I once sailed a boat across calm waters, and absolutely nothing happened.

  -No one ever

  I open my eyes to find myself in a beautiful glade, with gentle rolling hills covered in fields of prismatic flowers and verdant grass. To my left, an aged oak tree sits alone atop a hill, its vast canopy of limbs and vibrant leaves providing the sole source of shade.

  I walk barefoot through the grass and gently lift one of the delicate flowers’ dewy petals. I’ve always been fascinated by the intricacies of plant life since I was little. The shape and patterns of the veins of the petals are like a kaleidoscope manifestation. The mosaic design creates petals that look like copies, except each one has a subtle difference in the shape or bend to create a unique shape.

  I’m pulled from my musings as I feel a cold biting wind flow across the field. My eyes search for the origin of the disturbance, introduced on this serene paradise of sun and shade. In the distance, I see a wave of wriggling brown crashing over the hills, consuming the vibrant colors one hill at a time.

  The gentle hills give me a clear view of what’s coming, but I fail to comprehend the amorphous abomination, though I can feel a faint rumbling through the soil. When it’s only a few hills from me and the tree, I realize something is causing all the flora to wither and respire. I watch in horror as the corruption of this once picturesque landscape is being rent.

  I wrack my brain for anything I can do to stop the impending death. As the wave nears, I look down at the flowers at my feet, feeling panic swell within me. I don’t want something so full of beauty and life to die yet. I pull a dagger from behind me, cutting a flower at the root before sprinting away from the impending wave.

  I hear the skittering of carapace as Beetles crawl past me, devouring everything with their chittering hunger. They try to crawl up my legs to get at the flower in my hand, but I kick them off. They start to bite at me, but I stomp, shake, and thrash to keep them at bay. As the last vestiges of the consuming mass of insects pass, they leave me alone to rejoin their kin.

  I look down at the lone flower, still in my hand, and I feel some small pride that, despite the carnage, I have succeeded in saving a piece of the once beautiful glade. Then, as though to spite all my effort, the flower starts to wilt. The browning is slow, first taking the leaves and moving up the stalk toward the petals. I take out my canteen, dripping water onto the dying flower. The flower sucks up the water, looking healthy for a moment, before it starts to wither again.

  I turn my canteen upside down, letting a deluge of water onto the plant. As my canteen endlessly spews water onto the plant, fighting back its imminent end, I try to find a place for the flower. At my feet, the once fertile soil is now tough and cracked. The dead vegetation that should fertilize the soil anew was devoured completely by the ravenous beetles.

  I know the soil isn’t unsalvageable and new vital foliage might grow here in time, but it won’t be anytime soon. I know, even if new life is to grow here, it’ll need to be hardy, and it will take generations of tough plants to renew the soil into something capable of supporting life. I look at the flower still damaged in the flowing water.

  The canteen slips from my fingers, and I see it start to wilt again. I run up to the woody remains of the naked tree and hang it by its stem off a thick limb, hoping the tree will share some of its remaining vitality to slow its wilting. I cut into the green wood of the branch. then wrap it around the thorny stem, so the flower might drink from the tree’s vitality. Despite my efforts, the tree provides no aid to the faltering flower.

  I had heard stories of pressing or hanging flowers to preserve them, but I never attempted to press one myself. I look to see my attempts have done nothing to stem the browning, and the crinkled petals fall to the ground. In its desiccated form, the green body of the stem shrinks in on itself, and the thorns become sharper.

  I look in the distance to see the beetles digging a mound as they flourish in the midst of the destruction they’ve wrought. The injustice ignites an anger burning inside me, and my fingers tighten around the thorny stem of the flower. Blood flows from my hand as the narrow, piercing thorns dig into my fingers.

  Where once it was a thing of beauty and life, now all that is left is the poignant thorns. I throw it at the beetles, willing vengeance. It elongates in flight, so it appears as a spear coated in smaller blades facing forward towards its tormentors. As it lands, the spear lands at the edge of the colony, and the spear continues its transformation.

