon my wake.

Limping through the stony ravines, my teeth gritting the sharp pains collected for each step I took, I resolve myself in the betrayal and trauma of my fall to seek revenge on those small folks.

‘I will burn the forest red in hail fire and smoke, so says my name and oath of the dragonslayers of Drakensgard, so says my name and oath…I will wipe out the small folk, with all the power I will acquire, for something so trivial, should never advance against their betters. ’

“Filthy faes.” I cursed, my mind focused on an invisible road that would lead me into the small slaughter of the small and the weak. “Filthy faes…”

The Hero

“The Hero, Erik Bloodaxe, also titled the Prophet of The Old Gods, was previously named Canmar of the house of Cantemier, defeated the Demon King in the year 2083 SG (System Genesis.) The Hero, Erik Bloodaxe fashioned the occupation of adventuring and killing, inspiring his bards and followers to adhere to his world views of death and journey, thus advancing human dominance in this sphere of Mor. 700 years after his death, a group of adventurers discovered his axes were buried deep inside a dry lake bed amongst aged wood and metal, in the peninsula of Cantimier, the Kingdom he founded. There were several bony remains beside the tomb, preserved by the water that once flooded the lake.”

‘Hmmmm…? These must have been the female slaves that were selected for his burial.’

“There was an unknown language carved atop the flat rusted iron of both axes. Transcribing the letters, and finding similar strange texts during his time in this world, we translated the strange runes of each of his ancient weapons. Gunnhild and Fairhair, both names are a mystery to why he etched them into his weapons. They could be the names of the bodies that were found near the weapons, but such strange names have never circulated into the Hero’s lore. Even in the Cult of Blood, or The Saga of the Histories, never mentioned the names of his weapons and their origins. ”

Reading out loud the text on this leather-bound lexicon improved my diction of this world’s common language. The life of a young noble, well a royal, is mired by learning and lectures of the royal tutors who were enforced by my father to educate me on the ways of the world. “What nonsense!’

It’s clear to me, my father still views me as a child, even though I helped his ascension to the throne and managed his spy network as his heir. But still, he enrolls these tutors and educators to instruct me with the histories and races of the world. ‘Being 8 years old really sucks... Especially…’ I peered down at my crotch then groaned.

Being a man stuck inside a child’s body is so frustrating, that I might have to murder a few of my slaves, just sate my displeasure. But it’s a waste, and the slaves I bought are for other means. Salivating at the thought, I continued reading the Strange Stories of The Second Hero. Clearly, this hero they speak of was a Viking warrior, it was obvious to a reborn like myself; from his name change and the religious sects, he inspired when he was alive. The Introduction of Norse Gods, into a world of fantasy and magic---might have invoked new classes and titles into this planet Mor. Speculating further on the Viking’s reincarnated life, I daydream what it was like for the medieval man to discover the world of fairies and magic. He was probably accustomed to the idea of being in another realm due to his religion and intelligence. Recalling my memories of Norse Mythology I remembered fantasy creatures did exist in its lore; for example, the elves and fae. Maybe the human pantheon of gods in this world is related to the Norse mythology of earth?

“Strange..?” I said as I ran my finger on one of the titles that Erik Bloodaxe was given. “The Winter Hero...”

Citing the name out loud elicited a memory, the bards sang about me. “I’m called the Summer Hero.”

‘And since he is the second hero of this world’s history, then I must be the third…?’

“Would that mean, there will be a fourth hero?”

So the cycles of reincarnated heroes continue, until when? Does that mean, killing the demon king is part of the cycle? Growing a headache whilst ruminating on the reason for my being here, I did not hear the front door of my study room unlatch and open. Staring up from such disturbance, I glared at my manservant Ronald.

“What is it, Ronald?”

“Master Kyron,” an astute thirty-something-year-old man called, regaled in the red and blue colors of House of Lockhart. “One of your..? Uh ahem, amusements are here.”

“Out with it! I have plenty of slaves.”

“One of your Faes, Master.”

“Oooh!” ‘Finally!’ “Bring her in, bring her in!”

“Yes, Master Kyron.”

Going out of my study room, I waited seated upon my snug chair. It was built like a lazy boy, but stiff in polished oak framing. The leather was made by the hide of the legendary wyvern I slew. When Ronald came back, Oona hovered behind. She was a small dainty thing, gothic in style but rather pretty on the eye if you’re into those things. Luckily, I am, but not on her.

“Oona! My roguish fairy, how was your mission?”

