Lost

Lost collapsed in a pool of sweat. He gasped for air, looking around. He was in a inn room, with two beds, a table and a small window.

Fen rushed over to him, a worried expression on her face. “Mr. Lost are you okay?”

Lost waved her off, and lay back on the bed. He had been controlling the illusion for at least 20 minutes, obviously that was more than he could handle. The Transference of Knowledge only added onto that. His head was throbbing with pain and all of his stored magic was gone.

He closed his eyes, it helped the headache slightly. He could hear Fen talking, but now the words seemed distant. All he wanted to do was sleep.

His conscious slowly fell into the recesses of his mind.

******

Lost’s mind slowly returned to consciousness. The first thing he felt, still sleepy and mind groggy, was something soft. It was warm and heavy, laying ontop of his chest. He slowly forced his eyes open, fighting back the urge to fall asleep again.

He looked down. Fen was curled up on his chest, holding him in place. Her white tail curled around her waist and head pressed up to his chest.

‘She’s so cute,’ was his first, drowsy thought, then he fully woke up. He nearly let out a shout, but held it back at the last second. Remembering the last time she woke up in his arms, she had set off a flash bang in his eyes.

He opted to silently and gently move out of her grasp. Slowly pushing her off of him to the side, he slipped out of the bed. Fen mumbled something and shifted around.

Lost rubbed his forehead, why was she laying ontop of him? Whatever, he would ask her when she woke up.

He moved over to the window, grabbing one of the chairs at the round table in the corner. Moving back to the window, he sat down in the wooden chair with a groan.

Outside it was currently night. The window overlooked a cobbled street with shops lining it. A few lit lamps were hanging in store windows and doorways. Not many were out at this hour, only one or two were moving on the sidewalks.

‘What am I going to do now?’ Lost thought bitterly. He was depressed and angry. The elven Vault was gone? It was the only other thing Lost knew that could, probably, indefinitely hold the magical plague.

He knew if the plague was allowed to spread even farther, it wouldn't stop. His best option was to fight it here, while it was still growing. While it was still young.

How could things have fallen apart so quickly? This new world was going to fall if he didn't do something. But what was there to do? What could he do? It wasn't like his strength and skill could fight something that spreads through everything and can't be touched.

Magic was released onto this new world, and the plague was slowly following in its wake. He knew a little bit of what it was.

It was created by a person, a very misguided person. The plague was derived from both light, and dark magic. In fact, it was partly his fault it came into being.

The only thing Lost knew he could do was start helping the new magic users learn to use their powers. He would have to teach them, show them how to fight.

But he couldn't just sit idle while the world was slowly being destroyed. It would drive him insane. What could he do?

The only thing he knew how to do was fight, but what was there to fight against? His sword, however powerful, could not destroy the plague. Maybe he could hold it back? But how would he do that?

It was clear from the attack on the road that the plague was already starting to mutate the creatures of the land. What had that soldier said about the Keep being attacked? An army of demons?

No, he had said a human had attacked with demons.

That's when it hit Lost, he knew why the attack on the keep seemed so familiar. Why it seemed planned.

What if she hadn't died when he had trapped the magic? He remembered her stabbing him in the heart before being vanquished. Before he closed the door.

At that memory, his mind flashed back to those last moments. Silent sobs and tears streamed down his face at the memory of dying. The pain. The cold. The whispers of the dead. It was horrible. And that look she gave him, one full of complete and utter hate.

He had suppressed the memory with the idea he could trap the magic again. But now? The knowledge that there was no way to do it was too much. Then the thought that she had somehow survived was even worse.

It would explain the human the dying elf soldier was talking about. He hadn't been able to kill her; he was too weak before. Even with enough power to destroy all her forces, he still couldn’t fight her. And now he didn't even have a sliver of his former power. He was just a shell and a shadow of what he used to be. A husk.

That's when Lost’s heart hardened, his will returned to steel. He would need to get stronger, enough to kill her. Enough to end her and the plague. After all, it was she who had controlled it, directed it.

It was decided, he would teach the new generation of magic users how to fight, while also growing more powerful in the process. Traveling and looking for information on her whereabouts. He knew she was either in the human country or the elven country. Not much to go on. But he would defeat her, kill her. Even if it killed him, again.