  The thorns turn to scales, and the end of the spear folds in on itself before opening to reveal a maw holding concentric circles of teeth. The flower, now a wyrm built for destruction, thrashes about, consuming the beetles and the home they created to use as mass to fuel its growth.

  I laugh as I see the wyrm drilling into the soil, devouring the creatures that once caused unimpeded devastation. My grin splits wide, and a full-bellied laugh erupts from me. I take joy in the plight of the scrambling beetles, even though deep down I know the simple creatures won’t understand why they are being punished. They are the only beetles capable of understanding only their small world.

  With their short life spans, it could even be that the beetles that enacted the travesty are long since dead, and only their progeny remains to bear the revenge set upon them. The piece of me that cares for the plight of the beetles is subsumed by my relishing the vision of them panicking as they scurry in fear.

  As they’re hunted, I see the wurm churning the ground, consuming the sparse vitality of the deeper layer of the soil. This act, the final nail in the coffin. The soil grows even more inhospitable, so it will never be able to support life again. The craggy soil turns to coarse sand, killing the last vestige of the beautiful glade.

  I raise my arms and relish in the utter destruction enacted as the wurm grows beyond the size of a mountain, its form elongating so it appears as scaley hills stretching out into the horizon. The shadow of the wurm elongates so the world turns to black.

  -

  I wake from the fever dream with a start, panting, and covered in a thick sheen of sweat. In the dream, I had a manic glee, but I look back in horror at the fictional destruction I wrought, and how much I delighted in it. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself and reassure myself it’s just a dream. Neither the beetles, the glade or the flower died, the dream is just a way for my mind to cope with the extreme stress from the last few days.

  “Dreams are weird,” I mumble to myself as I get up. I stayed the night in the commanding officer’s bed, drifting off to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow due to the days of poor makeshift sleeping locations. I head into the kitchen and start a fire to prepare some breakfast.

  While boiling water for the oatmeal analogue kept in the fort, I pace in the kitchen as my pre-trip jitters kick in. I was never a strong swimmer on Earth, and despite my new swimming abilities, I don’t want to find out how well I can swim stranded in the middle of the ocean. Sailing out in an unknown direction with no idea of where I’m going doesn’t comfort me either.

  I have a lot going for me: I have magical water skills, food for days or even weeks if I don’t mind dried rations. With my undead minions I have no shortage of physical labor to man the boat. The undead will be weakened during the day, but with my enhanced stats, I can do the heavy lifting then. The boat has two sails and a set of stairs in the middle that leads to a lower deck. Underneath there are two beds at the back of the boat, and the spacious front area is used for storage.

  I take a final trip inland with a few empty barrels and raised minions to get fresh water from the stream. With my magical affinity of water, I siphon water into the barrel. I know there must be a way to purify water with my magic but either I don’t have enough control, or I need a skill I don’t have yet.

  In theory I should be able to purify water by freezing it, but while freezing the water might remove the contaminants from the ice but it is more complicated to melt it into drinkable water without re-contaminating it, If I need to, I know how to distill ocean water but I am not adventurous enough to try distilling ocean water unless I have to.

  On the boat, I have two undead goblins, and the newly enhanced Morgana is still possessing the elf. My eyes roam over to dock onto the undead elf moving the final barrels into the boat. I upgraded all the raised undead up to level three to help with the manual lifting except for the elf Morgana is inhabiting.

  Over the past day, I’ve pushed mana into the corpse she’s possessing. The mana has caused the corpse to do that disgusting wriggling again, but it looks like it’s reshaping to look like the girl from her repressed memories. Her body looks androgenous, and more of a porcelain-like doll. All the transformations should’ve made me feel better, but it’s still well within the uncanny valley for me.

  When the boat is full, I give the fort one final cursory scan. I mentally go through the inventory of items on the boat. I don’t want to be stuck out at sea having forgotten something important like my pants. That would be an embarrassing way to introduce myself to the rest of the world, not to mention the sun burns while at sea!