Oona glared at me, as she usually does than tsk as she usually does too.

“The child and mother are dead.” She remarked, callous disinterest and disgust in her tone.

“Now that's interesting, for you are the only one who reported back from the mission I tasked you with. Do you have any proof of your information.”

Oona took out the small bag on her back----well small in my eyes’ but it was the size of her. She then threw a golden signet ring across the polished black oak of my table, amongst the clutter of books and manuscripts. Picking it up, I noticed the insignia etched on its front. I grinned.

“Happy?”

“Not yet,” I said with my face a chagrin.

Deeply sighing, Oona continued. “Hey Listen!” in her mockery with her pipsqueak voice.

“Now I’m happy,” I smirked. It was one of the first commands I gave her. Every time she spoke to me, she’d have to add, “Hey Listen!” into her sentences. Which I found tremendously funny because I just couldn’t still believe it. That I’m in a fantasy world with fairies and elves.

‘This is every fantasy nerd’s wet dream.’

Maybe it will grow old and annoying later on, but for now, it’s still hilarious to hear.

“Now that you are back, get into your green one piece and make sure you dye your hair blonde this time. And maybe I should change your name…to Tinkerbell?”

“Yes, Master, whatever you wish, Master…”

“...”

“Hey, Listen.”

I burst out laughing from my expected grin. “Come here.” I directed Oona. She hovered to me. I clutched her out from the air. She stiffened as I caught her. Now firmly in my grip, I rub my thumb atop her perky chest, licentiously grinning down at her.

‘Oh Oona, you need to accept and familiarize with my antics again.’

“Been too long…Tinkerbell.”

“Can I go see my sister now? Hey, Listen…”

“Ah yes, your sister. Yes, she will be done with power leveling soon. So yes, you can go see her. But make sure when you come back, you come back in your proper clothing.”

Oona gritting her teeth, nodded to my instructions. Releasing her from my hold, she quickly flew off as her roguish personality professes, she left without even saying farewell. Watching the small butt leave my field of view, I frowned internally. Oona has become tidy wee bit belligerent in her arrival...Maybe it’s because of the quest I gave her, and the freedom it had applied. Now that she’s back in my revered presence, she’ll act like a good and faithful slave. Which reminds me, her sister has grown in leaps and bounds, nearly level 30. With her double Classification, she’ll become one of the most powerful entities of this world.

I had researched and pondered on how she had attained two classifications. With the help of my two assistants and an intensive interview, we had discovered that she had a legendary title at birth. How she garnered the title was up for debate, but the main consensus was that she had killed her fairy mother during childbirth, thus receiving exp from her death. But that wasn’t the most fascinating thing that was part of Oona’s little sister, it was the discovery of her double classification. She had attained a class from both her mother’s and father’s races when she was born. No priest or speaker prompted the System to give her those classes, but nonetheless she had garnered them.

It was a mystery I needed to solve. If I can figure out how it was done, maybe I can obtain two classifications. I know I need to become a hybrid, which is why I needed to figure it out before it was too late. First of all, I’m still unclassed, and still undecided on what class I wish to be and second of all, I need to find a way to become a mixed-race individual. I can become corrupted by turning into demonkin-human. But the ingredients and rituals it would need was an unpleasant endeavor. I had to make a pact with a demon and sacrifice 13 female virgins. I may be villainous, but I’m not that vile. Besides, being a puppet for the demon king, especially for a Hero such as myself is counterproductive.

“Ronald!” I called.

“Yes, Master Kyron?’

“Tell Bunnie to bring me the Encyclopedia of The Races of Mor.”

“Yes, Master Kyron.”

Recalling the half-breed beastskin, Bunnie, I smiled. Now she’s an appealing candy for the eye. I can’t wait to hit puberty. With the harem I’m amassing, I’m going to have a splendid time in this world of fantasy and magic. Salivating at the thought, I internally thanked the Goddess Iris for sending me to this paradise. Being rich, a hero, and all the female slaves I want; I’m going to have such a pleasant second life.

‘Thank you, Iris, you sexy goddess, you.’

Sink

Within the murk from my rising consciousness, my body swayed back and forth against the hardwood. The dimness of my soul and vision induced me into a drowsy state but did not neglect me from waking. Spurring into consciousness, I fluttered my eyes open, to then focus away from the bleary image of my surroundings. I was still swaying back and forth, like being carried inside a spacious box without seatbelts to keep me from being jostled. The afternoon rays crested into my pupils, allowing me to finally peer through the fog that was jumbling my mind. I was in a cage that was glimmering metal by the afternoon glare. Feeling Peb was beside me, I recalled what had happened. My heart skipped a beat in a panic, I sat up. In a panic, I fully analyzed my situation.

