I’m… alive. What’s more, I’ve somehow moved about twenty feet away in the time it took to blink. The only thing I remember is a sudden blur of motion, like I was being carried. To my left, the half-ogre remains, back at my original position, its ax lodged in the ground from the missed strike.

Missed strike. How?

I glance over, finding Gin smirking at me, offering me a thumbs up. “Did he do something…?” My words trail, for I see him gesturing, indicating the approach of the half-ogre once more. I scramble to my feet, retraining my concentration, and the battle resumes.

Another ten minutes elapse. All the while, I’m looking for the opportunity to counter, as Gin has instructed, trying to cast the Magical Arrows spell. He has greatly undersold the difficulty of the task however, or perhaps I’m simply unused to combat, for I cannot seem to complete the casting despite numerous attempts. The biggest challenge is that I need about five seconds of uninterrupted focus in order to utter the full incantations as well as perform the required gestures. And well, the half-ogre seems to be able to consistently strike at me within three. Before I can complete the spell, I’m interrupted, having to dodge, which means I have to start all over again.

Ten minutes into ten, and still no progress on my end. But then, something happens, a shift in the tone of battle. I sense this immediately, Gin’s words again echoing in my head. “At some point, I predict that the half-ogre will begin to slow even more due to blood loss. Watch for this, it will be the opportunity for you to counter. Dodge his strike, then as he’s recovering-”

Now!

I duck under the slice of the ax. Then instead of making for the sides as I have previously done, I stoop low and charge ahead. With my small, childlike frame, I manage to squeeze right between the half-ogre’s legs, bursting out the other side. Immediately, I pivot and begin my cast. In front, I can see the monster head scouring to and fro, clearly confused as to where I have gone, and by the time it realizes that I’m behind it, it’s already too late. I’ve completed the incantations and the gestures. “[Magical Arrows]!” I yell, pointing a finger gun at the creature. I’m not sure exactly what I expected to happen, something impressive perhaps, and I’m not disappointed.

Instantly, three arrows materialize before me out of nowhere, pulsing like hot, white plasma as they fly at high speed in the direction I’ve indicated. A second later and they collide with the half-ogre, striking it in the chest. Sparks dancing, smoke rising, and then an explosion of guts and amber ooze rain over my face. I lift an arm to shield my eyes, spitting out the acrid liquid that by chance got into my mouth, my brown hair now messier with slime. “Is it… over?” I mumble to myself, and when I spot the mangled corpse of the half-ogre, I suppress a momentary urge to gag, like seeing the open intestines of a deer hit by an incoming car. Then as the feeling passes, I’m filled with another, a sense of relief, but also, accomplishment? Pride? The fact that I was shoved into battle begins to fade, and my cheeks dimple into a smile.

I turn to find Gin approaching, and I begin, trying not to sound too excited, “Looks like your plan-” The words suddenly get caught in my throat, for I see the expression across the man’s face. Gone is his casual smirk. His childlike eyes are now muddled and dark, a shadow over the green. Abruptly, he grabs onto my right wrist, his eyes focused on the back of my right hand. I can feel my fingers start to go numb from the force, and I fear he might snap my thin, child bones right in half. “You’re… hurting me…” I manage.

My words appear to reach him, for instantly, his complexion changes. The storm leaves his eyes, and they are vibrant green once more, as a sheepish smile overtakes his face. “Ah, sorry, sorry! I just got a little carried away. I wasn’t quite expecting the fight to end like that.”

I eye Gin a moment longer, wondering what he had been bothered by just moments before. My gaze falls to rest on my right hand, the wrist still red from where it had been squeezed, and I just manage to catch sight of something glowing on the back. It’s a circle, about an inch in diameter, pulsing in gold, with the symbols "ᖘᖙ" etched in the center. Then a second later, it’s gone, faded to the color of my peachy skin.

Gin speaks up. He seems to have recompose himself, mostly returning to the jovial tone of before, “To think, you killed the half-ogre in a single attack, and I’ve never seen one explode quite like that! Hahaha! Well done, lad!”

His laugh is warm, and despite some misgivings, mostly arising from his inscrutable motives, I decide to align myself with the man, if not for his apparent knowledge, then at least for the very fact that I needed someone in this world to be my ally so that I’m not alone. It’s a calculated risk, I know, but I open up a bit. “It’s Jaxon.”

“What’s that?”

“My name, it’s not ‘lad’. It’s Jaxon.”

“Is that so?” Gin says. Then I see him reach over, a large hand extending over my head. He places it atop me, then tousles my hair gently. “Well done, Jaxon,” he says, tone proud as a father might be.

To my surprise, a warmth emanates from my chest, like cuddling under a blanket on a cold winter night, and there is a certain nostalgia to the sensation that has me bubbling with joy. Beyond my control, my eyes drift sleepily shut, my lips drawing into a smile.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Perhaps you’re a child yet! This is the first expression I’ve seen you make that resembles anything like a boy,” Gin laughs.

The man’s words snap me out of my delirium, and I feel blood rush to my cheeks. Using a free hand, I swat his arm away, saying, “I’m not a child!”

“That’s what they all say,” Gin smirks with a shrug.

“It’s true!” I protest, suddenly hit by a strong urge to pout. I suppress it, for it’ll only strengthen Gin’s case. As for the whole me enjoying being pet like a dog thing… brain chemistry, I’ll have you know! Stupid, underdeveloped child-sized brain. Studies have shown that a brain doesn’t fully develop physically until you’re eighteen, you know. So, it’s not my fault, you know. I can’t help it, you know. I… I’m trying too hard here, aren’t I? Okay. I’m just going to shut up now.

I see Gin gesturing me in the direction of the road, so I sprint to catch up, and as we are making our way back, something snags the corner of my eye, drawing my attention away. Looking into the foliage, I discover what appears to be additional corpses, four other half-ogres, scattered across the forest floor. From I can tell, they are all killed by a single slice to the neck, as if by a long blade... My gaze immediately reverts to Gin, to the sword at his hip, my mouth slightly agape.

No way… right? But I mean, there’s no one else around, right? Who else could have…? “Did you…?” I begin to ask.

Gin turns, hands casually behind his head, whistling a tune. “Hmm? Did you say something, Jaxon?”

I shake my head. “It’s, it’s nothing.” Had the man really taken out four of those monsters by himself while I barely defeated one, that was injured no less? What’s more, when I first reunited with him, Gin didn’t have a single scratch, or appear out of breath even.

Suddenly, a simultaneous sensation of endangerment and comfort washes over me. This man, Gin, is…

“Um, where’s the horse?” I ask, having reached the road, “In the attack, did it-?”

“No, no, it was fine. I left it right here when I went to find you,” Gin replies. Then I see him slapping his forehead as he continues, “Ah! I must’ve forgotten to tie it down. Well, walking is good exercise, Jaxon. Hahaha!”

This man, Gin, is… an idiot.