  I don’t have faith in my ability to navigate a foreign world by the sun or stars, if I’m even in the same reality Earth exists in. The trip off the island will be a one-way trip for me. With the sun rising and calm skies as far as I can see, I cast current to gently guide the boat away from the dock. I close my eyes and give my full concentration to my mana shaping. With a burst of mana, I pull on the shadows on the sides of boat to give an extra shove. Under the boat, tendrils of shadow condense before pushing on the underside of the boat.

  I keep the goblins under the deck and out of the sun for the first part of the journey. I use my current spell form to move water from in front and have it circle around to push the back of the boat. The sloop does not move fast, and my magic would not have worked on a bigger boat, but my ability to manipulate water is perfect for navigating the shallows with the sails down. I am cautious about navigating shallows with so little experience boating but once I am out of the shallows, I open the sails to pour on the speed.

  I turn the boat to my best approximation of what should be east and have Morgana hold the wheel as I attempt to lower the sails. I did not have an idea of where I was going but I did know the storms rolled in from what would have been west on Earth, based on the sun rise, and headed east. It was my guess that there should be a natural current of wind and water driving storms inland toward a land mass.

  I haul down the sails and tie off the ropes. The wind catches the sails, and I feel the boat lurch forward. My stomach churns as I contemplate the mystery journey ahead. I could be at sea for a week or end up in a strange land.

  For now, the calm seas looked beautiful, and I look forward to sailing in the sun for a while. I suspect storms are common in this tropical climate, and I’m not looking forward to being caught in a storm on the open water. I finish hoisting the other sail, it takes me a few minutes to find the right rope, but after a few tries I open the sails, and tie down the ropes to the cleats: the anchor points to tie ropes off on.

  After the first hour, jitters fade, giving away to the excitement of exploration and, I revel in the feeling of sailing. The sun shines warmly on my back as the wind tussles my hair. I can even feel the cool splashing water as the bow of the boat cuts the waves while the gentle push of the wind on the sails and the current spell gives the boat a steady sense of motion. In the distance, I see birds hovering overhead and occasionally I see sea life crest the surface of the ocean, but nothing living nears the boat.

  At one point I try to reach out with my mind and water magic, but only small fish come anywhere near the boat, and they flee as soon as I try to make contact. It’s not until many months later that I learn many of these boats have artifacts on the bottom to ward off any wildlife. The artifacts are weak and wouldn’t deter true threats, but even weak anti wildlife artifacts will outcompete a level one aquatic mind mage. With nothing to do but enjoy the gentle rocking of the boat as it slides along the ocean, I watch the crystal-clear waters. The gentle motions and waves are mesmerizing as I peer down to see the sandy sea floor twenty to thirty feet down.

  As the day drags on, and the boat ventures deeper into open waters, the sandy floor below slopes down, fading into darkness. I steer the boat, so the wind is at my back and the sails remain full of wind. I note storm clouds rolling in from the horizon behind me. The clouds blanket the sky slowly overtaking my boat as a storm rolls through. As the angry gray clouds blanket the sky overhead, a feeling of foreboding rises as my panic slowly builds.

  There’s nothing like the knowledge that the storm is going to get worse and there’s nothing I can do about it, to really rack up the tension of sailing solo for the first time. I mentally order the undead goblins to stow everything securely by tying everything movable down with ropes and put Morgana in charge of the helm as I move my way down below deck to supervise.

  Even at level 3 and with my current skill in commanding the undead, the goblins struggle with the order I give them. With my direct attention they move things around as I tie the barrels of food and water as best I can. Once the supplies are secured, I return to the topside of the boat to find a drizzle of rain, a harbinger of the true storm to come. I look in the distance to find no land in sight.