“This place is strange Boss…” Alerted by the voice of an underachieving dullard.

“Yeah, I know. People leaving, castles falling. I don’t know what’s going on here, and it’s not our job to know.” The familiar hoarse voice answered.

“So are we leaving?”

“Yeah, yeah. But first, we're gonna sell our prizes to the ship captain that’s going to Saharia.”

“We're going to make lots of bits, just like Felix promised.” Pog the dullard muttered, his voice stammering from grieving.

My eyes widen. ‘It’s the Bolt Five? Why are they here? Did Oona lead them here?’

Shaking my head. ‘It doesn’t matter, we need to get out of here!’

No other recourse in mind but to escape without their notice, I shook Peb to wake. However, my efforts were for naught, for he did not wake, because he was still induced by the fumes that had led both of us into unwilling unconsciousness. ‘I can carry him.’ I adamantly thought to myself. I have enough strength to spare for such a crude endeavor. To avoid sliding from the swaying of Pog who was carrying the cage, I crawled to the bars of the metal cage. With better leverage and grip, I reached the bars. Estimating that my strength was unordinary for a fae folk, I figured I could bend the metal bars to open enough for Peb and me to push through. With both green hands, I gripped the metal bars. Abruptly I screamed in unadulterated pain. Releasing the searing pain from my palms, I looked at the metal bars in disbelief.

“What? How?”

The leader of the Bolt Five noticed my high-pitch vocal shriek and winced. Pog halted at the noise, whilst the Boss hunched down to glare at me. “It looks like one of them is awake.”

Staring at the red blistering scar on my hands, I looked up at him in disbelief.

“Oh, you never touched Silver before? Aye?”

‘Silver..?’

“By the look of your small wee face, you don’t know what that is?”

‘Of course, I know. Why Silver?’

“Didn’t your papa and mama tell you? You don’t mess with metals. Heh.”

It then hit me, something that went under my nose for a very long time. ‘Damn…’ In all the fates and races the Goddess placed me; Intentional or random, I was assigned the race weak to metal. ‘Fairies…’

“It’s a comedy. My life is a tragic comedy.” I sputtered, as I maniacally laughed at such absurdity. “It’s all a joke. It’s all a joke.”

The human eyed me speculatively.

“I think this one is on something?” Pog questioned.

“Probably the Silver in its system.” The Boss shrugged.

In utter disbelief, I stared down at my red blistering marks in my hands juxtaposed oblong and diagonal in its scarring. Thereupon something within latterly came into the surface, It was like steam finally releasing into something beyond simmering. It was unbridled rage, so refined in its character, so furious past the glamor---inducing me to burn the last tether of my hope. My face and heart went into stone, with the rage inside me building past the crescendo; thus acting me to act past my predicament. Ripping off the grass pleated shirt, my mother weaved me I wrapped them around the silver bars of my cage. I then twirled my shirt so that I could stretch and tighten the flexible fibers to bend the metal that barred me from freedom.

The Boss, noticing my actions, stared down in disbelief. With the briskness of my approach, prepared my mental mind for violence that would ensue when I escape this metal confines. Thinking of ways I could neutralize my target, I hurried the process of my escape. The Boss, panicked, took out a bellow that was belted on his baldric, directing the nuzzle to my face. Noticing the action, I looked directly at the contraption. He clapped the two handles behind the bellow to release a glittering fume of particles right into my face. Closing my mouth shut, I tried to avoid the silver dust from entering my body, but it was too late. I was already feeling the expedient mercy of drowning unconsciousness. Thinking through my stratagem, I cursed myself, to act beyond the haze and fog that was clouding my mind and body into weakness.

“Why don’t you take another nap.” The Boss of the Bolt Five soothingly gloated. “Once you wake up, you’ll be on the other side of the world, chained to fighting monsters and giants, for the entertainment of the Scalies who would most likely want to eat you.”

I screamed, so loud, the strain shattered my voice box into a hoarse lament.

‘The System. I can get a few stats, from the System. Yes.’

Bringing up the System once more, from the haze of my lethargic mind, I hovered my indolent thoughts to pick the next tier of my classification. In my drugged and comatose state, I selected.

Congratulations!

You are now a Grass Dancer!

I laughed, as I cried back to unconscious sleep. Oh, how I laughed...