Tarquin

Tarquin set his head against the wooden table with a meaty thunk. Oh, what a headache today had been.

This new information from the spy in the elven capital had provided quite a lot of amusement at first. The spy’s information was brought to him by way of messenger. He still remembered it too.

After reading the letter Tarquin had laughed. It seemed that the resistance’s spy had finally snapped. Whether from the constant worry of being found out or from some other means, Tarquin did not know. But slowly, he reread the paper over, and asked a few of his informants to gather other intel on the ins and outs of the castle. It was limited, barely enough to go on when he got it, but it confirmed the spy’s letter to be true.

Supposedly, a boy wearing a headscarf had approached the gates of the castle. He had refused when asked to leave, saying he must talk to the king. The princess had then demanded he tell her what it was, and after whispering in her ear, she had confirmed it to be enough to speak to her father.

She had then led him into the castle after a small argument with the guard captain. But not to her father, instead opting to take him into the garden. After that, no one knew what happened.

The princess had been tight lipped on what was said and happened. Only saying he had attacked her, and then vanished into thin air. Like he wasn't even there. The guards had searched the premises and called the King from his war meeting.

Tarquin had not found what was said in the letter funny, but the fact that this person had somehow gained access to the castle without problem, then proceeded to get all the bodyguards the princess had dismissed, attacked her, and then vanished without a trace.

It was quite the feat to say the least. Tarquin had been trying for 2 years before he could get a spy in the castle and even then, it took longer to get that spy to a position of power. So the prospect of someone being able to get into the castle within 10 minutes and attack the princess, seemed highly unlikely. Tarquin didn't know how to take the information, so he just laughed.

He pulled his head off the table, and sat upright. Looking over a long wooden table lined with chairs. Empty chairs. All his associates were either dead or still too scared to come out of the shadows. So, none of them were here.

Tarquin was what one could call the lesser of two evils. As in, he wanted to rule over the elven country, making it his own. He would change plenty of laws in the process. Most would consider him the unofficial leader of the resistance against the king’s law. Beasters is what commoners called the resistance.

He, himself, was not a beastman; being a large, muscled elf with graying black hair, a wisp of hair on his chin and upper lip. He wore expensive looking blue clothes, the kind nobles wore.

It had been a day since the incident in the castle. Tarquin was still puzzling over what happened in the castle. Whether or not this red- headband-wearing boy was either a threat or a potential ally.

The door slammed open, startling Tarquin. He looked up at the person in the doorway.

“Uncle! Do you know how long it took me to get ahold of you?! Your guards said that I couldn't disturb you. It’s been a day now!” Tarquin’s nephew shouted out.

Tarquin let out a long sigh and rubbed his forehead. The headache just got worse, “Renhold, what are you doing here? I thought you were off adventuring.”

Ren let out a huff of air and shut the door behind him. Walking up, he plopped down in the chair on the far side of the table, leaning his glaive on the side of the table. “Uncle, how goes your business?”

Tarquin wasn't exactly sure why his nephew was here. The last he had heard Ren had left the village Tarquin’s brother ran in search of honor and glory. Or so that's what he told Tarquin's brother.

“Just fine,” Tarquin said dully. He had a trading and transportation business to help support himself and his house. It also doubled as a coverup for the resistance. “What are you doing here? I thought you were travelling to the human lands?”

Ren smiled happily and leaned forward, “I changed my mind, uncle. I have to tell you about this kid I met.”

He then proceeded to tell Tarquin about his journey here and about a swordsman named ‘Lost’. At first Tarquin thought he was joking, but the more he heard from Ren about their battle, the more he became convinced he wasn't lying.

Tarquin sat back, thinking about it. The fact that the swordsman almost fit the exact description given about the one at the castle got him thinking. “What did this swordsman look like before you saw him last?”

Ren smiled, “He didn't have his cloak on, but was wearing a red headscarf thing.”

Tarquin leaned forward, “Do you know where he is?”

“Why?”

“I think he might be able to help me.”

Smiling again Renhold said, “I will meet him in 3 days. If he’s not there, then he should come here.”