  I sigh as I direct Morgana under the boat. I don’t want Morgana or any of my minions to fall off the boat if it starts shaking in rough waters. While Morgana can always fly back to me in her ghost form, I don’t want to risk losing my most capable construct. Morgana is much more agile than the goblins who shamble about. She can walk normally but she still is not nearly as agile as the elf warrior was before his death.

  Up on deck by myself I grip the wheel tight, far tighter than I need to steer. The cold-water soaks into my shirt, which only makes the cold wind all the worse. I huddle down as the sails ripple violently and hear the creaking wood of the mast under the powerful winds. I curse thinking that if the storm becomes too much the sails might rip off. Despite being able to move the boat with magic I would not be able to reach half the speed I would get with sails.

  I estimate I’ll only be able to reach a top speed of about two knots with my magic. I hastily untie the rope knots and pull the sails down. I might have gone faster with all the wind in the storm but the risk of losing the sails was too great. The sails fight as I pull them in. With the sails stowed I hunker down and focus on my current spell form to keep going and make the water a little less choppy. Navigating the waves thumping menacingly against the boat is a harrowing experience that lasts an eternity.

  Fears of movies I‘ve seen where boats face 100-foot walls of water flash from my memory. How should I deal with that in my small sailboat? On some level, I understand I’m not in that much danger. The waves are tumultuous, and the rocking of the boat is concerning but the storm is mild and nowhere near the cinematic monsters in movies.

  I’m nowhere close to being knocked over, but with no experience in such choppy weather, I keep wondering how I’ll escape the boat, should it tip over. The storm continues to rage, but it gets no worse as time drags on. Exhausted able to do little more than keep the wheel straight on the deck, I call Morgana to come up to steer as I go down below deck to stay warm and concentrate fully on my spell work. I grimace as I walk into the lower deck to see one of the barrels of water cracked, and another barrel of dried goods scattered across the floor.

  The mixture of dried goods, wood shards and sloshing water makes a mess and even looks like it caught one of the goblins, smooshing it into the food on the floor. The minion is gone and beyond repair while the other minions feebly struggle with the toppled food barrel. I lend a hand to prevent the situation from worsening.

  Despite losing the barrels I still have another barrel full of food and one full of water. I estimate I have about a week’s worth of food and water, but I still have no idea how close I am to land. I remember hearing accounts of how trips between Europe and America could take months using sailboats. Even if I factor in my magic, to cut it down to one month, I’m not sure I can spread my food out for that length of time.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  At the same time, a crew of elves made a trip somewhere with far less supplies. Of course, they probably knew where they were going. I don’t like the idea of going for days without food, but I should run out of food long before running out of water.

  Exhausted and stressed, I find a place to lay down. As I lay on one of the bunks, I push the current spell to the limits of my ability to soften the turbulent wave and push us forward. Before I realize what’s happening, I drift off into a meditative sleeplike state. A dreamless sleep that is over all too soon, interrupted by someone standing over me. I start as I see an elf with a mass of white scar-like tissue over its throat standing over me. I instinctively reach out for a knife or sword to defend myself before I realize it is Morgana.

  “What’s up Morgana?” I ask groggy from my nap. As I finish my sentence, I feel the hard crash of the boat against a wave. I hold onto the cot to steady myself before crawling my way up to the steering column.

  ‘We have neared land; I came to get you when I saw light on the shore.’

  My mana exhaustion from using the current spell and the abating of the storm had lulled me into a sleep.

  Exiting the lower deck, I peer over the waters, seeing two boats on the shore with large bonfires and smattering tents on the sand. Further inland, I can see a small town with pinpricks of light throughout the town. The small town has a rock wall about two yards tall with torches ringing the outside of the wall. Something about the active camp on the beach and the number of fires lit in the town at this time of night doesn’t sit well with me.

  The camp is filled with soldiers, but why would it be setting up a siege of such a small town? None of what I am seeing makes any sense. They’d be taking a huge risk that a local guard militia would hit them. If a small contingent of guards from the city came, they wouldn’t have time to pack up, and would have to abandon the camp.

  Not to mention their boats are grounded, so they’ll have to push them back into the water, while under attack. The situation makes more sense if the soldiers are here to protect the town. I scratch my chin as I wonder why the military is camping on the beach. If they were friendly, surely they’d camp behind the walls of the city.

  “What do you think the chances are that they are all friendly and there are just a bunch of campers out with boats.”

  Morgana turns to give me her signature blank look.

  “Yeah… I didn’t think so either. Can you scout them as a ghost?”

  “Not from this distance.” She says in her raspy voice.

  We have the advantage that Morgana and I have natural night vision, due to dark mana affinity and no lamps are lit on the boat to alert anyone. The campfires and torches will help the townsfolk and soldiers see near the camp with greater clarity but will destroy their dark vision so they won’t be able to see me hiding in the dark of the night. Between being out in dark waters, and the campfires making it impossible for their eyes to adjust to the dark, they’ll not be able to see us, and I want to keep it that way.

  I sail up the coast for a few minutes, pushing the boat gently through the dark waters with my current spell form. I stay half a mile from the coast until I see thick trees right on the shore and turn towards the land, so we stay out of sight while trying to find a shrouded place to anchor. The thick tree line will make the boat harder to discover and give me cover if I need a quick getaway. I instruct the remaining goblin to stay below deck and attack anyone else who tries to take the boat.

  I am not going to give up my food and water if the town and soldiers turn out to be unfriendly, though I don’t like my chances of outpacing the two boats on the shore, if they ever get into the water. I wrap the sails to keep the wind from blowing them open, and gently maneuver the boat in the direction, so it is parallel to the shoreline and position the hull to hide it behind the bend. I let the anchor down and wrap my gear up in a bundle. I don’t want to beach the boat, but I also don’t have a rowboat to make the final stretch to land. The only way left is to wade into the shore.

  I jump from the boat, but despite where I anchored, there are still a few feet before I can touch the bottom. I swim to shore keeping my bundle over my head. Once I drag myself onto dry land, I pull as much of the water off as I can with my aqua kinesis before putting on my weapons and leather armor, looted from the island fort. I’m still slightly damp in areas but at least I’m no longer dripping wet. Fortunately, the armor is not tight fitting, and the cool night breeze feels nice. Unlike my awkward swim while trying to keep bundle dry, Morgana simply walks along the bottom all the way to shore. Once Morgana is on shore, I use the same trick to pull as much water as I can from her.

  As we march inland, towards potential danger, I choose not to keep my current spell form going. As much as I can use the water on hand to block or stun, I think stealth is the better option here. We hug the tree line as we make our way, cresting a hill overlooking the camp of soldiers. Below I see two dozen elven warriors busily flitting around camp. They don’t appear to be actively sieging the town, but the army on the beach does look like they are gearing up for a fight.

  They’ve cut down several trees and soldiers are scurrying, transporting supplies back and forth in a hurry. I back away from the camp to blend back into the shadows of the trees. I move further inland then head toward the town. The situation is apparent that the soldiers don’t need siege engines for the meager defenses of the town. With 6-foot stone walls, anything other than ladders will be overkill.

  Morgana and I move from our vantage to get a closer look at the town. As we near the town, I see the guards peering over the wall as they patrol back and forth. When I get closer, I see the guards look simultaneously bored and on edge. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a figure moving silently through the tall grass toward the town walls.

  My vision flicks back to the wall, but the guards’ eyes roam over the figure stalking through the tall grass. The guard’s eyes aren’t adjusted to the dark, but I can see the silhouette of the shape in the grass, since I’m between the shadowy profile and the firelight. I tell Morgana to stay hidden, in case there are more, and charge with my blade drawn.

  When I get closer, I see the figure is a sneaking bowman in a cloak. He sees me before I can close the distance to him, and he responds with an arrow shooting towards my head. I raise my shield wood shield, catching the arrow as I continue sprinting through the grass to him. Two more arrows thunk into my shield before I pull water from my canteen to send crudely formed ice projectiles back at him.

  One ice shard knicks him and he lets out a cry of pain. The guards on the wall hear his cry and I see the tops of their head disappear as they hunch down before giving out a call. Three more ice shards impale my adversary so by the time I am on top of him he is clutching his stomach while bleeding profusely.

  “Yield!” I say putting as much force into the word as possible. The elf winces but despite the lack of any visual indication that he has surrendered, he does not make any moves.

  “Yield!!” I scream louder, not wanting to leave any chance that he will attack me. In response to my command, the elf curls into the fetal position. I assume this is him giving up the fight, but I don’t let him out of my peripheral vision. I plan to keep him around for a while to interrogate him for answers. At the fort I didn’t have the luxury of thinking about taking prisoners since I was alone and outnumbered but now my situation is different.

  I have an escape and there are more people than just me. I see a few humans approaching from open gates of the town. I wave them over and point to the elf. Before I can say anything, the guard leading the group uses his sword to finish the elf. I sigh, frustrated all my work to keep him alive waste.

  Interestingly, I didn’t realize I was reinforcing my commands with mental magic. I dismiss my notifications before frowning at the dead elf. An elf can no longer tell me anything, but I quell my anger, at least the guards might give me answers.

  “Who are you?” The lead guard inquires in a stern voice. My empathy picks up his anger and distrust.

  Despite understanding why, I cannot help but bristle at his hostile tone. I had just saved who knows how many guards from being picked off in the night and this is the tone he decides to use. I know I shouldn’t get my hackles up, but I do.

  I square up my shoulders and stare the man down, “I am the guy who just saved your guards from an elven assassin.”

  “Where the hades did you come from and what are you doing in the dark in the first place?” the guard asks in an accusing tone.

  “Minding my own business when I saw the elves who looked to be assaulting a town. I thought I would come and lend a hand, especially when I saw one getting ready to start picking people off the walls.”

  The guard frown doesn’t abate and his eyebrows draw down.

  “Just you, eh? I doubt that with the blockade out there. Some human just happens to be walking in the dark, happens by a camp of elves, and happens to find the elf stalking around. None of your story makes any sense.”

  My lips turn up in a predatory smile, “Am I not good enough for you? If you want to take on this army on your own, I can leave.”

  The guard scowls at my remark. I also want to tell him that there is no blockade, and their ships are all grounded, but I realize I would only be wasting my breath. This guy wants to act tough and be in charge. Any additional information I give will only fuel his accusations.

  “Come with me.” The guard doesn’t say more. I go with him for now, so as we start to move the group of guards close in around me, to escort me in. I reach out with my empathy to get a read on the other two guards. I pick up the other two guards reek of fear, but underneath it is the barest hint of gratitude.

  For a moment, before the guards take up formation around me, I almost decided not to go with him just because he commanded me to, but in the end I relent. I need to know more about what is going on, and despite my dislike of the guard, I’ve already made a considerable impression. Maybe the goodwill can be used to gain some information, when their leader isn’t around.

  I eye the guards flanking me as we make our way through the grassy field back to the wall. Their armor looks poorly made, and even their spears are bowed from poorly crafted wood. I glace at the crude spearpoint loosely rattling. Surely, they have better weapons than this. The spear looks like it might get destroyed in the first exchange.

  The annoying guard I talked with outside the town, leads me to a large building that looks like a medieval stone church. Two guards stand in front of the door, their eyes scanning me as I walk in. I wade my way through the press of bodies packed into the chapel. All around me are villagers looking tired, scared and miserable.

  I can’t blame them for being miserable. Everything that’s happened to me over the last week is still surreal to me, and it looks like they are facing their own trial. The guard leads me to a back room where I see four people around a table.

  One is a young man with short blond hair, pudgy cheeks in plate armor with a great hammer on his back. The next man has dark unkempt hair and sharp features, he’s the epitome of a ranger with a green cloak leather and a bow. The last man is the shortest but there is a feral quality about him that make me feel like he’s ready to fight at the drop of a hat. On his belt are two axes and I notice a crossbow on his back. The last is a woman with green eyes, a heart shaped face and sandy blonde hair in a braid. She has an ornate circlet on her head which contrasts with the monotone half plate armor. In her hand is a blend of a spear and a staff with an ornate ruby in the middle of the head and below the blade.

  As I enter, they all turn to face me.

  “Who are you?” The woman asks sharply while her companions imperceptibly tense, subtly readying should things go south. It’s kind of crazy to me that they’re so on edge considering we are in the heart of their camp, there are four of them and at least half a dozen guards in earshot. I guess my popping up out of nowhere has really freaked people out. I did not put much though into helping them, but I expected them to be a little more grateful for my intervention.

  “Hi, I am Jason Kelly.” I say while flashing them my best smile. Based on her stern reactions, my smile can use some work.

  “I am not familiar with the house name of Kelly. Who sent you?” the ranger asks.

  I shrug and flash them a second smile hoping I will not put them on edge. “Nobody sent me, I was just in the area. Who are you?”

  This time the woman responds, “I am lady Olivia Heartbran, these are my companions Knight Kurt, Knight Julian, and Knight Benjamin. What are you doing here?” They subconsciously straighten at the proclamation with an air of importance. My eyes widen not from recognition, but from realization I’m talking to knights and royalty. She emphasized her name in a way that implies I should know who she is. The hint of a smug smile tugs at the edge of the stern expression of the three men behind Olivia as they misinterpret my reaction.

  I try to shrug it off. “I saw a bunch of elves and thought you might need help.”

  Her eyebrows draw down and she folds her arms. Through my empathy I can feel confusion and disbelief.

  “*Ahem* he was found outside the gate, the elf must have followed him and was about to kill him. I saw him struggling, so I finished off the elf and brought him in.” The guard I had argued with says from the side. I frown. It’s obvious the guard wants to suck up to Olivia and put himself in the best light.

  “He had surrendered; you didn’t save me.” I say trying not to growl out the words.

  This time Olivia speaks up turning to me and cutting off the tirade threatening to boil over, “Why did you not kill him?”

  The question holds no heat, only calm curiosity.

  “I wanted information out of him.” I don’t elaborate further on what information but in the middle of a battlefield any information can tip the balance. I had heard countless stories on Earth of commanders who had intercepted orders, then used that information to deal a decisive blow.

  “Why? We know they are on the beach and intend to attack. What more would the elf tell us?” She says in the same calm tone. I wonder if she is testing me.

  “Yeah, but he might have been able to tell us something critical. What are their numbers? How do they plan to attack? When do they plan to attack?” Her face displays her confusion at my remark, clearly not understanding what I am trying to say. It seemed she felt they would just deal with whatever was sent their way. The lack of any strategy from someone who is clearly in a position of leadership has me concerned. The conversation settle into an awkward pause.

  I have a million questions ranging from why the elves are attacking to what their strategy is, but I can feel I’m starting to wear out my welcome. Suspicion and annoyance pervade the room. It seems Olivia can sense this too, without needing to have magical empathy.

  Her next words address the group, “As much as I wish to question him further, he’s helped us. He has weapons, and we have a need for those weapons.”

  Then she turns to me. “Get some rest while you can, you will need when the elves come. We can talk more tomorrow.”

  A fire ignites in my stomach at the clear dismissal. I went out of my way to help them but instead of thanks, I get one powerplay after another. You’d think a “thank you” would kill them; they might choke on it.

  I move back the main room of the cathedral. As I head out, the guard glares at me, blocking the doorway so he can shoulder check me on the way out. My outburst has damaged his fragile ego, burning any bridges I could have mended with him. Not that I want to have a friend like him at my back. I consider giving him the fight he clearly wants, but I don’t know where Olivia and her guards stand. I ignore him as I find an empty space on the ground.

  I feel exposed and alone in a room full of strangers. I move towards the outer wall and curl up on a stone pillar in the corner of the room. My eyes roam over the building and take in the alien carvings. Most of the chapel is wood but framed intricate carvings rim the roof. Over the entrance is a carving of a skeleton in a mask surrounded by stalactites and on the other end clouds laced with lightning hang ominously over the pulpit. I look to the next frame to find a young girl standing in front of me.

  A young girl no older than eight stares at me with wide eyes, and not a speck of fear. “Who are you?” she asks with blunt innocence only a child is capable of.

  “Hi, I’m Jason. What is your name?” I say trying to soften my tone for the little girl. I was never good around kids. I never knew what to do, even my EMT training made them sound like porcelain dolls that could break. Of course, most of my EMT training was assuming the worse case scenario and getting them to the doctor.

  I’m not sure if any sudden moves will cause the kid to break down crying at any moment. Despite her composed exterior, I can feel the fragility and fear lurking underneath. Despite her calm exterior, I can only imagine how traumatic this is for her. The little girl plops down indifferently in a seated position in front of me.

  “I am Mia. My mother is a farmer, but she says she doesn’t like it because it will break her back. I’ve never seen you before. Where did you come from?” I smile as the child asks question after question.

  “Well, I saw the town and thought I would drop by.”

  “Well, I think you chose a bad time. There are elves outside the walls, and they are here to hurt the lady Heartbran. Mommy says she is a dual mage, and everyone knows they are super strong. She will blast them away like *pew pew*. She will beat up any of them that get too close.” I feel her blind faith pushing down the uncertainty lurking deep inside her.

  My eyes glance over at Mia’s sleeping mother clutching tight to two much younger children even in her sleep. In sleep, her face looks exhausted and worried, but her arms tenderly wrap around the bundled-up children in her arms. I’m no warrior, but I had spent every moment on this planet fighting for survival. I gained the power to claw my way off the island. Was this the world children grew up in? Suddenly all the power I‘ve accumulated seems so small and insignificant with the knowledge that children are stuck in the middle of a war. If I truly had any power, I could at least shield them.

  I point up at the frames trying to change the subject and ask, “Mia tell me about these carvings.”

  Her head spins. “Speaker Kydar says those are meant to represent the gods. The storm clouds represent Zeus who watches over humanity. His son Hercules beats back the bad elves. Over there is-”

  I feel a spike of fear through my empathy. I home in on the mother clutching her children. Her sleep muddled mind franticly looks for her third child.

  “Mia, where are you? Mia? Come back over here.” The woman calls from her spot on the ground. I nudge Mia to get her attention. She dutifully goes back over to her mom.

  “Mom-mom I am right here.”

  Her mother quickly hugs her close and kisses her in relief. Mia looks back over at me, and I smile and wave. She waves back. Her mother holds her daughter tighter, unwilling to let go. I would feel a bit hurt that her mom seems like she wants to protect her child from me, but I feel through my empathy she’s just scared for her daughter.

  I wrap my clothes tight around me and try to get comfortable. I sit there lost in thought of what will come tomorrow until I feel Morgana tug on our connection. She is distant but I close my eyes and focus on the link.

  I wondered what happened to you. The tension eases out of my shoulders, knowing Morgana is close by.

  I send a message over our link, ‘I will stay here for a bit. Stay out of sight. I’m afraid they might shoot you on sight and explaining might be too much. They’re already suspicious of me despite taking out elves on their doorstep. Take the elf body away and I will see if I can raise him later. The goblins are nice but won’t do much against an army. A raised elven archer would be much more useful.’

  I realize I got a bit sidetracked, but Morgana dutifully listens across our bond. I can feel that familiar heat of anger and concern for my well-being inside her.

  ‘I am ok, just wait outside the city and stay out of sight.’ I feel the connection dampen as Morgana’s mind focuses on remaining hidden.